"What you think about that?" he says, with a gun in the air, coming in from outside.
I think I don't like that at all. Where did that come from?
I always had it.
That's not true. Where did it come from? Why don't you sell it?
That was last night.
Today, he called me at work, scared and urgent:
I've got to tell you something.
So in the time before Nar-Anon, before I learned that I didn't have to, I paid a debt for him. I'd hoped that by paying the debt, I'd get the scary dealers out of my life, out of his life, and we could move on. I didn't know that I'd be opening up a new line of credit for him.
He told me he owed the dealers $380, and they were threatening him. I paid it. Two weeks later, he told me today, he got in debt to them again to the tune of $220. He's been gradually paying it off by tattooing people. Apparently, there has been some transfer of power amongst the people he owes, and the new asshole in charge came by MY HOUSE today to threaten him. He owes $85 still. The dealer showed him a gun. He wanted me to know, he says, because he has to pay them, and he's scared, and he's trying to come up with the money, but he knows that if he has money that he's suddenly giving away to dealers, I'll freak.
So I guess now I'm not supposed to freak? I'm not supposed to be upset that someone is threatening the love of my life with a gun? I'm not supposed to care that said love of my life has allowed heroin dealers with guns to know where we live? I'm not supposed to be worried that I'm associated with this madman, that my safety has been compromised?
The dealers wanted to take my cell phone, which he has today, as collateral. He didn't let them. I have an idea that he should pawn the gun he had in the house last night. Let's get all the guns gone.
I'm scared to go home.