II.

I moved to Ypsilanti, Michigan, at twenty-four years of age and thought I had lept before. I had lived in Kalamazoo for a year while attempting to attend Western and moved into a trailer on my own in Big Rapids. Yes, a two-hour drive to my parent's house down to a 10-minute bike ride, but independence was maintained, nonetheless. So I thought. I had paid only $250 a month for rent and had only juggled the cost of one or two utilities. I had never tried to manage a forty-hour work week to afford rising rent costs or the monopolized prices of energy and internet while managing a full course load in college. Up to that point, I had only done one or the other at any given time. I moved to Ypsi and learned I was slightly behind on the curve. With only a few hundred dollars in my bank account, it didn’t take long for the eviction notices to start piling up. The final call to court prompted the mass sale of my personal belongings. Clothing, games, pills and weed, services, and a keyboard my parents paid six hundred dollars for. That money should have gone towards their mortgage, but they believed in the off-chance that I would learn how to play.

It had been eleven days since I had eaten anything besides an egg or a spoonful of peanut butter. I was scrambling two eggs a day, one for me and one for my cats, splitting the food into thirds to eat at meals. There was a chicken breast in the fridge that I cooked and saved for their dinners. I didn’t eat the chicken; I only had the peanut butter when I started feeling weak or when it sounded like my stomach was digesting itself. Down to my last egg and a quarter jar of peanut butter, I skipped breakfast and started a laborious walk to class. I sat next to our campus pond to rest, staring at the water, waiting for a disorienting wave of hunger to pass. A young woman walked by me but doubled back for a passing thought, “I accidentally bought the wrong nuts. Do you want them?” I hesitated, afraid of looking too eager. She must have sensed this and followed her question with, “I was just going to throw them out.” The thought, “is it safe to take food from strangers?” left my mind as quickly as it came. I nodded and took the food, thanking her profusely. She smiled and walked away while I examined my prize more carefully. An almost full bag of fire-roasted peanuts. Not my favorite, but I made them last a week, carefully eating only a nut or two at a time.

I considered my options for paying the rent with the reason of an untreated bipolar. On a particularly spirited night, I thought I could quickly sell drugs and myself, with no regard for safety or health. Assuming there wasn’t much of a market for slightly overweight and gender-queer homosexuals, I decided the former would be my primary source of income. I later learned there is a market for everything, but by that time, I had already established a profit margin with dealing. I had sold drugs before, when I got into a car accident and couldn’t work for a year, but never in a town where I had real competition. For the first time, my life was consumed by drugs. I spent my days in class and my nights at home doing homework and hosting customers. I would have chosen the more covert delivery option if it hadn’t been for all the deadlines at school. After several more months and final notices, homework came second to the hustle. Business became more frequent, but I still allowed strangers into my home to partake in and purchase drugs. All of this might have remained manageable if I hadn’t sampled everything I was selling. Eventually, every sale meant a use.