Last Hack

Hack: a term used in Baltimore City, Maryland to describe giving a ride to a person, who is standing on the side of the street. The person will point their index finger in the air to indicate that they want a ride. Once the person enters the driver’s car, the two will quickly negotiate a price. It is illegal, but many people do it.

It was another night driving around in the passenger side of my own vehicle. My husband was the driver and he was desperately looking for a hack. Its two thirty in the morning.

I used to think to myself who would get into a stranger’s car or who would let a stranger into their car that time of night. After a few months of doing this foolishness, I now know the answer is a drug addict. Like my husband or in my case, the ultimate enabler of a drug addict.

As we drove up and down North Avenue, he was hoping to see someone looking for a hack. “Babe, we need to go in now. You should be fine until tomorrow morning” I said to him in my calmest voice.

“I just need six more dollars and we can go in” he replied to me, while slowing creeping the car up the street.

“You just got a twenty-dollar hack and spent eighteen dollars on smack and put two dollars in the tank. The gas light is on. It’s time to go in.” I yell back at him.

He ignored me and kept searching for one more hack to buy one more pill. I could have said more to try to make him see this was dumb, but I knew he was not going to stop until he has made his chaotic quota for the night.

I reclined my chair back and contemplated how did we get here.

When I first realized that he was using hard drugs, I was in a state of denial for a few months. Not my husband. He’s so smart and strong. I tried to convince myself that his odd behavior was anything but drugs. I made myself believe his stories about why he was out all times of night or why our money was quickly being depleted from our bank account.

When we had to move to my mother’s basement, I accepted that he was addicted to heroin, but no one else knew. I thought I was doing a good job of covering for him. In one year, he was in five different rehab centers. Each time he only stayed three to four days.

He would tell me he was detoxed, and he could do the rest one his own. That never worked. Yet, I kept trying and making accuses for him because I loved him. Surely, I could save him.

I was wrong.

All I was doing was enabling him and I was fooling myself to think our family did not know he was an addict. He was a two hundred ten-pound man, now he was a one hundred forty-pound shell of a person. His once handsome full face has turn into something like a zombie skull.

I shook my head to bring myself back into my present reality. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my own car. My husband was pulling up to a person, who also a drug addict. The smelly man got into my car, and they started to negotiate a price. They settled on five dollars to put into the gas tank and the man would buy my husband a pill when we got to the drug strip.

How in the hell did this become my life? He was not allowed to drive my car alone, because he would not come home for two days or more sometimes. When he was home, he was so dope sick that I would feel bad for him. Hacking all day for drug money started about two months prior.

One day he suggested we get a hack or two, so I wouldn’t have to use any of my money on his drugs, and I said ok.

My love was blind, so it made sense to me at the time.

All we did was hack and buy drugs for him. I began to live like I was a drug addict and I had never used any drugs. But my life became entangled with has habit.

He would leave me in the car in the most undesirable places in our city as he got high or looked for the right type of drug. I can’t tell you why I would wait for him to get back to car or why I let this go on for so long. Love?

As he and the hack, the man in the back of my car, spoke about where they could find the best dope. I finally snapped.

“I want to go home now” I screamed at my husband. Then I turned to the smelly man and yelled “We’ll take where you want, but this is my car and I want eight dollars, cause I need gas now”.

My husband looked at me like I was in the wrong. He did not say anything. I seen him look at the man through rear mirror and motion has eyes, as if to say don’t listen her.

“Ok baby, you’re right. I’ll just get the money and put it into the gas tank” he said to me in a sweet tone.

We finally pulled up to dark street. The man handed my husband some money and then he got out the car.

“I’m just going to jump out real quick, I’ll only be a two minutes” my husband said as he proceeded to get out the car.

“Give me the money. We need gas” I yelled at him.

“I’ll be right back” he said to me and then he shut the car door.

I became furious. Although this same situation has happened before, this time it finally sunk into my mind. Drugs will always supersede any and everything for him. I had never left him out on the streets, no matter how long it took him to get back to the car. I’ve waited up to an hour for him.

I crawled over to the driver side of my car. I started the engine and for a moment I felt guilty then I looked up at the traffic signal and seen the green light. The universe was telling me to go, so I did.

That was my last hack.