I have a friend, I’ll call Grace. She’s a very beautiful young lady. She has a free spirit and a charm that draws you towards her. Our brief, eight hour interaction, left an impression on me. She made a mistake and is now hooked on heroin. I don’t know any thing about it. I only know what I’m told by others. She is so far into it she doesn’t want help. She knows all the vacant homes in the bad part of town. She sleeps and eats in them, among other things. This beautiful human being could be the most awesome wife, friend and mother. Heroin has no boundaries. I feel honored just to have met her.
The last time i saw her was at the end of last winter. It was still cold out, in the 30’s. I saw a frail girl standing under the Central Avenue bridge. I glanced over and knew it was Grace. She looked tired and cold wearing only a light hoodie. I often wonder about her. Today (6 months later), out of no where, I get the feeling Grace died. At the end of the day I was helping my friend I met Grace through. All the sudden she says: “I found Grace, she came home with us. She took a shower and…”
She’s safe for now.