A Piece of Cake: A Memoir by Cupcake Brown

Author:Cupcake Brown [Brown, Cupcake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307345479
Google: 5yttrH9g4-4C
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2005-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

36

AROUND THIS TIME, I discovered ready rock. Ready rock is best described as “freebasin’ to go.” Prior to ready rock, a buyer had to take the powdered coke home and cook it up before it could be smoked. But “ready rock” was just that: cocaine rocks that were ready to smoke. Someone had come up with the ingeniously wonderful idea to do the cooking before selling. So all a buyer now had to do was take it home and smoke it. No more cooking kits, no more waiting. Instant high. It was later called “crack.” Why, I don’t know; and personally, I didn’t care. All I cared about was that it was wonderfully fast—and cheap. I could get a rock for as lil as ten dollars, whereas with powder, the smallest quantity I could get cost twenty-five dollars.

I instantly fell in love with ready rock. Soon, it was all I was doing. I began missing more work because I couldn’t pull myself away from it. In one month, I missed fifteen days. Jack sat me down and, for the first time, seriously threatened to fire me if my attendance didn’t improve. I was also spending more money on my new dope preference. I stopped buying food, paying rent, or doing anything else. All I was doing was smoking crack.

One day, Tommy was fussing about how we didn’t have one dime saved for our upcoming wedding. He was upset that, although we both had jobs, we didn’t have anything to show for it. It was during this conversation that I got a moment of clarity. It occurred to me that maybe the crack smoking might be getting a little out of hand.

I couldn’t have a drug problem, could I? I asked myself. I decided there was one way to find out. I’d quit—for a while. I figured that if I could stop smoking crack, say, for a year, I couldn’t have a problem, because people with a drug problem can’t stop.

“Let’s not smoke for a year,” I said suddenly.

Tommy stopped fussing in midsentence, totally surprised at my outburst. He studied my face to see if I was serious (I’d sworn off dope and booze several times before—usually when I was doubled over with stomach pains caused by lack of food, or while hugging the toilet and praying for the room to stop spinning). I stared back just as hard to show him I was. Realizing I really meant it, he didn’t think about it for long. For months he’d been complaining about the way I smoked dope. Still, he wasn’t quite convinced. But, after a few more assurances, oaths, and promises that I really did mean it this time, he readily agreed. That day, we stopped smoking crack—just like that. Now mind you, I didn’t say anything about powder cocaine, angel dust, acid, pills, weed, booze, meth, and heroin—all of which I regularly used. I really believed that if I could stop and start crack at will, I couldn’t have a problem with anything.

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