They show up once in a while. Ghosts from the past. Appearing out of the mist.
Bringing memories of days spent scavenging the urban landscape. Looking for something to exchange for heroin.
Recollections of 25 years ago when I was running amok. Living only to stay high or drunk.
At the time I felt a bond with some of those I ran with. We were fellow predators, working like a team of lions on the prairie. Sharing the spoils of our hunt.
We searched for things to take and the spoils were the heroin we could buy. We had common goals and interests. We were a team.
Then this week one of them sends a message that he's free. He spent most of a decade in a cage somewhere in another state. He's been free for a few weeks. He wants me to call.
But it feels clumsy - what do we talk about? I've been out of prisons and jails for years. I've been clean for 25 years next month. I don't know what they talk about on the big yard these days. But if it's like when I was there it's about drugs, sex, and how to hustle. Where the best dope was. Who to trust or not trust.
Today all I know is the recovery world. I'm immersed in family and sobriety and therapy and mindfulness. That's my life today.
I probably will call when I return from vacation. But it will be a short conversation if he wants to share war stories. But possibly he'll say he's tired of what he's been doing.
And that could be a place for us to start a conversation.
