Free Baby Huey: A Cautionary Tale of Addiction by James Henderson

silencing Keith. “Out! I want him out right now!” She then pushed her way through the people staring at her and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
    Somebody said, “The hell was that about?”
    “What happened?” I asked the cowboy.
    He smiled, revealing two gold teeth. “You tell me.”
    Vida got into it. “You deaf? She told you to get the hell out. What you waiting on?”
    He tipped his hat, turned and walked out.
    I asked Vida what happened and she said, “You need to take that up with your wife.” Then she told everyone the party was over. “If you haven’t fucking noticed!”
    What little food and drink was left disappeared as people filed out.
    “Leave one for me,” I told a woman fishing around in the cooler.
    “This the last one,” she said, retrieving a Bud Light and putting it into her purse.
    Dokes came over and said, “Fifty, he’s into drugs. I’ve never seen Doreen that upset. You should’ve kicked his ass.”
    Noticing Vida knocking on the bedroom door, I said, “That crossed my mind, but I don’t know what happened.”
    After Vida and Dokes left I went to check on Doreen. She was lying in bed, clothes and shoes on, a pillow over her head.
    “Is he gone?” she said.
    “Yes, everybody’s gone. What happened?” The doorbell rang.
    Sure that someone had left something, I opened the door without asking who is it. The Cowboy stood there, hat in hand.
    “Cat, I wanna apologize to you,” he said. “Wasn’t my intention to crash the party, for that I apologize. Didn’t mean you any disrespect.”
    “What you say to my wife?”
    “Nothing. The second I come through the door she went off. Tell you what,” he said, feeling for something inside his hat. “Here’s something, not much, but something to express my sincere apology,” and extended a closed fist.
    Slightly intoxicated, I thought he was handing me a coin, a dime or something. He dropped it in my hand, put his hat on.
    “Whatever,” I said, and shut the door, locked it and put the chain on.
    Crossing the living room I opened my hand. A pebble, dull-yellow colored. What the hell? Crack? A crack rock? It had to be, though I’d never seen crack before. That asshole, upset my wife, crash the party, and had the nerve to come back and give me damn crack.
    The plastic trash can in the kitchen was overflowing with paper cups and plates. Out the door was another option, the best option, but I chose to flick the rock off my thumb and watched it ping off the ceiling and fall into the space where the loveseat was cattycornered against the wall. A perfect shot.
    I got into bed and Doreen said, “Who was that?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    An hour or so later I awoke needing to piss, went to the bathroom and found the door locked, heard Doreen crying. “Doreen?” Heard water running.
    She came out, brushed past me without saying a word.
    Damn, I thought as I struggled to aim inside the bowl, she sure has a thing against drug dealers.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
    Chapter 8

    No matter what I tried I simply couldn’t fall asleep. Daydreaming, counting sheep, perusing a magazine, none of it worked. Doreen lay next to me snoring softly.
    Saturday she surprised me with new slacks, dress shirts, silk socks, underwear, ties, and two sport coats. Sunday she treated Lewis and me to dinner at Red Lobsters and didn’t flinch when paying the eighty-three-dollar bill.
    And just a few hours ago she hopped on the package and bucked and bounced till I couldn’t hold back any longer. Incredible.
    In two hours I’d start my new job as a vault teller. In an office setting. With a gaggle of white folks. With their corny jokes. Superficial smiles. False flattery. Can I handle all that? Doreen raised her head and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table.
    “I better get up,” she mumbled, and lay back down.
    Watching her I knew I had to handle whatever they threw at me. And just maintaining an