Recovery Center

Pedialyte and power bars passed around like packs of silver. The patients sat, laid down, and stood.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Carson?” Licensed Social Worker Della Novak asked.

“No, I’m cool. I just want to stand here.” He was still decked out in immaculate gear that complimented his light skin.

“Alright. We’re going to get started,” Della said.

“Fiona, you started last time. Do you want to begin again?”

“Sure. I’m Fiona. You don’t have to say hi. I’ve been used to this for the past few months. I’ll pick it up where I left off. I was in my condo and two heavies shoved guns in my face. I could make out the voice of one of them. He was a runner for me. I grabbed for my forty five but they knocked it out of my hands, out of reach. The next thing I know, I’m in the back of a vehicle going at least eighty on the highway.” She sipped some Pedialyte. “I then am thrown forward and roll over as the van tumbles over. I was knocked unconscious. I woke up in the hospital with a concussion and a few lacerations. My hand was cuffed to the bed and a cop stood at the door. Next thing I knew, I was in this place. My home away…you know the rest.”

“Thank you for sharing,'' Della mentioned.

“Is there anyone else?”

“How much do you make, Fiona?”

“Tyreek, we don’t speak about our earnings here. Remember this is a safe space for recounting real stories of the game, not the flossing and money-getting.”

“How much?” Tyreek disregarded Della.

“You can go in the quiet room, Tyreek,” Della doubled down.

“No it’s okay, Della. I made thirty-seven million dollars last year. It’s good to be Queenpin.”

Tyreek sucked his teeth. “I could make that in a day.”

“Would like to share how you found this center, Tyreek?” Della asked.

“Sure. I brought all of my teammates to the summit with daily sales of forty-two million a day. I got knocked and they threw me in prison. After two days they came to me with this option to liquidate my earnings from the game and have them cleaned if I go through this program.”

“Thank you for sharing—”

“I’m not finished,” Tyreek interjected.

“Oh. Okay, go ahead,” Della nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I had to turn over all my routes to Delaware along I-95 and the airfield in New Castle. They allowed me to stay with one company that was making $500,000 a week. I took losses but I’m glad I’m not in the clink or dead. My recovery is already in hand. I’ve been paying attention to the classes here. I’m ready to go into the business of legalized drugs.”

The room applauded Tyreek’s words. He looked around and got up for some more Pedialyte. He walked past Fiona and winked. She rolled her eyes.

“That’s two. Are there any more stories in here? Again, all of this stays here. We are all trying to get to the place of being whole again,” Della reminded.

“I actually have something to say,” Carlos Simba said.

“I was actually a boss for ten years. I’ve seen associates and partners get gunned down. I lived on, though. There was a definite desperation in the eyes of everyone who remained. They looked at me like I was supposed to bring them back to life. I started having panic attacks. Garbage bags of cash didn’t mean anything. I started getting used to just being in panic mode the whole time.