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| "I tolled you drugs iz the ruination of this nation!" |
“Hey, Gramps, ‘gratulate
me,” my gud fur nuthin’gransun
sez to me who I aint sean in a munth of mondaze.
“Gratulate you? Wat fur?” I sez.”
“I’m a client,” he sez.
“Yur a wat?” I sez.
“A client,” he sez, like sumbuddy impotent.
“Wat’s a client?” I sez.
“Sumbuddy who gits sum respeck,” he sez.
“You meen you aint a drug addick enymore?”
“I’m not sayin that,” he sez, “but I dun
turned over a new leef.”
“A knew leef? You aint
started ‘nuther marywanna plantasion haf you?” I
sez. He surved six munths in the hoosegow fur growin’ weed in one of the hollers hearabouts fore
the revenooers swooped in like a flock
of crows and burnt the hole crop and hawled him away in hancufs.
“Nuthin’ like that,” he sez. “I’m a residint in a hafway
howse at the Counsling Senter.”
“The wat?”
“The Counsling Senter hafway howse,” he sez.
“Wat’s that?”
I sez.
“Thats wear the clients
live,” he sez.
“The clients?”
“That’s rite,” he sez.
“Acrost the rivur?” I sez.
“That’s rite,” he sez. “They take care of ev’rythin’ crosst the river. Grub, cloase, medsin . . .”
“Medsin?” I sez spitious cuz I think medsins bin the ruination
of this country.
“Yes medsin,” he sez.
"Yore gramma Daisy Mae wuz fine till sum docktor bak in the nineteen-sixtees
give hur a medcin called Vallyum fur hur
ressless leg sindrome and she wuz
addickted fur the rest of hur life, God rest hur soul.
“The medsin’s free,” he sez.
“It aint Vallyum, is it?” I sez.
“No,” he sez.
“Watz it called I sez,” seein’ heez hidin’ sumpin’.
Not lookin’ me in the eye, he sez, “Suboxycotton.”
“Aint that wat you waz busted fur sellin’ last summer?” I sez.
“No, that waz full strenth Oxycotton,” he sez. “This is wartered
down Oxycotton.”
“Wartered down? Why’re
they givin’ you watered down addicktin’ drugs?”
I sez.
“You don’t think anybuddy can quit cold turkey, do you?” he
sez.
“Your unkle Zeke qwit moonshine cold turkey plenty of times,” I sez. “I never seed anywon who cud
qwit easier than Zeke.”
“Sure, Gramps, but drugs iz diffurint.”
“Diffurint! I donut no
wat this kuntrys cummin’ to. Moonshine was gud enuf fur yore father and it waz
gud enuff fur my father, and we maid it
our selfs, and yore granma pitched in, stompin' grapes restless leg and all. We didn’t wate
for govinmnet handowts in some hafass howse.”
“Hafway, Gramps,” he sez.
“Watever,” I sez.
“Life aint that simple anymore, Gramps.”
“Yore sure rite it aint,” I tells him. “And just wat
govinment ajensee iz payin’ for all this?”
“The Department of Health and Human Services,” he says proud
as a peecock, as tho he had a skulorship to Shawnee State.”
“Then how cum yore not at the hafway house now?” I sez. “Iz
this yore semister brake?” I sez sarkastick.
“Coarse not,” he sez.
“Then why’re you hear?”
“Cuz the FBI raided the hafway house.”
“Wat in tarnasion for?” I sez.
“They ‘cused the owner of cookin’ the books makin’ funny muney on
Medicare and ‘rested him.”
“You meen won govinment ajency supplies the halfass howse with drugs and muney and anuther govinment
ajency raids the hafway howse for breakin’ the law?”
“I gess that’s pritty much it,” he sez.
“I hope you aint hear looking for a handout?”
“No, I aint,” he sez. “I just wanted to show you I ‘mounted
to somethin’.”
“’Mounted to a client you meen?” I sez.
“That’s rite,” he sez.
“Then wat you goin’ to
do? Go back to cookin’ meth?”
“No, there’s plenty of Counsling Senters and Ive
been ‘cepted in another one.”
“So the Deportment of Hell and Hellish Servises, or whatever
itz called, pays the bills till the Justiss Deportment or some other govinment
ajency raids the hafass howse and 'rests the owner?”
“I gess that’s how it works,” he sez, like a client who duzn’t
care who pays the bills as long as it aint him.
“Well, I’m glad you aint no client of mine,” I sez as he gows
off and I waves to him and he waves bak and I sez to myself, “Wat’s this country
comin’ too anyway?”
