Narconon- Rehab Series- Part 7
There are students all over the place. There are six tables with benches and a sitting area down in front of a community television. Two students are playing ping pong and many are already outside smoking around the pool. I have been met with several friendly faces and welcoming’s. There is no way I am going to remember everyone’s names the first go round!
After I eat and visit with a few students, I make my way down to the couch. The show, Ridiculousness, is on. It feels so good to see a television again. Furthermore, this show is hilarious and it feels wonderful to laugh. There are several videos of people getting hurt, doing stunts on skateboards and other toys. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop laughing.
As I sit on the couch, I am approached by several different male students. It feels as though I am a dog in heat and they are all here, sniffing me out. Each one takes turns sitting beside me and introducing themselves.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” a female voice snickers behind me. I don’t have to hear another word from her, to know that she is straight out of New York. I’d guess Brooklyn with that accent.
I turn my head to view three girls sitting at a table behind the couches. The one who made that comment is named Jo. She has hair that rests above her ass. It is blackish-brown with some darker blond streaks through it. She has a hoop, nose piercing and is very tall. I think she is mixed, but I am not sure with what. Her skin is a nice olive color.
Jo, fakes a smile in my direction. Through small talk, I learn that the other two girls are named, Christina and Victoria. Victoria is from Brooklyn. She has long blond hair and a body that stirs awkward feelings, even in me. All I can say is, damn. She must be a model.
Christina is from New Jersey. She has shoulder length, brown hair with bangs. She is thin and has the most sincere smile, of the three staring back at me.
“Oh boy,” I think to myself. “These bitches might be catty.” I turn back towards the TV.
Another guy plants himself on the couch beside me. Holy shit, this guy is sexy. What is going on with me? Why are all the guys cute and why am I such a hornball (horny)? Would I think he was sexy, if I wasn’t here? Oh yes. He is. Dark, short hair. Tan skin and tattoos.
“Hi, I’m Jordan,” he says in a distinct Boston accent.
“Yes, you are,” I respond.
Wait? Oh my gawd. I am a complete nerd. Did I really just say that?
“I’m sorry, my name is Liz,” I reply.
Like so many students before him, he asks the rehab standard issued questions, Where are you from and what was your DOC (drug of choice)?
With the exception of one alcoholic, so far, everyone appears to share an affinity for heroin. I’d estimate 95% of the student population, are opiate addicts. I excuse myself for a cigarette break.
My eyes scan the faces of the students, searching for the three familiar faces of the students I met my first night at Huntington. One by one, I locate them and approach them for a reunited hello. Cody, the former marine, is the most welcoming and receptive of my need to feel like I know someone here already.
He graciously, shows me around the center and explains how the mail works, mustering in the morning, chores and the classroom setting.
“It is fucking crazy here,” he chuckles. “I am in sauna now though, and it’s a nice change of pace.”
“Wait until you have to run the drill, Do birds fly,” he attempts to explain. I don’t really comprehend what he is saying, but I am sure I will soon enough.
“Oh, and good luck with your roommates,” he warns. “They are the IC’s (in charge). That means they delegate the chores. You will be in the kitchen for your first two weeks, I am willing to bet” he elaborates. “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait to put in for a transfer to a new room.”
“Also, they are lesbians and have the center’s attention,” he laughs. “They are completely inseparable,” he continues. (I will heed this warning at least ten more times from ten other sources by the end of the night).
“I don’t have a problem with lesbians,” I say. He laughs in response.
“The key to surviving here, is to realize that this is not your traditional rehab, stay positive, keep a smile on your face and lastly, don’t drink the Kool-aid,” he warns through laughter.
Don’t drink the Kool-aid? I am too tired to ask what the hell that is supposed to mean, but all I can think of is that Jim Jones cult and how they carried out a mass suicide.
What the hell does that have to do with Narconon? It is time for roll call and the final class.
“Thank you for showing me around and giving me the low down,” I say. I make my way back to my room to unpack and relax a little.
Both of my roommates are in the room. They are sitting on the same bed, very closely to each other. I guess they are lesbians, I hope I don’t walk in on them doing the deed. Maybe I’ll mention a towel on the door warning, after I get to know them a little better.
They jump up to race to roll call, but are kind enough to inform me the top bunk is mine and designate my dresser. Their names are Coco and Chanel. I couldn’t make this shit up.
Coco is slender with very, long, dark brown hair. Her eyes are sparkling blue, but all I am really noticing is that this girl is packing a booty. I am envious of the junk in her trunk (her ass). She is from Florida and after only two sentences, I am picking up on a little ghetto in her attitude. I love it. I can tell right away, we are going to be friends.
Chanel, is from New Jersey. She is voluptuous. She is taller, so she’s not fat, but she is thicker. It’s a good thick. She too, has a remarkable booty. I hate the flat, Korean ass I am stuck with, in this moment. She has long, blond hair and an all natural look, while Coco has makeup and thick eyelashes. They both introduce themselves and tell me that they will spend more time with me, after class.
“Okay, that sounds great. Thank you,” I say.
The last class is two hours long. They won’t be out until 9:00 p.m. Slowly, I begin to unpack my things. There isn’t a flat screen TV or a mini-fridge full of soda in my room. There isn’t a TV at all, for that matter. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I am irritated that the Narconon dude lied about those amenities, but it feels good to be around people again. Plus it beats living in my car!
After I have unpacked my belongings, I head to the place I ate dinner. It’s referred to as, the lodge. There are a few students who are not in class. They are sauna students. Apparently, the sauna program is divided into two shifts. These students did the morning (AM) shift, so they are free to hang out for the remainder of the evening.
There is a table full of guys playing cards, Cody is there and I make my way over to them. They are playing Spades. I am unfamiliar with the game; however, they explain it is similar to hearts, a game I have played many times. They are willing to deal me in and teach me after this game.
“We are playing teams,” the smallest of the guys begins to explain. “You can be on my team next. For now, sit by me and watch and I’ll explain it to you,” he invites.
“Oh, how rude of me, I am Brian and this is Big Donny,” he says, while pointing at the large guy in the group.
“That’s right, Boo Bear, I’m big Donny, but you can call me Papa Bear,” he says.
The group laughs, as Donny moves his hips back and forth, while slapping his hand in a spanking motion in front of him. His tongue is also hanging out of his mouth like Michael Jordan.
It’s obscene, but I can’t help but laugh.
“Man, Donny shut the fuck up. Chill bro, damn,” Brian instructs.
Brian pats the bench next to him, suggesting that I take a seat.
Another kid has his iPod plugged into a speaker. Eminem is blasting and many of the guys at the table are puffing away on vapors.
“See, with spades you want to bid on the number of tricks you and your partner are going to take,” Brian begins to explain. He has a little ghetto in his tone, as well. He is from New Jersey.
I am listening, but I am more of a hands on learner. Once I have the cards in my hand, it will make more sense to me.
Brian is short with blonde hair. He is extremely fit and like Coco, has sparkling blue eyes. I don’t know it now, but he will end up being one of my closest friends within the program.
Big Donny, or Bolts, as the table calls him, is a bigger guy. He is tall with brown hair and wears a permanent silly ass grin on his face. He is hilariously inappropriate and he, too, will end up becoming a great friend.
“Little Brian, stop oozing over the new girl and help me place our bid,” a guy with a tie dye shirt and Rastafarian hat blurts out.
His name is Noah. He is tall, skinny and despite being a white boy, is packing a pretty rad fro (his hair is an Afro). Noah has one of the most adorably, infectious laughs I have ever heard, once he gets going.
Donny’s partner is named Hunter. He is a shorter, white guy with blond hair. He has spit every single word of every Eminem song that has played this entire time. In fact, the other guys in the circle call him Em (short for Eminem). It pisses him off. On top of that, Hunter is from Michigan (Eminem is from Detroit), so it only further infuriates him.
“Do you guys have any Tech N9ne?” I ask, hoping to hear my favorite song, Demons.
“Man, fuck Tech N9ne. His shit is wack,” Bolts claims.
“Naw man, this girl is gangster, I could get down with her, fuck,” Brian retaliates.
I smile inside. I like Brian. I haven’t even been here a day and already, he’s got my back. The guy with the iPod has been unusually quiet through this encounter.
He is tall, young and has olive skin and black hair. His name is Damon, but everyone calls him Juice. Apparently he got that nickname because he has been caught making hooch. His DOC is opiates, but he laughs and claims,
“Fuck it, I can’t make dope up in this bitch, so I’ll ferment some fruit and make that Jungle Juice.”
The entire table, myself included, erupts into a fit of hysterics and laughter.
“You’re a fool,” Brian professes, through his own laughter.
“This mother fucker should be called Free Willy,” Bolts elaborates, “Cause all he does is try to escape.”
Everyone is laughing uncontrollably, and sharing stories of Juice and his attempts to run down the mountain.
“Damn, so you really made fucking hooch?” I ask. “Does anyone ever get dope into the center?”
Our conversation is interrupted with a throat clear followed by,
“No drug talk.” It’s John Tiger, the ethics guy.
“Yes, sir, mister ethics officer, sir,” Bolts says, in a sarcastic tone, while informally saluting him, as though he were a military sergeant.
They argue back and forth about respect and Bolts watching his tone, before John Tiger takes his place on the wall. The wall is to the left of a small set of stairs that leads down to the couch area and ping pong table. The ethics officers, post up there. That way they can hear everything going on at the tables behind them and watch everyone down on the couches.
Male and female students are to sit three feet apart and are not allowed to engage in a 2D flow. I have no idea what a 2D flow is at this point, but basically, if you are always paired up with the same person of the opposite sex, they will separate you.
Bolts flips John Tiger off, once his back is turned to us and resumes his spanking the air and tongue hanging out demonstration, aimed in my direction.
Before I know it, we are being instructed to go to bed for lights out. Class has been out for two hours and there are several more students being shuffled out of the lodge with me.
“Lets go, come on lets go. Bolts, don’t make me write you a chit. Get on your stoops,” John Tiger instructs.
I have no idea what a chit is, but I am guessing it is like the demerits I received all through junior high school. I sense, they are disciplinary and not a good thing.
The stoops, are little cement blocks, similar to a patio, in front of our rooms. At night, before bed, we are allowed to smoke our final cigarettes on our stoops before calling it a night.
“Yo, Boo Bear, let us know what your roommates are doing in there,” Bolts says, as he puts his fingers in a V shape around his lips and flicks his tongue up and down quickly, in my direction.
“Bolts! Get in your room! Now!” John Tiger demands in a screaming tone.
I hesitate to open the door. After all, I don’t want to interrupt their lesbian love affair. Both of my roommates are already in bed. Their own beds. Thank God. The lights are off and I fumble around in the dark, to get up on the top bunk. It is hotter than shit in my room.
The heat vent is directly above my bed and is blasting on me. It is unbearable. I get down and attempt to turn down the heat; however, I am not familiar with the setting and it is not working. I climb back into bed, stirring Chanel beneath me.
Fuck. I don’t want to wake them up. I have my music back, thank God. I plug my ear buds in and listen to my Twilight instrumentals.
This is torturous. I am in withdrawal still. I can feel the restlessness creeping throughout my legs. I have been awake long enough, that I have listened to my entire CD and started it over, before the disc-man suddenly shuts off. Great! The batteries are dead and I have no idea where my back up batteries are right now. I can’t risk waking up my roomies, rummaging through drawers.
I am wide awake. I am restless. My body is on fire and I can feel the sweat, pooling at the crack of my ass. It is disgusting and intolerable. This is too much! The heat is so hot, that I contemplate stripping naked. But, I can’t strip and have my two lesbian roommates discover me naked on the very first night I am sharing their room! This is going to be a very, very, long night….