different now. She seems startled by something more than the now familiar horror of having relapsed. I ask her what happened and she tells me that Heather came home with two eight balls Monday night and they used round the clock until Thursday night. On Friday, Heather’s dealer comes by with another eight ball and the two of them dive in. After a few lines, Heather starts to complain of heart pains and lies down on the sofa. Polly is worried but does a few more lines. At some point, Heather passes out and Polly tries, unsuccessfully, to wake her up. She shakes her, splashes water on her face, and shouts her name, but nothing works. She checks for a pulse and feels Heather’s heart beating in her chest so she knows she’s alive. She must have overdosed, Polly realizes, as she does a big line to kill off her rising panic. When that doesn’t work, she does another. There’s almost an entire eight ball sitting on the coffee table, and when she thinks of calling the ambulance, she knows that when someone comes she’ll have to go to the hospital with Heather. And stop using. She keeps doing line after line, thinking she’s about to call 911, but each time the high doesn’t last and soon she needs another line. She keeps thinking she’ll call after one more. After two and a half hours or so of this, the eight ball is not gone, Heather is still unconscious, and Polly freaks out and finally calls 911. The paramedics come, get Heather to the ER, pump her system clean, and she stays the night. Polly leaves Heather at the hospital once the doctor says she’s going to be fine. She goes back to their apartment, finishes the eight ball, drinks vodka, and takes sleeping pills until she passes out. Late that morning, Heather comes home, and soon after that, I call. And here we are, in the dog park. Something has to change, she says, shaking her head. I chose coke over my sister’s life.
Out of the blue, I remember a small rehab called High Watch in Kent, Connecticut, which is an old Twelve Step retreat that has meetings all day and is, I think I remember someone telling me once, cheap. On the park bench in the dog run we call information and get a person on the phone. There’s a bed open on Monday and the daily rate is, with help from Polly’s parents, manageable. She reserves the bed, commits to staying two weeks, and the next phone call is to my mother. Without giving it more than a moment’s thought, I dial her number, and when she picks up I explain the situation. She agrees to meet us at the train station near Kent on Monday morning. When she asks if I’ll spend the night, I lie and say that I have a commitment at a meeting that evening and need to return to the city. Between the phone call on the bench at the dog run and getting on the train Monday morning, Polly calls her parents and tells them what’s been going on. It’s the first they hear that she’s been using drugs, and it’s the first they hear that Heather has, too. They live in California and don’t see their daughters very often. Somehow Polly’s years of unemployment have not sounded alarm bells loud enough to make them think there is a serious problem. She asks them for help in paying the fee at the rehab and they agree. Of course there is a huge blowup with Heather, who denies everything to their parents and tells Polly that once she’s left for rehab she can stay there or move back to California, but she’s not welcome in her apartment anymore. Polly goes anyway.
We meet early Monday morning on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 14th Street, and Polly arrives with a small duffel bag. A friend has agreed to watch Essie, and as we get on the Metro North train to Wassaic, Polly says she hasn’t been out of the city in three years. On the ride up, she tells me terrible but hilarious stories of getting smashed before teaching kindergarten and being completely bewildered when the other teachers at the school don’t want to meet her around the corner for a
Out of the blue, I remember a small rehab called High Watch in Kent, Connecticut, which is an old Twelve Step retreat that has meetings all day and is, I think I remember someone telling me once, cheap. On the park bench in the dog run we call information and get a person on the phone. There’s a bed open on Monday and the daily rate is, with help from Polly’s parents, manageable. She reserves the bed, commits to staying two weeks, and the next phone call is to my mother. Without giving it more than a moment’s thought, I dial her number, and when she picks up I explain the situation. She agrees to meet us at the train station near Kent on Monday morning. When she asks if I’ll spend the night, I lie and say that I have a commitment at a meeting that evening and need to return to the city. Between the phone call on the bench at the dog run and getting on the train Monday morning, Polly calls her parents and tells them what’s been going on. It’s the first they hear that she’s been using drugs, and it’s the first they hear that Heather has, too. They live in California and don’t see their daughters very often. Somehow Polly’s years of unemployment have not sounded alarm bells loud enough to make them think there is a serious problem. She asks them for help in paying the fee at the rehab and they agree. Of course there is a huge blowup with Heather, who denies everything to their parents and tells Polly that once she’s left for rehab she can stay there or move back to California, but she’s not welcome in her apartment anymore. Polly goes anyway.
We meet early Monday morning on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 14th Street, and Polly arrives with a small duffel bag. A friend has agreed to watch Essie, and as we get on the Metro North train to Wassaic, Polly says she hasn’t been out of the city in three years. On the ride up, she tells me terrible but hilarious stories of getting smashed before teaching kindergarten and being completely bewildered when the other teachers at the school don’t want to meet her around the corner for a
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