I Felt In Control and Invincible.
It was during one of Bonnie’s visits – this time in November – that it happened. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t have survived without her support. By November, Larry felt like an extra appendage: sometimes useful, mostly just unnecessary and out of place.
Having Bonnie in town meant everything was fun. Her presence made me young again, free again, able to laugh and talk and be beautiful again. I believed that Bonnie and I were soulmates. We rebelled against the world together with all the gusto we had, even as we did absolutely nothing to change it.
Best of all, Bonnie and I drank exactly the same way. There were no fights about someone wanting to go home or go to sleep, because neither of us ever wanted to stop drinking. Nothing else mattered, except cocaine, and both of us would have done coke until our hearts exploded if enough had been offered.
As long as Bonnie and I were together, we believed in ourselves, did whatever we wanted to do, and felt emboldened by the presence of someone who was also willing to sell her soul for another taste of whatever was in front of us.
Larry was playing with his band at a new place, a dive bar somewhere in Homestead. Bonnie and I were having an absolute blast, ignoring the band playing in a tiny corner of the tiny bar. We babbled incessantly, laughing hysterically at each other, reconnecting as the best of friends.
We drank and drank and drank. With Larry’s singing a mere echo behind me, I felt young, wild and immensely free.
I had no idea how short-lived that feeling would be.
At the bar, guys bought us drinks. Some of them sat briefly at our small table. When we got bored with the guys we’d point at Larry, gushing at our Great Protector, and the guys would skedaddle. I felt in control and invincible. Having Bonnie around always made me feel invincible.
So when a short, burly, coal-skinned guy sat down and took up too much of Bonnie’s space, we expected a short-lived visit. He introduced himself to us (“I’m Kevin”) and we chatted with him for awhile to be polite. He neglected to buy us drinks, which particularly irritated Bonnie. She rolled her eyes as he spoke slowly, dully; I giggled a bit maniacally under my breath.
“I’ve gotta go,” Bonnie said, laughing suddenly and loudly, yanking herself away from the table. She walked to the bathroom, waving a hand behind her head without looking back.
As soon as she was out of sight, the burly man leaned over the table and whispered: “Want some coke?”
Ah there’s my kryptonite, I thought.
“Fuck yeah!” I said a little too enthusiastically. I frequently snorted cocaine in restrooms so I suggested, “We can go in when Bonnie comes out.”
“Nah, not in there,” said Kevin. “Let’s go outside; I know a place.”
Outside? I considered this. “Okay, when Bonnie comes back we can ….”
“Nah,” said Kevin. “Just you ‘n me. We’ll be right back. C’mon.”
My mind rattled with an attempt to prioritize my visiting friend over cocaine; the coke was winning.
“Can you give her some when we get back?”
“Sure,” he said.
I looked toward the bathroom door. Cocaine kept calling.
“Okay,” I said. “As long as we come right back.”
“We will,” he said.
So we walked out the front door, Larry still singing in the background, Bonnie still in the bathroom, and me on my way to experience something brand new.