
Hennessy and Honey
The last thing I could remember were burning shots of Hennessy and honey. The deep bass lines of hip hop music being blasted through the speakers still seemed to ring in my ears. I remember rainbow neon lights flickering off the semi packed dance floor surrounded by pitch black walls and those warm Hennessy and honey shots. Waking up here in this unknown place, this unknown bed I squinted my eyes at the peach golden sunshine seeping through the chained linked gated windows. I blinked a few times in attempts to clear the blurry vision clouding my sight.The walls, milky white with no pictures, and the room beyond small, tiny really, with barely enough room for a person to pace, was furnished moderately. An old wooden desk set against the wall under the only window in the room. Next to the desk stood a mud brown metal fold out chair that was lazily pushed against the wall. I attempted to raise myself from the cheap twin metal spring bed, which I rested in; but as soon as my head left the pillow a thunderstorm of splitting pain ignited in my brain.
I collapsed, my body lightly thumping against the bed causing the old strings to ring gently. For a moment I just laid there, my eyes shut loosely, breathing deeply as the pain dulled. I turned my head away from the window and opened my eyes again. I immediately noticed there was a glass of water on the small dresser next to the bed. It was then I realized how thirsty I was. My tongue thick and dry stuck to the roof of my mouth. I knew in order to drink I must sit up.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lifted myself up slowly. My limbs heavy like tree trunks and my entire body felt weak. Sliding the old canary yellow sheets to the side, hesitantly I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My sun tarnished brown dreads hung long and loose over my shoulders, as my head involuntarily fell downward toward my chest. Gone away was the dark denim skinny jeans, heels and tight bun from the last conscious moments of my adventurous night. The light golden brown skin of my arms and legs clashed with the stone white floor under my feet.
Looking intently at the glass of water on the small stand next to the bed; with anticipation, I licked my cracked chapped lips. Confirming the need, the action of my dry tongue scraped against my lips like sandpaper. I unsteadily reached for the glass and immediately gulped down the clear liquid. It wasn’t until I returned the glass to its original position did I notice the orange plastic wristband on my arm. My first thought was a hospital; I must be in a hospital, yet the room resembled no hospital room I’ve ever been in. Straining to focus my eyes I read the information printed on the plastic band.
“Roundtree, Nichelle O.
Mclean Hospital: North Shore Treatment Center
May 4, 2014, Room 2406, Female
Dr. M.C. Kent”
Treatment center, the words rolled around in my head. “Treatment for what,” I mumbled to myself. Motivated with a plethora of questions, I eased myself off the bed; the floor cold like ceramic marble sent shivers up my legs. I realized the white tank top and matching boy shorts were clothing I didn’t recognize. Scanning the room for shoes and finding nothing visible to me; gently I walked over to the dark stained armoire resting against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. There must be a robe or something I imagine as I swung open the wardrobe door. There hung t shirts pants and yes, even a plush white robe. My robe, I thought as my eyes roamed over each of the garments. They were all articles of mine. Even my favorite comfy old fluffy slippers, a gift from my long time love.
“ what the fuck?!” I breathed out, frustrated by my growing confusion.
Forcefully, I ripped my rope off of its hanger and slipped it on. The familiar cotton comforting; eased my temper slightly, however I was determined to find out what the hell was going on . I glided into the slippers and marched toward the door.
“no fear” I whispered to myself, if this was some liquor induced hallucination and after opening this door I fall into a black hole, I will wake up before I hit the bottom; I always do. I turned the knob, opened the door and walked out into the hall.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered. I surveyed the column of doors along either side of the hall; numbered like addresses on the average apartment complexes.
“Where’s the stove?” An old lady standing in the far corner yelled abruptly to no one in particular. She raked her fingers through her silver gray hair and yelled again at the floor this time. “Where’s the stove?” Her dark brown eyes looked hollow and sunken in. She smelled of vomit and piss. The appearance of her startled me more so than the impetuous question.
Her presence heighten my anxiety, making me more frantic and uncomfortable. Instinctively, I shoved my hands in my robe pockets and hugged the plush fabric closer to my body. Further down the hall, other patients walked in and out of their rooms, socializing and conversing. Some in jeans and t-shirts, the casual attitudes and surprisingly calm manner of the people continuously befuddled me. If it wasn’t for the other patients who looked unkempt and were obviously in pain from withdrawal symptoms curled in corners and against the wall frames of their room doors and occasional screams, one might assume this was the hallway of a college dorm.
As my eyes roamed further down the hallway, pass the dark sunken eyes and uncombed hair, I caught sight of an familiar face.
“Lauren…” I yelled my feet launching me into a steady sprint toward the woman.
“Lauren, my God, Lauren” I continued, ignoring the burly men dressed in blue scrubs standing next to her, eyeing me watchfully. She glanced at me briefly, her hazel eyes; similar to eyes that I’ve become so intimately familiar with over the years, were puffy and red. Her jaw tightened and her body stiffened just as she turned away.
The man who obtained her attention stood tall and erect as though he may have once been a high ranking military officer. Behind thin silver frames, his dark brown eyes sparkled. His skin, a rich dark mahogany, clashed with the bleached white of his surroundings, his physician’s coat and his teeth. The overly expensive polo style blue shirt and crisp khaki pants seemed missed placed in the antique surroundings of the community lounge he stood in.
Once I reached them, Lauren refused to look at me. I followed her gaze and looked at the man standing in front of her. His name tag read Dr. M.C. Kent. Great, I thought to myself as I took a moment to control my breathing, just the asshole I wanted to see. They both ignored me, like I was an unseen ghost haunting the conversation they were having. Impatient, I cleared my throat. After receiving no reaction from either one of them, I yelled their names annoyed with the blatant disrespect they both displayed.
“Lauren, what is this place?! Why am I here?” I trapped her arm and she looked at me as if I were diseased. She yanked her arm away and turned her back on me, this woman I considered a second mom, first mom really. She loved me like her own, loved me even knowing my faults, and just the sight of her back, left me in a state of emotional deflation.
Dr. Kent broke the silence, his voice low and calm. “Nichelle, you are in the substance addiction treatment center downtown. There was an accident a few nights ago, Friday night I believe.”
“What accident?! Wait, what? A treatment center…. The last thing I can remember was the party at Club Ele….” Swiveling around on her heels, Lauren interrupted; her voice cracking as though she was choking back tears.
“So your drunk ass can’t even remember what you did!” Her eyes filled with fire as she look straight into my eyes. “What you did to my baby…” Her voice trailed off into a small sob and her eyes once again softened with pain. “My baby,” she cried lightly.
Her words stung. They left me completely puzzled and rapidly blinking my eyes as though this action would some how jump start my memory. My stomach did a nauseated summer salt and as my throat tightened I wrestled with the knot in my throat that refused to unfurl.
“Osia,” my voice weak and small poured out in a panic. “Where is Osia?” My voice suddenly firm, yet fearful. “Lauren, what happen?”
Dr. Kent stepped forward to answer but Lauren pushed him aside. Gone was the sadness from her eyes, replaced by anger, she stood two inches away from my face.
“You happened! Before you my daughter was a good girl. Then you introduced her to all your partying and drinking, now she’s,” Lauren paused as if the act of speaking the words makes things to real for her to handle.
“She’s what?!” I screamed and lunged at her. My hands gripped at her. Heavy panting, my facial expressions were pleading for answers. Before she could push me off of her, the two herculean men in blue grabbed me and flopped me down to the ground.
“Easy fellas, Ms. Roundtree please compose yourself.” Dr. Kent ever so calmly vocalized. The level of his voice seemed to never waver. Something I prophesied would, in the future, become very annoying. Hovering over me as the two men pinned me down with ease Lauren spoke in a matter of fact tone.
“Because of you, Nichelle, Osia is dead.” Her words hung in the air, a pregnant pause. I couldn’t breath suddenly. I couldn’t believe my love was dead. All I remembered was the club. “I don’t believe that. I wont believe that. Osia isn’t dead. She cant be. She’s here right, in one of these rooms? Detoxing. Osia!?” I yelled the panic welling up inside me. “Osia! Baby, were are you?”
Lauren closed her eyes her head fell back and I could see the tears falling down her mocha cheeks. No longer able to fight back my own tears, fervently I begun to fight the muscular men holding me down. Dr. Kent claiming me as hysterical, walked away to retrieve ‘something that will calm me’. Feeling overwhelmingly defeated and alone, I sobbed uncontrollably. Lauren finally looked down at me again, the anger diminished and the pain in her eyes intense.
“Mama Ren,” I sobbed, the name I was allowed to bestow upon Lauren after she embarrassed me and Osia and declared that she welcomed our love. She called me her adopted daughter, a title that meant so much to me as a blossoming young teen who lost her own family. She held up her hand in attempts to halt me as she fought back new tears, her lower lip trembled.
“Nichelle, baby, this is real. Osia is not here. Believe me. She died this morning.” Just as the words left her mouth, Dr. Kent was beside me jamming a needle into me. “No,” I moaned and once again fought the strong men holding me down.
“Ms. Roundtree calm down now, easy. Just relax.”
“Listen to the Doctor Nichelle.” Lauren whispered the first sign of concern for me spreading across her face.
“No,” I whispered as the medication begin to take affect. I started to feel drowsy. My arms and legs heavy as tree trunks once again.
“It can’t…be true. Wake…up,” I breathed out as I started to float into unconsciousness. “I…..always….wake up.”
G.M.Farrow
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