Bubbles Always Pop, pg. 6.
Sometime in early September of '94, a long time friend came to stay with SJ and I. Quik would come to visit about once every two years or so usually spending about three days to a week with us in our home until he felt it was time to go back to IL. He often mentioned wishing he could move down permanently, and did so with our blessing in the early fall of the year this time with a twenty foot travel trailer in tow.
Having shared a pipe with Ed on rare occasions and being well aware Quik shared the same vice, I was somewhat apprehensive about the two meeting one another especially since the seizure laws were becoming more and more hostile. Quik's vice was quite a bit broader in respect to what he would partake of so I made it known from the beginning there was to be no contraband moving on and off the property.
I should have known Ed and Quik would make a connection sooner or later given their own preference for the wild-wood weed, and knowing both of them had done a tour in Viet Nam. In late October, Quik had to make a sudden trip back to IL because his mother was in the hospital and dying, leaving his trailer behind. It wasn't until a week later that I learned to what extent the two had familiarized themselves with one another.
Ed called and wanted to speak to Quik. I then told him of the situation regarding Quik. Ed then told me he had made a purchase on Quik's behalf. He had scored an eighth for him, using his own money with the expectation of being paid upon delivery. Damnit, now I felt like I was in the middle of something I never wanted to be involved with. I told Ed to come on over, and I would hold the finger for Quik until he returned.
But Quik didn't return. During the time he was in IL, he managed to become involved in a major auto accident and was in the hospital himself. When it became apparent Quik wasn't going to be returning any time soon, I realized I was faced with being in posession of a substance that time had weaned me away from. I didn't want to sell it because I didn't want to take a chance of being known to be associated with it, nor did I want to take the chance of being busted trying to do so. But I couldn't bring myself to part with it either. So I just ended up keeping it, partaking of it on rare occasions.
The job Ed had taken after leaving the motel came to an end when the season of '94 ended. He filed and managed to draw unemployment. During one of the infrequent times I would see and speak to Ed, he told me he was going to try to go back to the job he had quit earlier in the year. I don't remember if the property had changed hands, or there had been some new management put into place, but Ed felt like the situation he had left some months before might be more conducive to his desires regarding the position. It was my opinion, though, his financial situation was really starting to get the best of him, and he needed more of an income in terms he was willing to accept.
1995
One day in early spring of '95, I called Ed late on a Saturday morning. "Piney Point," he said upon picking up the receiver. Ed had chosen to give his home and location a name as if somehow giving it some significants. I had felt the need to get out of the house and just go somewhere. The day was warm and beautiful with the different shades of young green in the foliage of the trees breaking out in abundance. It had been awhile since I had seen Ed and even longer since I had been out to his place. He told me to come on out, having made several improvements to his conditions and wanting to show them off. I was happy to receive his invitation for a visit, having wanted to visit with him in person before making the call. Even though Ed was still unemployed, he hadn't yet broken the habit of awaking during the daylight hours because of the job he had held in the prior season. Besides, the days were warming making working outside more hospitable. |
