Getting Higher

Chapter 1He woke slowly, grudgingly, dragging himself up from a deep, deep sleep. That was how he always woke up; he had to pry himself awake, crawling one inch at a time from a black, dreamless pit. His eyes fluttered feebly, trying to open. His whole body fluttered, shivered, resisting the urge to move or shift in any way. His head throbbed, banging and rushing whenever he moved it. "Oh God," he moaned. "Oh God, oh God, oh God..." He began to toss back and forth, thrashing his numbed body around in an attempt to get it moving again. "Ohhhhh..." Again, he moaned, the sound gurgling up from his parched throat. He threw his head to one side, and felt something cold and wet touch his cheek. For a moment, he continued to squirm aimlessly about, rolling and writhing in a semi-conscious stupor. Then, he smelled something. It was rancid, rotten... near his face...no, on his face... All at once, he shot awake, realization and horror exploding in his groggy mind. He leaped up from the floor where he had been sleeping, then fell back against the wall, rubbing his face furiously. "Oh s**t!" he yelled, his features twisted in disgust. He looked at one of his hands; it was covered with vomit. "Ohhhhh, I fell asleep in it!" He groaned, only this time it was from revulsion, not sleepiness. "Shiiiiit!" he hissed, stumbling toward the bathroom, holding his slimy hands out before him like a surgeon. He glanced in the mirror: flaming bloodshot eyes, mangled, shoulder—length hair, a beard and mustache smeared with vomit. Grimacing, he turned away from the awful image, then turned the water on and bent down to wash his face. As he splashed it over his nose and cheeks and eyes, the cold stuff helped him to come around. After a minute or two, most of the goop had come off his face and hands and out of his beard, so Joe turned off the faucet and dried himself with a towel that was lying on the floor. He felt a little better, a little more aware of what he was doing and where he was. It comforted him to realize that he was in his own room, not somebody else's; for once, he didn't have to walk the whole way across town with a hangover to get home. For a minute, he stood in the bathroom and yawned. Then, he felt queasy again, and turned to the toilet and retched. His whole body shook as he expelled himself into the john; every time a new wave of nausea rushed through him, he jerked and contracted and felt as if his stomach was coming out next. When he felt he was through, he put the toilet seat down and sat on it, folding his arms and shaking. He felt worse than he'd ever felt before, sicker and lower and more puke filthy miserable. It seemed to always get worse, every time he got hung over it seemed to hurt even more than the time before. This morning, it hurt so bad that he started to cry. He was huddled on the toilet seat, sobbing and shivering, when somebody knocked on the door to his room. For a while, he just ignored it, hoping that whomever it was would give up and go away; after five minutes of steady pounding, however, he decided to see who was there. Somehow, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered out of the bathroom. As he crossed his tiny apartment, he held his skull with both hands, trying to stop it from spinning. The pounding on the door was making his headache even worse. "Yeah, I'm comin'," he mumbled, reaching for the doorknob. "Keep your pants on..." He opened the door and saw it was the landlady, Mrs. Rufus. It took all the strength he had left not to slam the door in her face. "Well, it's about time! Do you think I've got all day? For God's sake, it's one o'clock in the afternoon! Don't tell me you're still asleep?!?" Joe hated the way Rufus spoke, always raising her voice at the end of every sentence, as if everything she said was crucially, fanatically important. He wished she would die. "Yeah, I'm still asleep. That's why I'm standin' here talkin' to you. Wadda' you want?" Mrs. Rufus was miffed. "Well, for your information, your rent is due today! I've given you puh—lenty of time to get the money, and you damn well better have it! I've gone out on a limb for you this time!" "I—I thought you weren't collecting till next Friday. I'll have it next Friday." Mrs. Rufus fumed. Her eyes slitted and her brows crawled together in a single dark line. Even the curlers in her stringy gray hair seemed to vibrate. "You'll have it when?!? Mr. Jones, I told you distinctly that I would be by today, no if's, and's or but's! I've already given you two extra weeks, out of the goodness of mine and Mr. Rufus's hearts!" "Call me Joe, all right? You said Friday, I know you did, next Friday..." "Don't give me that crap, mister! None of your excuses! You either give me my money now or get out of my building!" Mrs. Rufus crossed her arms and stood firmly in Joe's doorway. She was taking her stand, getting tough, like some old, fat chicken protecting her eggs. Her shapeless dress hung at a proud angle from her shoulders. Joe was starting to feel sick again. "f**k you," he mumbled, and slammed the door in Mrs. Rufus's face. He locked the door and headed for the bathroom. "Leave me alone, you bitch." Somehow, he made it to the bathroom sink before puking again. He stood over the basin, retching and gagging and groaning, while Mrs. Rufus banged on the door. "Let me in, buster! Nobody calls me that and gets away with it!" She pounded and pounded on the door, shouting at Joe and making threats. Then, she abruptly stopped. "All right, you've got five seconds to let me in! Then I'm doin' it One...two...three…" Joe kept throwing up in his sink, his whole body wracked with pain. He could not have opened the door even if he'd wanted to, which he didn't. "...four...five!" Joe heard a key turning in the lock. He'd forgotten Mrs. Rufus had a pass key, and in his haste to puke, he hadn't put the chain lock across the door. "Oh...damn...," he hacked, trying to stop the convulsions that were shaking him. The doorknob turned and Mrs. Rufus stormed in, hurling the door furiously against the wall. "I'll show you who's a b***h!" she screamed, wagging her hideous face and baring her false teeth. Joe stopped retching long enough to catch a glimpse of his landlady as she stomped toward the bathroom. He noticed something he hadn't seen before--a baseball bat, rammed in the old woman's hammy hands like an axe. Then, he was blinded with pain as the bat came down hard on his arm. Joe yelped, dodging the woman's second swing and trying to keep from throwing up again. Somehow, he managed to dart around Mrs. Rufus and run out the bathroom door. She kept swinging, putting all her formidable weight into each blow, shattering a lamp, a small table, a flower pot. "Call me a b***h, will you?!? Get out of here, you faggot, before I kill you!" Mrs. Rufus swung the bat again, nailing Joe in the side; she was fast, and he was sick and slow, so it wasn't too hard for her to connect. "Owwwwwwww!!" Joe reeled backward, grabbing at the spot where the bat had hit. Pressing the attack, Rufus whalloped him again, this time across the knees. There was a loud crack, and Joe toppled to the floor. The pain in his side got worse, and he began to vomit again. Mrs. Rufus had the look of a crazed rabid animal. She stood above Joe and brandished the bat as if she was ready to kill him. She smiled in triumph as her victim puked feebly on the floor. "You pig," she snarled, "you ugly, hairy pig! I guess I showed you, didn't I? Get out of here, before I kill you!! I will, too! Crawl out of this building like a pig and never come back!" Joe stopped retching. He held his stomach and gritted his teeth and looked up at Mrs. Rufus. "You...you whore...you fuckin' whore..." "1 said 'get out' you pig. Take your booze and your drugs and your filth and get out!" Joe paused for a moment, hunched on his hands and knees on the floor. Sweat was beading his beard and he was panting for breath. Slowly, he gathered his strength, never taking his eyes off Mrs. Rufus and the bat. Then, suddenly, he sprang up and pounced on the meaty old woman. He caught her off-balance and hurled her to the floor, then dashed out the open door into the hall. While Mrs. Rufus screamed and clucked and swore, Joe Jones ran away, out into the rain-slicked street.