I guess this is why people don't get involved anymore.

So, I sort of had a run-in with a junkie last night.

The whole story is kind of sad and disturbing.

It is this guy that lives in my building. Even before I moved in, I knew of him, through mutual friends. They warned me, “He’s goofy” but they explained that he was in recovery and that between the prescriptions he needed to maintain sobriety (isn’t that an oxymoron?) and the damage he did to himself, he was permanently off-center.

But the more I saw him around, the more convinced I became he wasn’t goofy. He hadn’t stopped using.

My involvement started with his girlfriend asking to use my phone—he wasn’t home yet and she was locked out of their apartment. She is a nice enough girl, though I fear just a little naïve.

She couldn’t seem to get a hold of him and the longer this went on, the more of their story I heard. It finally ended when 3 police cars escorted him home.

I walked with his girlfriend out to meet him and the police (for fear that she may get herself locked out again). Also in the crowd was a man who identified himself as the building owner’s son (which is not surprising—I’m really not sure how many sons this guy has but I know I haven’t met them all). The conversation was swirling around me and as I wasn’t part of it, I heard only a few choice words: “happening again”, “heroin”, “get him some help”, and “eviction” are the ones that stick out in my mind.

Once I saw that the two were reunited and we all headed back into the building, I returned to my apartment. Only to hear crazy sounds of yelling and banging. I quickly realized that not only did she not have keys, but that in his state of highness, he had no idea where his set was either.

Then finally, there was peace.

You would think that would be the end of the story. But of course, it isn’t. A buddy called. He and another friend of mine were in the neighborhood. I had borrowed a DVD from him. If he pulled up and the other guy ran to the door, could I bring it down? Sure, why not. Except, on my way down, I came upon the neighbor, unconscious on the stairs.

What to do, what to do.

So, like any rational human being (or so I hope) I used the other stairs to meet the friend. Where I find that the security door had been propped. The friend is there and wondering what is going on—he noticed the open door and said the building’s back courtyard had been trashed. I ask if either he or our buddy still out in the car could stick around awhile. He obliges and I tell him to follow me as I dial 911.

I lock us safely back in my apartment as I make my report to the dispatcher. I make the report partially anonymous—first name only. And I take a return call from the dispatcher, to give further instructions for the police on how to enter the building.

My last direct involvement occurred as I stood next to my front door, listening for the officers to enter the building. I heard one radio for an ambulance to my building’s address, citing an unconscious male, possibly over-dosed.

And while that may be my last direct involvement in the situation, don’t think for a minute the whole ordeal hasn’t haunted me. Trust me, there is still a lot of worry and concern occurring. Even a nightmare last night. Hope tonight is easier.