Chanda kissed the nape of Go’s neck. Her cinnamon skin contrasted with his manila colored frame. They both lay naked, him with his hands folded under his head, eyes closed. She kept kissing him. He finally rolled over and kissed her breast. He sighed.

“We gotta get dressed,” he mentioned.

“Another opening, another dollar,” she announced. They showered together and put on clothes. The Ogun almost burst out and called their names. As they piled in, they both possessed a feeling of solemnity. The high performance vehicle drove them into town, without much fanfare. That was until they rolled onto the lot.

Air dancers, streamers, and a ribbon and huge scissors all awaited their entry. This was the tenth location in Smartystan which featured drug abuse programs, counseling centers, recreation halls, all wrapped up in one. Even though Chanda 

 heroin, she had it under control. Vestin Go had punted the sting of the habit and now became poised to beat his record of forty-nine days sober.

Applause erupted around them. Vestin stood at a microphone. He cleared his throat.

“A few months back, I’d never thought I’d be standing here. I was a junky and couldn’t leave the heroin alone. Now, though, I’m glad to say that drugs are completely legal and decriminalized in Smartystan. That means that some adults will not be able to handle narcotics. That’s okay. That’s why this building was erected.” He turned slightly with a hand in the air. Applause and whoops cracked the morning air.

“So let’s officially cut the ribbon on this place and open it up for business,” Go declared. Synths and reporters snapped photographs. Go’s beaming smile felt infectious and a tear ran down Chanda’s face. She beamed. A few shouts exited her vocal cords. She wiped the tear away. Go and Chanda entered the building without trepidation. There appeared to be electricity sparking the atmosphere. The sparkling tile floors and the cushy chairs and the vending machines all seemed to gleam.

The couple stopped and addressed a concern. Someone had followed them into the facility.

“I don’t know…it’s just me but I don’t think you should be running any of these facilities….” Bolton Robson interjected. He served as one of the board members. He had a high forehead but a square jaw and squinty brown eyes and a mop top.

“That’s fine, you can leave comments, questions and suggestions in the digital sphere.”

“No, I’m serious. Your girlfriend still rides the H train. How do you square that with your sobriety?” Robson asked, his arms folded across his chest.

 sobriety, not Chanda’s,” Go intoned.

“Okay, so how can anyone take you seriously given the fact your own significant other will be with you, like she is now, at events and gatherings. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Go chuckled. “Not at all. And it shouldn’t bother you, either.” 

Two guards sought to take Robson away. “No, let him speak. This is a safe space.”

“A safe space? You’ve got a known druggy as a girlfriend. What is supposed to come of that? Is she going to go to the meetings? Will she have a stash of the boy on her?”

“I certainly appreciate all that you’ve done for this place, Mr. Robson. I know you were instrumental in making sure the lights got turned on this place. What I do find confounding is the idea of you disparaging my girlfriend. I will tolerate such insolence. I want to certify that you are a man of your word and will not disrupt the balance achieved by all these men and women who built this facility. Please do me that favor,” Go expounded.

Robson looked askance. He then looked up and down Go and sneered at Chanda.

“I just don’t think it’s right,” Robson managed to mention. “All of us are sick. This place is supposed to be a refuge, a sanctuary for lost souls.”

Chanda stepped forward. “I can explain myself. Yes, I’m on the stuff. So what? Smartystan has made a way for adults to volitionally trade dollars for drugs on the open market. Some people have difficulty balancing life and substances. What happens? They usually come from faith-based backgrounds. So they’re called wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked.”

“What does this have to do––” Robson interjected.

“Wait a minute. I’m speaking. You had your chance and you blew it. I’m talking only about facts. Now, they use whatever substance and they get a high. They get a high so intense in explosive that they have to another one, and another one until they’re hooked. Then they resort to trying to find money to fix their jones. The scavenge and scrape and may not even commit any crimes but just work longer hours or ask for a raise. Next, they go back to the dealer and he or she says, ‘I’ve got nothing for you. Get some help.’ And they sulk away in pain and anguish. They seek out places like this for aid. They get it. Some might say they found Jesus and become faith counselors making millions of dollars a year while reflecting on their sordid past. Then then cling closer to whatever faith they ‘abandoned’ and reverted back to it. But that’s not my story. Nor is it Vestin’s. He needed the assistance and received it without engaging in any kind of mystical ideals.”

“I still think your presence here hinders, hampers, and harms those who are still struggling with addiction,” Robson remarked.

“I’m here as an example. I’m here to show that there is a reality in regard to not taking jobs and taking them. I’m the patient care facilitator. I don’t have the disease, but I do support those who are afflicted.”

The door swung open with a few dozen people waiting to get in the building. Their smiles turned to straight faces. Go closed the door with a hand up and a smile of his own.

Robson continued his statements. “You think you can come in here and just destroy everything these people worked for in their lives? What makes you so high and mighty? Oh, because you can take your doses and be complete with that, is that it?”

Chanda sighed. “I’m my own individual person. I go through struggles, too. The difference is I don’t dwell on them like you’re doing.”

Robson looked around the fresh paint, the halls clear of dust and debris, the classrooms and dayrooms and the open space in the middle of the rehab center enlivened him with more venom.

“You’re not even married. You two could break up and it wouldn’t even be a problem for both of you but the board would be in tatters,” Robson mentioned.

Go spoke up this time. “That’s why we’ve instituted a set of trustees to take over in case something like that would happen. The way we’re going that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Robson paced like a scared pup locked in a cage. He reached for his waist to look at a phone call. He dismissed it.

“Alright, this is two on one and I can make it clear that you both are not even close to understanding the truth about physical appearance.”

“You both are obviously of Asian descent, one from the far east the other somewhere to the west. It’s in your bones that you have power. It’s not the drugs. That’s my whole philosophy. It’s the outward appearance that will save these people from the clutches of drug abuse.”

Chanda’s right eyebrow lifted. ‘So you’re saying that physique outweighs mental performance and morality?”

“I’m saying just that,” he retorted.

“Well, that’s pure irony,” Go blurted out. “You wish to fix the physiopsychological status of people but you think their outward appearance is key? The brain is what is the currency in this city-state-nation. We go by intelligence and good character. Those are the only things that matter in a person. For you to say that skin and bones and hair constitute what makes someone worthy of being a human, that’s just bogus. How did you get this job here? Did I hire you?”

The board appointed me to bring some level of order to this circus you call rehabilitation centers. They outnumber liquor stores now. There’s virtually one on every corner.” His gaze narrowed on Go. “You think that you being a trillionaire means that you can just snap up land and convert it to rehabs. That might sound all warm and fuzzy, but your aim is to just add up more coins for your bank. You don’t care about these people. You want a dollar.”

“How did you get into Smartystan, because that’s not what this place is about nor what I endeavor to do,” Go propounded. “I only want to reap money I’ve earned off of success stories. Every private rehab center including the one in which we stand is for weaning people off of the substances they couldn’t control on their own. If I make money off of that, I’m a wealthy man in the physical and spiritual aspects.”

Robson stood still. He looked up at both of them.

“I don’t like your game. You’re supposed to have confidence. That’s what drugs gave me. They gave me the ability to go up to someone and know what you’re doing while you’re high.”

Chanda shook her head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. If you want to do drugs, fine. If you want to rid your body of narcotics, that’s your business as well. But you can’t eat your dessert before you order it at a restaurant can you? That’s what you’re saying. You don’t get bolder from using drugs, you get it from self-esteem. Some people can’t handle the idea that they get courage from powder, or the end of a needle, or smoke, just to name a few methods.”

Robson looked at both Go and Chanda. It was a mix of bewilderment, disdain, and encouragement. The bewilderment came with their ideas that clashed with his own; the disdain arose because of the lack of regard he held for the couple; somehow, he felt impelled by their words.

“The way to see through with this idea is to look at mine,” Robson breathed. “They’re clamboring to get inside here. We’ve got to come to some conclusion,” he gasped.

“It’s clear,” Chanda added. “You remain on the board and facilitate for these people who can’t leave certain substances alone. You become an ambassador for the lives of those who just need a nudge to get right back on track.”

Go walked around the rooms smelling the fresh paint which resembled plastic with a floral expression. The door to the facility clanged at the banging which sounded an orangutan pounding on it with its mighty fists.

“They’re not letting up,” Go called. “I’m opening the doors.”

The blast of humanity almost seemed overwhelming. Their  feet pounded on the floors and the faces passed by like portraits in a gallery. The distinctive hum brought them all together in this cathedral of wellness and care. Robson reached out his hand as if he had not held a whole conversation with Go and Chanda. He reached into his well of ideas and pulled out the ones relating to help and sustainment.

One of the nurse’s assistants in the rehabilitation center recognized one of the congregants in the crowd. He said, “Hey!” and gave him a hug. He didn’t ask anything clinical or about prescribed drugs or anything else. He simply asked, “Are you handling your business?” And that was all the man needed to hear. He had a medium build with medium brown skin and a cap on his head. Chanda and Go both smiled at the embrace of the counselor and the patient. They both knew there had been a time where none of this would have been probable. Now, it seemed, anything could be possible with just a bit of pluck and smart work.

Chintan Jani

Smartystan

Sobriety

Chanda kissed the nape of Go’s neck. Her cinnamon skin contrasted with his manila colored frame. They both lay naked, him with his hands folded under his head, eyes closed. She kept kissing him. He finally rolled over and kissed her breast. He sighed.



Smartystan

Sobriety

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Skyler Saunders

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Businesswoman Chapter 347

Smartystan

Sobriety

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Businesswoman Chapter 347

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