winterhole2.dwt

Something in the Way

an excerpt by - Preston Peet

Chapter 16- Winter Hole

a place to get high on the downlow

In the wee hours of the morning, Thomas is crouched at the bottom of some stairs to the sub-level of a brownstone on Tenth St. next door to the library across the street from Tompkins Square park. The 24-hour coke store is just around the corner, and the closest out-of-view spot to get off is here.

It’s snowing lightly. This makes it difficult for Thomas to do his thing outside. He is almost literally freezing to death. Trying to get high outside in this cold can make it nearly impossible to get any veins to stand up enough to hit. Something with the way the cold slows down his cardiovascular system. He’s not really sure. All he knows for certain is he’s cold, wet, and crouched down in a snowy puddle at the bottom of these steps, trying to hit without being seen by anyone walking on the sidewalk above. He finally manages to hit his vein.

There is a gay club up the street, the Crow Bar, which closes about this time, four-thirty or so in the morning. As he sits back on his heels with his back to the wall, feeling the drugs rush and flow through his body, he hears a voice speaking from above.

"Hey, pardon me, excuse me. Do you have a light?" Tilting back his head more, he looks straight up into the face of a beautiful black man, stunning in his finely chiseled, statuesque features, make-up, and wig. When Thomas gets high, it’s often he who is asking for a light, or the time, either to start up conversation for a scam, or because he's gotten paranoid about someone and is trying to find out who they are and what they want by asking some innocuous, innocent question. He hopes the drag queen is simply drunk or stoned, and friendly, and didn’t see him shooting up. If he didn’t, Thomas has a chance to sell him on one scam or other.

"Sure, hold on." Thomas spends the next couple minutes trying to get his boot on, then climb to the sidewalk without scaring the guy off with bizarre behavior. He needn’t have worried because when he gets to the top of the step, the guy was waiting patiently on the steps out of the snow in the entryway next door, holding a cigarette in his hand, and swaying slightly as he hums a drunken tune.

steps above the downlow

"Hey honey, you alright? You having a little trouble there?" The drag queen has glitter all over his head and clothes, and is wearing ultra-high platforms Thomas imagines must make walking through the snow and ice rather difficult. Thomas digs out his lighter. Inhaling hard on the cigarette as it lights, eerie shadows flicker on the mans face. For a second Thomas is genuinely nervous. Then he realizes it’s just the drugs.

"Krylon."

Thomas looks back at the guy, almost afraid to answer. Is that some kind of code?

"Excuse me, what did you say?"

"My name. It’s Krylon. What’s yours?"

Thomas hesitates, checking this guy out. What the hell does he want? Thomas is naturally suspicious of other people, and doesn’t let many in through his guard. But then, those he does let in are often those he meets in just such circumstances, during those times when everyone’s balance is slightly off, in the oddest hours and places.

He's been living the life of an untrustworthy junkie ready to make a buck off anyone for so long, it’s first nature to automatically seek the money first and give no one a chance to know him. Now he’s tired, stoned, and lonely. He makes a decision, and sits down to chat instead of going for the gold.

Thomas sits talking with Krylon for a good hour, talking about anything and everything. Krylon is very gay, and it shows in every motion and word. And he is the perfect gentleman. Thomas is more used to strange men trying to take advantage of his being strung-out, making sexual advances for cash. It’s a pleasant change to be able to just and converse with someone not out for booty. Neither of them want anything but to talk, so they do, on and on. Finally Krylon makes a comment about the cold, asking where goes Thomas go to get out of it, genuinely interested and concerned.

"I’ve been in your shoes, and know how awful it can be. Listen, do you have anywhere to go to get inside?"

"Uh-Oh," Thomas initially thinks, but that quickly passes when Krylon continues.

"I stay with friends, and can’t therefore offer any help that way, but I hate to think of you being out here in this freezing cold and snow. A friend put me up in this building a couple of winters ago. It’s probably still pretty easy to get into. At Second Street and Ave. A, No. 20, there’s a staircase behind the elevator that continues up another flight past the top floor. There’s a good landing where you can sleep and stay warm. If you’re quiet, you could probably use it for a while. My friend doesn’t live there anymore, but you could still use the building, right?"

"Sure, thanks a lot Krylon, that’s really thoughtful of you. Thanks." They continue talking a little while longer, then Thomas gets up to leave. "Thanks again Krylon. It’s been a pleasure to talk. Hope to see you again. Peace."

This is his first full Winter in the city itself, and it is incredibly cold. He stays where he can, and when he does sleep, which is rare, it’s been wherever he can, usually during the daytime. In the McDonalds on Broadway by NYU is a frequent place. He’s in one of his separation periods from his girlfiend, and therefore doesn’t even entertain the notion of crashing at her place. Not that it’s ever much of an option. She’s nuts, psycho, and he doesn't want to risk losing any body parts by sleeping around her. So Krylon’s suggestion is a good one, and a help. Thomas doesn’t go check out the building for another couple of days, but eventually he gets too cold and has to see what’s up.

the entrance to the hole

Dan, one of his few real street friends, has shown Thomas how to utilize his needle-exchange card, or any other stiff-edged card as a kind of key, sliding it between the doorframe and door to slip open the inner bolt on a surprising number of buildings. The first night he arrives at Krylon’s suggested building, it takes Thomas a minute or two to get the front door open. When it does it’s more an accidental rather than successful door jimmying. He doesn’t stop to wonder how he succeeded getting it open, he simply picks up his bag and moves inside as fast as he can. Walking straight into the elevator, he takes it to the top floor, the sixth. Exiting, he walks around behind it, and sure enough, there’s a staircase there continuing up another flight, making a turn out of sight into the darkness above. He ascends to the landing. It’s perfect.

Once he’s to the top, he can see down just fine, but from below it was hard to make out any detail where he is now, which is perfect for his purposes. He has room to stretch out somewhat at the top of the stairs, then there are three more steps leading to the rooftop. While there isn't a hell of a lot of room, it’s much more comfortable than trying to be outside all night. After he finishes his drugs, he passes out, and sleeps till dawn.

The next night Thomas isn’t nearly as nervous about going to the "hole" as he’s already thinking of it, his warm safe burrow, his sanctuary. He stops at the deli on the corner of Ave. A, and Second Street to buy milk and cereal, and a cup of coffee. Waiting to pay for his groceries, he notices the young woman in front of him, also picking up a few assorted sundries. For some reason, he knows she is going to the same building he is. He has no idea why he’s suddenly so sure of this, but because he is, and because he’s been worrying about getting in through the door with his not-so-stiff exchange card, he asks her as she finishes paying for her stuff if she does actually live there.

She turns and looks up into his face. She obviously doesn’t know him and says as much with her expression. But she does, with a bit of hesitation, answer.

"Yes, I do. How did you know that?"

"I'm sorry, I don’t mean to scare you. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I’m sleeping at the top of your building’s staircase, and I’m not sure if I can get in the front door. I wasn’t sure if you live there or not, I just figured it was worth asking." He can’t believe he was right, but that’s normal in his life.

"Well, as long as you’re not smoking crack up there, I don’t suppose there’s a problem."

"Oh, no, no crack smoking what-so-ever, I promise." Just shooting-up speedballs, but she doesn’t need to know this.

"OK, sure. Come on, I’ll let you in." They exit the store, heading towards the building. "You should be careful. A lot of the people who live on the top floor are really wealthy and probably wouldn’t be too happy knowing you are sleeping up there."

They arrive at the door which she opens with her key. They get on the elevator together and start up. When she exits on the second floor, she once again tells him to be careful, then wishes him a good night, and good luck.

Thomas continues using the stairwell as his home and hearth for the rest of the Winter. Often, he’ll make his way there around two or so in the morning, get settled in, start doing his drugs, then end up doing them all, leaving nothing for his wake-up shot. So he’ll leave all his stuff there and head back out into the cold to try and scam up more drug money, usually succeeding, sometimes not, then racing back to the building to get inside before the residents who go to work in the morning start coming out and maybe spot him going upstairs.

fertile ground for sales at 7th and Ave. A

The building’s super sometimes comes upstairs to sweep and clean, catching Thomas still asleep then rousting him, telling him to "Go now, before I call Police!" Thomas will open his crusty eyes, and see him standing a few steps below, afraid to get too close to Thomas, in case he's dangerous. Thomas will make motions and sounds like he’s heard, then as soon as the super goes away, he’ll go right back to sleep, sometimes until late afternoon if the super doesn’t come back to check on him.

One morning, sleeping soundly, Thomas is rudely awakened by the door leading out onto the roof flying open. He almost sits up into the crotch of a fireman stepping over him in full firefighter’s regalia, big rubber boots and rain gear, even carrying a big pick-axe in his hand. Thomas lies there on the landing in the bright morning light wishing for a bit more sleep, when he suddenly smells smoke. It quickly becomes more than simply smell. Thick, black smoke comes billowing up the stairs, completely enveloping, blinding, and choking him. He’s not sure what to do, so he wraps his sweater over his face and continues lying there, waiting to see what will happen.

Thomas doesn’t want to get up and let anyone wandering around downstairs to see him. He can hear voices a couple flights below that fade in and out of clarity. Straining to hear what’s being said, and who’s doing the talking, he stays there, alone, hoping that there isn’t a raging inferno burning below because no one knows to come up and tell him, other than the one fireman who’d stepped in over him. Thomas would rather not roast, but if it’s nothing serious, he doesn’t want to blow up the spot either. Thomas lies there listening and trying to breath.

After some fifteen, twenty minutes, he distinctly hears a voice say, "...a guy sleeping up there...," and immediately jumps to his feet and begins throwing all his clothes on, glancing about for any incriminating bits of trash and litter he might have missed the night before. Cleaning his area of drug debris before passing out is just good sense. That way, if he’s asleep there’s nothing lying about for authorities to casually spot if and when they roust him.

Thomas has been taking quick peeks down through the slim space in the center of the spiral stairs, catching one or two glimpses of dark blue police uniform sleeves, and has most assuredly heard the distinctive sound of a cop walkie-talkie. This is a unique sound he recognizes at once, especially since he can hear the dispatcher code-talk. There hasn't been any sign that cops are going to make an appearance upstairs, but suddenly from the rooftop comes the same fireman as before. Thomas, now dressed and ready to go, feels more able to ask the guy in a question or two.

"Is it safe in here? I mean, is the building burning down or what?" The smoke that had been pouring up the stairs soon after the fireman first entered has long since abated, so he suspects it is a stupid question.

"Naw, some lady left a pot cooking on the stove and went out, locking it in behind her," says the fireman. "I needed to get all the smoke out of the building, and get an airflow going. Sorry about waking you like that." Like it’s normal for him to be going in by way of a building's rooftop and finding someone camping in the stairwell, which is what he did, coming over the side on top of the ladder-truck ladder. He handled the oddities of the situation well. "There are still a couple cops down there, but they’re probably inside the apartment writing a report. Better wait though," he tells Thomas. "No reason to take a chance. Give ‘em five minutes, then duck out. Good luck man. Get help."

Thomas hears this comment a lot from cops and other public-service types, who all seem to think it their duty to tell him to get help, or to let him know they know he needs help. Maybe some do it because they genuinely care. Whichever, he does wait at least ten minutes, then goes to the elevator at the top floor. He exits on the Second and walks down the final flight of stairs listening for voices. Amazingly, he is able to waltz right out the front door without a single problem, other than for having to stop and hack out a bit of the smoke he’d inhaled upstairs, coughing he’d been having to hold inside, due to hiding. Once he’s finished and can resume walking, the coast is still clear, and he is gone.

Thomas waits a day or two before returning, just in case. When he does go back, the place still stinks of burnt mystery meal. But it is still the driest, warmest, most private place for him to crash. He feels almost like it’s his place. Thomas lives like this is normalcy, as though there’s nothing bizarre about the situation. Who needs a home? He has to be almost literally dead before he finally sleeps, usually sleeping every third day or so, going to the Hole only to get warm and safe, and to get high out of sight.