Ketamine

Late Friday afternoon. I‘m wrapping up my shift, looking forward to my weekly celebration of masturbation, DoorDash, and a movie. As I finish stocking the last of my pallet on the shelves,, I hear my name called. Hurrying down the aisle excitedly is none other than Kevin.

Kevin is my direct supervisor. A tall,, lanky young man with long brown hair and every exposed inch of skin covered in cheap tattoos. Kevin was relatively easy to work for. He was quiet, kept to himself,, and really only talked to me when he had a question that I almost never had the answer to. He approached me on this day in a mood I was convinced he was incapable of experiencing.

“Hey, man!” he said with a smile.

“What’s up, Kevin?”

Kevin looked over his shoulder, then asked me in a slightly quieter voice “have you ever done ketamine?”

“Uh…” I was so taken aback by this version of Kevin and the ridiculous question that the obvious of course not answer didn‘t make its way out.

“Some friends of mine are gonna come over tonight and get fucked up, you should join us.”

Kevin patted me on the shoulder in a friendly manner, a show of affection he’d never once displayed to me, before disappearing quickly into another aisle like the Phantom of the PetSmart.

Before the end of my shift, he had texted me an address, the final stamp on the invitation.

I liked Kevin, and to be honest, anything sounded better than the lack of plans I had grown so accustomed to. Ever since moving here, I yearned for social connection. Sure, I wasn‘t expecting it to come from the wiry high school drop out that hardly spoke, but beggars can‘t be choosers. No harm in giving it a shot, right? It‘s not like I have to do any drugs.

I followed my GPS to the address Kevin sent me. A dingy little house out in the sticks, no lights on inside or out, grass way overgrown. It looked like the house in the final scene of The Blair Witch Project, and my apprehension was growing.

I approached the front door,, and before I could reach to knock,, it came flying open. A large older man with a ponytail and a ripped up tank top stood on the other side, sizing me up before ultimately stepping aside and allowing me in.

Great start.

I follow Jennifer (I‘m certain this is not his real name,, but without knowing any other way to describe him, I‘ll go based off his faded neck tattoo) down a flight of stairs into a moldy, decrepit basement. In a small, dark room decorated with mismatched rugs and a toilet ripped from any plumbing and lying sideways on the floor sat three more men sitting on flimsy plastic lawn chairs huddled around a coffee table covered in paraphernalia. One of those men is Kevin, who after a moment looks up and greets me, this time without any of the excited energy from this afternoon. Instead, all I get is a single head nod gesturing me to come over.

Hesitantly, I walk over to the table of men. However, Jennifer does not join me, staying posted up at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed like some sort of reverse bouncer. I‘m now trapped in the dark with three strangers, and one person who feels a lot less like a friend than he did just a few hours ago.

Kevin‘s two other friends take a break from smoking,, snorting, and sulking to look up at me. I‘m not sure exactly what emotions I was expecting to see across their faces - confusion? Anger? Some sort of primal jealousy passed down from our time as gatherers, protective of their valuable intoxicating resources, unwilling to share with one outside their tight knit pack? Or maybe a similarly primal urge,, more of the prison rape persuasion?

I certainly did not expect amusement.

Both men grew large toothy grins before turning to Kevin and erupting in laughter. Kevin joined in too,, but after checking over my shoulder,, Jennifer was still stone faced.

What‘s so funny? I haven‘t said a single word yet.

Kevin then pointed at the empty plastic chair beside him, saying “Come on, sit down.”

All three men were still giggling like school children as I took my chair, a back leg nearly snapping as I sat. Kevin then reached under the table and fumbled around for a moment while shushing his two cohorts.

“You‘re gonna love this.” he said to me,, pulling out a loose handful of some sort of grey, powdery substance.

This is it. This must be ketamine. I wouldn‘t know,, having never been anywhere near such a drug. Sure, I‘ve tried this and that in my time,, but hard drugs were such a foreign idea to me. The thought of people really taking such destructive substances, chasing a fleeting feeling that doesn‘t feel nearly as good or last nearly as long as the after effects. I‘ve seen lives destroyed with addiction,, and did everything in my power to not follow the same path.

Yet here I was, in some mildewy basement in the woods,, surrounded by four men with not enough teeth to make up one healthy mouth, staring at an overflowing handful of fucking horse tranquilizer.

“Oh, Kev, I don‘t know…”

Before the words are all the way out of my mouth, one of the men across from me (again, apologies for the lack of names. We didn‘t really do introductions. Let’s just say the one with more open wounds) slammed his fist down on the table.

Fuck, I‘m going to have to do these drugs.

Kevin has made five or six neatly cut lines on the table with a razor blade,, then intricately wound a hundred dollar bill into a tight little tube.

He handed me the bill, then gestured at the table. “Give it a go.” he said ominously, as the three all began to laugh again.

At this moment, I was searching for any way out. A small part of me was praying any of them would drop dead from an overdose, giving me just enough distraction to slip out past Jennifer. Unfortunately, nobody suddenly burst into narcosis, and I was left with an expensive nose straw and the most intense peer pressure I‘d ever felt.

“Come on, do it already!” shouted the less wounded one,, who definitely ended that sentence with a slur I won‘t repeat.

I simply had no other choice.

Down went my head. The cash tube met nostril at one end and dirty table at the other. With one large inhale, I cleared the first line.

I came up coughing, gasping for air. My nose stung like never before. I couldn‘t believe what my night had become. Ashamed of what I had done,, too scared for my health to process it.

All three broke out laughing again, the hardest yet. I‘ve never seen anyone laugh harder. They couldn‘t control themselves. Wheezing, clutching their stomachs, the bloodier one literally rolling on the floor.

Kevin mustered up just enough air to shout “How does my dad smell?”

Huh? What was he talking about? Was this some sort of weird ketamine related inside joke I‘m not a part of? Do I even want to be a part of it?

Kevin then reached back under the table,, this time pulling out an urn.

The laughter raged on as Kevin waved the urn in the air like some sort of comedy prop. I stared in confusion before finally connecting the dots.

That filthy grey powder I just snorted wasn‘t a scary hard drug, but rather the cremated remains of Kevin‘s father. These sick fucks got me snort human ashes!

Kevin, the sickest of ‘em all, waving what was left of his father around like the Stanley Cup.

I got up and sprinted out of the room. Jennifer graciously stepped to the side, possibly a sign that he agreed his friends had gone too far. As soon as I reached the front porch, I threw up all over the bushes. A combination of anxiety, disgust, and shock. I just nasally administered a few grams of some guy.

I could still hear them laughing.