A friend in need, is a friend in deed

September 5, 2007 in Bangladesh, Chinese, Dhanmondi, Entertainment, Food, Friends, Grameenphone, Iftar, Parking, Restaurant, Work, addiction, cell phone, disease, drugs, essay, money, writing
Tags: addiction, alcohol, cannabis, drugs, fiction, ganja, ganza, partying, smoking, story, weed, writing

The call came early in the morning. I thought I was dreaming. It slowly got louder, piercing through the stuffy solid air of my room. I snaked out of the mosquito net; the phone was lying on the table. A woman was on the other side.

The panicked voice of the caller didn’t register. I hung up and shut my eyes when the words started swimming in my head…Akash…hospital…sounds of the woman weeping.

I jumped out of bed, wondering whether I was awake or having bad dream. I dialed the number that had been automatically saved on the cell-phone. It was busy. I desperately tried to get through but it remained unreachable for the next four hours. By then, everyone was where they needed to be – just not when they needed to be.

Akash and I have known each other for ten years. He was the first person to ask for a peek into my paper during an exam. I tried to show him but the teacher knew what I was up to and so he was also responsible for my first trip to the principal’s office. From that day, he has been my best friend. I am not sure whether I was his.

Five years ago we were first offered weed at a friend’s birthday party. Everyone was doing it and having fun - they all were having a good time. It wasn’t anything serious. I said yes. Akash said yes.

Nothing happened. I didn’t feel a thing. They told me I had to want it. Someone whispered: just fake it, or they won’t invite you again. I didn’t want to fake ‘it’. Next time I said no. Akash said yes. It worked differently for him. He seemed to enjoy it.

The funny thing was we never asked each other why we made that choice. Maybe because we didn’t know. We didn’t try to change each other’s choices either – Akash was cool in that way.

From then on began a new routine, where at parties Akash would be on the dance floor, knocked out of his senses, dancing like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t weed any more. It was the other stuff.  I usually stood, a wall flower watching. I told people I liked observing.

The stuff seemed to suit him too. He was having fun like every other normal teenager. At that time I didn’t see a problem. I had come to an understanding with my friends where I let them ‘have their fun’ and didn’t tell their parents. I never saw a need to anyways. I got invited to parties.

Once during a charity bake-sale, he brought ’special’ brownies. A teacher bought them and got high. She didn’t realize what was wrong and complained the next day of ‘bad’ brownies. It was dumb and dangerous. We all had a good laugh. We were sixteen!

Well everyone knows how the story goes from there. Truth is, right after O Levels, our paths separated when I joined a new school while he decided to brave it alone privately. From then on, we hardly used to hang out any more. We met at coaching sometimes. Soon, I had my own group of new friends at school. Everyone had moved on in their own ways, making new friends, going new places. I thought I was taking the next step.

Akash’s girlfriend called me up during Ramadan once. She was hysterical. They had broken up.

We made plans to visit a counselor. It never happened. A few times, he didn’t show. We didn’t have money and had no idea what the counselor would say. Akash didn’t want to tell his parents or ask them for help because he didn’t want to hurt them.

Truth is, Akash didn’t come from a broken home. His parents are educated and don’t seem like the kind who would be in denial of their child’s addiction. On the other hand, I don’t understand how an entire household had no clue that Akash was coming home intoxicated every day.

Some of our friends had to sneak to the hospital because their parents ‘banned’ them from hanging out with ‘bad’ boys like Akash. What would they do if they knew what their princes and princesses were up to?

A hundred and ten people graduated with me in the class of 2005. For everyone, life has turned out all right. Some are applying to the best universities of the world. Three are leaving for the Ivy Leagues next fall. One person didn’t make it and I don’t know why.