Yesterday Part Two

by Leila Dayne

You can read Part One of this story here if you missed it, as this post may not make as much sense without the back story.

No point in stalling, let’s dive back in…

From that day on DC and I were inseparable.

We spent all day together and all night on the phone if we were apart. It was a regular thing for me to sneak out and head over to his house, I’d climb in his window and we’d sit up all night talking about life and music, smoking and drinking cheap alcohol. We had our fights but since life is pretty easy in high school, they were never substantial and never lasted long. (There was no money, religion, finances or family planning to stress over.) We mellowed out some the longer we were together and had established a great flow by the time the summer before senior year rolled around.

Things began to change that summer; For our whole group.

We had all already been partying for a while by then, but this summer, it escalated. We partied harder and longer. We partied as if it was our jobs or we would die if we didn’t. It used to be we’d smoke the occasional joint here and there but by that summer it became “normal” to constantly be high. Smoking more in one day than we used to in a week span. (Please note: I am not condoning drug use, just simply painting an accurate portrait of my past.) Other drugs began appearing around us. Loads of coke, Valium, adderall, ecstasy, xanax, etc. We were young and invincible. We were wealthy, sheltered kids from the suburbs. In our eyes we were untouchable!

I remember going on a family vacation that summer and receiving the first of many phone calls I’d soon be getting. “Hey! So-and-So has been arrested, we need you to wire us some bail money. We’ve got [this] much scrounged together, can you send like $200?!?” This was a call we’d all continue to make and receive for the next couple of years.

DC and I both managed to stay out of trouble for the most part. I’d occasionally get grounded by my parents as he would his but there were never any incidents more major than that.

But we were both spiraling downhill…and fast. Sure, life was still great and wonderful, or at least it always seemed that way. Life always does when you’re constantly fucked up on whatever substance you can get your hands on. I’m not sure which one of us was leading, pulling the other down with us. It was like we were holding hands, riding a slip n’ slide to our inevitable undoing. Because as anyone knows. this is not a path you can sustain for long without any lasting effects.

It was a typical friday night during that fall of our senior year. There was a home football game and I was cheerleading and performing for dance team. I went to DC’s after school to hang out and get ready before I had to be back at school for the game. We smoked a blunt, I got dressed and packed my bag for the night, then we popped some pills and had a couple of drinks. (Looking back now I can’t imagine how we didn’t die or overdose on all of the things we did. We were so dumb about everything we did because of always feeling invincible.) I kissed him goodbye and headed to the school, I knew he’d be there later with the rest of our crew. I remember seeing him there for the beginning of the game but he was nowhere to be found after I performed at half time, which was unusual. He was always waiting on the sidelines for me. I finished up, and was feeling great. Still coasting on my high from earlier and the adrenaline of a successful performance. I was heading back to the restroom to change back into my cheerleading outfit, as I was the only one in school who was pulling double duty and was on both squads. (THANK GOD for this, because it actually took up quite a bit of my time which kept me from being more fucked up than I already was.) As I was heading back to the sidelines a few of the “crew” came sprinting at me, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me hurriedly towards the exit gate. All talking and panting at the same time, I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. But kept insisting I had to get back and cheer. Finally, they stopped and our friend Rabbit spoke up. “DC’s been arrested!! They busted him right before halftime!! They found drugs on him and paraphernalia and booze in his car!! We have to go get him!!” My mind was swimming…FUCK…we were always so careful.

Damnit!! This was fucked up. I ran and told my cheer coach I had an emergency and had to leave early, before she could answer and tell me no, I grabbed my bags and sprinted to my friend’s car. Piling my stuff in while frantically dialing DC’s mom on my phone. His parent’s weren’t as strict as mine but even they were going to be pissed about this.

Truthfully, most of that night was a blur as we tried to resolve the situation. I remember staggering home in exhaustion and peeling my sweat drenched uniform off. (Partially from the game, mostly from the stress and worry.) I threw on sweats,packed up my bag and headed out the door.

I headed to my friend’s house, who lived in the same cul-de-sac as DC. I knew he wouldn’t be getting out the rest of the night after the fiasco that had gone down. I knew his parents were furious and even though they adored me I knew they wouldn’t be happy to see me showing up on their doorstep. So I waited until the coast was clear and snuck over. We got really stoned and laid there for hours as he sobbed to me about what had happened. How he had ruined his whole life, how he had let down his parents, let me down, and how he would never be able to pursue his dream of being a lawyer now because of this. We cried for hours, but I kept reassuring him that it would all work out okay. I was there no matter what. We snuck onto the roof and watched the sunrise through our puffy eyes; the light illuminating the tracks of the tears on our faces. For how fucked up everything was, it was a truly beautiful moment.

We were just two naive kids. In love with love.

Looking back I can see that what happened that night was DC’s undoing. It was the thread that was snipped in an already strained cloth that inevitably led to the entire thing unraveling. But hindsight is always 20/20.

DC had always told me he loved me. From the very beginning of our time together. Our whole “crew” constantly told each other this, because we considered ourselves a family. I don’t know how real love can be at that age or under those circumstances but in my heart I truly believed, at that time, that we were in love. On the roof that morning he looked at me and told me this often heard phrase, but I could tell it was different. I could FEEL it. His haunted, sorrow filled eyes sparkled when he said. I knew we would be okay and everything would work out. Or at least that’s what I led myself to believe.

The weekend went by and things went back to normal, for the most part. DC was more cautious in hiding his habits and addiction, but at the same time he was getting more and more fucked up. Even worse than we had before. I remember vaguely acknowledging this but shrugging it off as his way of just escaping all of the stress of the situation. We constantly delude ourselves into not seeing the things right in front of our faces…and with the added buffer of disillusion from drugs and alcohol it wasn’t hard to brush it off. His behavior towards me hadn’t changed, if anything he was being more loving and affectionate than ever. Dependent would be a good word. We clung to each other in our addictions like a life raft adrift in the sea.

We were spending more time alone away from our “crew”, which was abnormal. But we both liked our music and our solitude. As soon as we got out of school (if we even went that day) we’d hop in his car and drive “the route” (all of the back roads in the rural area we lived in), smoking and listening to music. This would take up most of the day. Then we’d hit a park and just listen to music or talk. I loved our friends, but this was special to me. Plus we had gotten pretty heavily into our drug habits, more so than most of our friends really knew, so this was our way of bonding while also hiding it from them. Misery really does love company. On the outside we were both the bubbly, outgoing loudmouths but on the inside we were two sad kids who found solace in each other and our addictions.

It was when I would return home on these days that I would be overcome with severe panic attacks. I would lay in bed and pop as many xanax as it took to pass out…some times taking very close to lethal amounts as my tolerance had become so high. I knew we were headed down a dangerous road and I wasn’t sure how we were ever going to come back from it. But in true addict form, I would just numb myself through the episode and onto my next high.

Looks like this is going to take another part for me to get through. Thanks for the patience.

All My Love,