Mono was a drug dealer. I used to buy heroin from him for my girlfriend back in the late 90’s. I used to call him “the good-hearted drug dealer” because every time I visited him he would ask me to stay, have some lunch, or watch TV. He was lonely. He was divorced. After years of heartache I think he resigned himself to living on that boat, with his dope and his money. Once in a while I would see a girl there, never liked her, or trusted her, she seemed to be using him. She was a heroin addict too.
After a few years passed, me and my girlfriend broke up and one day I got a call, “Mono’s dead” she told me. “What?” I asked. “Mono’s dead” she said. She told me the cops picked him up and put him away. Due to his extreme addiction and dependency on heroin, the time in jail was too hard. He could not handle the withdrawals. His heart stopped beating and that was it. I pictured him there in that jail cell, probably scared to death like a caught animal, completely lost in life and probably within himself. Those last moments must have been dreadful.
I always had hope for Mono. Thought he would finally get out of it, get cleaned up. He talked about it continually as most drug addicts do. Those glimpses of humanity that he showed towards me still stay with me to this day. The offering of lunch. The “Mike, feel free to stop by anytime just to talk.” Those simple things that came from this hardened criminal. It was odd. Like seeing light shine out of a man hole. It is funny that I still think about him to this day. There is no truth at the end of this story. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just a picture of a man.
Mono, I remember you.