TAZ'S MANIA
"Take a leap of faith," she said. "let me stay on your couch, just for one night, I'm Schizophrenic and I've been chucked out of my house and my mother won't help me," she said. She looked wretched, like she'd spent the last week desperately trying to avoid anything and everything which might have cleaned her or helped her and now she'd hit the bottom. What do you do? I mean what can you do? We let her sit on our stoop, drink our tea (complain about how it was Earl Grey and she didn't like Earl Grey... how's that for gratitude) and thrash about claiming to be unable to control her body. You couldn't help but feel sorry for her yet at the same time you couldn't possibly invite her in and give her a bed for the night, but isn't that what the good samaritan did and therefore what we're supposed to do. He got lucky.
She came around at about 11pm and while Mother and I placated her and tried to find out just how many drugs were coursing through her veins Father called the ambulance, then sat on the stairs semi-naked and complained loudly about how long it was all taking. "For Christ's sake," he moaned, which upset Taz (for we had discerned her name by this point) no end. The ambulance man arrived but could do very little as she was not actually injured, his arrival was heralded by the cat shitting on the driveway and producing the most god-awful smell. The ambulance man went to speak to Taz, "have you taken any drugs? because you look like you have."
"not for a while," mumbled Taz.
"not for a while? have you taken any today Taz?" pushed the ambulance man, looking more bored than worried.
"not for a while I haven't," mumbled Taz again, twirling her hair and looking sheepish.
"when was the last time you took drugs?" he said, sensing a breakthrough.
"this morning."
Unbelievable, she's off her tits on amphetamines, clamouring to get into the house for the night before doing god knows what to us all in our sleep and then running off with half our stuff in her crack dealer's van. Whats more, the policemen, when they finally arrive, inform us that if we had let her in they would have been able to do nothing at all to help us. As it stood she was a public nuisance and so they helped her to the pavement so as to get her away from us and hopefully gave her a lift to her mother's house (whose fault this all was according to Taz). But why do i still feel guilty that we didn't do more to help? I still feel that we let her down, that we grassed her up, that we are the bad-guys in all this and she was just a desperate, innocent drug-addict who wanted help.
"Take a leap of faith," she said. "let me stay on your couch, just for one night, I'm Schizophrenic and I've been chucked out of my house and my mother won't help me," she said. She looked wretched, like she'd spent the last week desperately trying to avoid anything and everything which might have cleaned her or helped her and now she'd hit the bottom. What do you do? I mean what can you do? We let her sit on our stoop, drink our tea (complain about how it was Earl Grey and she didn't like Earl Grey... how's that for gratitude) and thrash about claiming to be unable to control her body. You couldn't help but feel sorry for her yet at the same time you couldn't possibly invite her in and give her a bed for the night, but isn't that what the good samaritan did and therefore what we're supposed to do. He got lucky.
She came around at about 11pm and while Mother and I placated her and tried to find out just how many drugs were coursing through her veins Father called the ambulance, then sat on the stairs semi-naked and complained loudly about how long it was all taking. "For Christ's sake," he moaned, which upset Taz (for we had discerned her name by this point) no end. The ambulance man arrived but could do very little as she was not actually injured, his arrival was heralded by the cat shitting on the driveway and producing the most god-awful smell. The ambulance man went to speak to Taz, "have you taken any drugs? because you look like you have."
"not for a while," mumbled Taz.
"not for a while? have you taken any today Taz?" pushed the ambulance man, looking more bored than worried.
"not for a while I haven't," mumbled Taz again, twirling her hair and looking sheepish.
"when was the last time you took drugs?" he said, sensing a breakthrough.
"this morning."
Unbelievable, she's off her tits on amphetamines, clamouring to get into the house for the night before doing god knows what to us all in our sleep and then running off with half our stuff in her crack dealer's van. Whats more, the policemen, when they finally arrive, inform us that if we had let her in they would have been able to do nothing at all to help us. As it stood she was a public nuisance and so they helped her to the pavement so as to get her away from us and hopefully gave her a lift to her mother's house (whose fault this all was according to Taz). But why do i still feel guilty that we didn't do more to help? I still feel that we let her down, that we grassed her up, that we are the bad-guys in all this and she was just a desperate, innocent drug-addict who wanted help.
posted by Hot Sweats at 6:20 AM
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