In March of 1991, I came home one day from work to find my roommate, Rainbow, entertaining his girlfriend, Kristy, and her sister Allyson in the living room. I was immediately attracted to the tough, intelligent, and gregarious sister. She later told me that she first thought that I was gay, sitting there in my tuxedo that spring afternoon. I assumed she would be captivated by my good looks, intelligence, charm. To my dismay, however, she began dating one of my other roommates, Swilley John. I was persistent, though, in seeking her out for conversations when I could, and soon, she began coming over to see me instead of John. We shared many an afternoon of easy talk and Special Export Beer and our friendship grew rapidly.

      I lost a roommate in May and Allyson applied for the room. Needless to say, she got it. The bond between us deepened as we discovered shared desires and common needs. She had become so deeply confused during her senior undergraduate year that she had dropped out of school, losing her direction and self-confidence. I could see that I had much to give to this relationship. My love and understanding provided a basis from which she worked through the confusion. My utter belief in and support of her abilities helped to restore her confidence, and her entrance into my life helped to bring me out of the walking trance in which I had been living. We became a team, assisting and encouraging each other toward finding more satisfying employment and planning for the future. Soon we knew that we were in love.

      The bond that developed between us grew, in part, from the dawning realization that we shared something deep inside, just beyond our ability to grasp, which was coming between us and our full participation in and enjoyment of life. We vowed to help each other solve these difficulties. I had the skeleton of a poem which spoke of this inner conflict that I sensed in myself and others that I had not been able to complete to my satisfaction for nearly ten years. Soon after falling in love with Allyson, the images finally surrendered to the pen.

      Looking back upon the writing of this simple poem, I can see that I had the beginnings of understanding, even then, though I could not have explained it at the time.

      I revealed to Allyson the legal and drug problems from my past and she shared her problems and fears. It became obvious to me, since it appeared that our destines were now irrevocably enjoined, that I would have to return to the mainstream of life and get a real job. In March of 1992, I secured an interview for a four-month contract as a scientist for 3M Pharmaceuticals, in St. Paul. The interview was one of the best in my life. The research supervisor was impressed enough with my knowledge and experience that he hired me on the spot. I was assigned to the six-person development team working through the final phases of the formulation and testing process that would give the world its first anti-viral drug. My efforts and my enthusiasm seemed to make quite an impression upon everyone and I fell in love with the job.

      Obviously in my element, I seemed to be turning in an outstanding performance. My contract was extended repeatedly as 3M made three attempts to hire me permanently. Unfortunately, however, it was company policy that all positions had to be offered to 3M employees first and, since the pharmaceutical division was the Mecca of 3M in those days, the deluge of applications required them to give the position to others each time. Management finally tailored a job description to my exact background and still someone in the company qualified for the position. The result was a dangerous emotional roller coaster of anticipation and disappointment. In December, the budget money for contract workers finally ran out with the division executives announcing a temporary tightening of the purse strings.

      The preceding June, Allyson and I had gotten married in a beautiful outdoor ceremony, of our own design, on the campus of Centenary College in Shreveport. Unfortunately, my emotional instability had resulted in a resurrection of the IV drug habit, ending three good years free from such things. I even marred our wedding trip by being on drugs a large part of the time, to my new wife's deep embarrassment and to my own richest horror. Confused and afraid, I felt powerless to affect the progress of events. Part of me watched, a paralyzed spectator, as I embarked upon the destructive cycle once again, unable to deal with my deep misgivings regarding my future employment prospects or to manage the entrenched resentment of an immutable past that was frustrating my aspirations. With the end of the contract at 3M, the tenuous filaments of my will suddenly gave way altogether, propelling me out into free fall from what had begun as a gradual slide down into despair. With harmful intent, the subtle siren song of my corner laboratory grew to a shrill and insistent demand for my attention as the dark hunger in my veins became more than my medication could quench. I soon lost track of time, day merging with night, and existence took on a menacing surreal quality as I passed over into that shadowy half-lit realm of drug psychosis.

      With most sources for even the precursor reagents to make P-2-P very closely watched by the government, my only recourse was to start from basic chemicals. Beginning with a gallon of toluene from the hardware store and some bromine, I labored for days in blinding clouds of noxious gases, producing, in rapid succession, first a bromide, then a cyanide (nitrile) which hydrolyzed to phenylacetic acid (PAA). I then did the same thing starting from food grade benzyl alcohol and muriatic acid from a pool supply store. Acetamide, prepared by letting a mixture of concentrated aqueous ammonia and ethyl acetate stand a day or two, ultimately gave methylamine hydrochloride (MAH) after treatment with hypobromite, as did cooking down concentrated formalin with concentrated ammonia. The real trick turned out to be drying these products sufficiently to convert them to P-2-P, using everything from heat to vacuum to centrifugation. Half out of my mind from exhaustion, anxiety, and chemical toxicosis, I crystallized my first methamphetamine hydrochloride after five or six days of round-the-clock work.

      We conceived a child January fifteenth, 1992, but soon my new wife left me, unable to watch my anguished writhings. I made it a point, even in my darkest moments to tell her each day that I loved her and our unborn child and that I was trying everything I could think of to end the cycle of madness. In July, when the baby tried to come early, Allyson was ordered off work and to complete bed rest. I pulled myself together and began packing and moving our things into storage in the suburb, fifteen miles south of St. Paul, where Allyson was staying at the home of her father.

      During the move, I discovered some drugs paraphernalia and two doses of LSD. I put these items in a metal locking box which I carried with the last load going to storage. Stopping in to see Allyson on the way, we went for a short drive while we talked. Moments later, I was stopped by police who decided to arrest me for an unpaid fine that had shown up on their computer. The car was searched prior to being impounded which turned up the LSD and resulted in a charge of possession. After Lance, my closest friend, bailed me out, I finished the move and got myself a room in a house on North Dale Street in St. Paul.

      I worked several temporary jobs and continued trying to be supportive of Allyson during these last few weeks of her pregnancy. The ultrasound had shown that our baby was a little girl and I was delighted. Having hoped for a girl, I was really looking forward to becoming a father. We got some books and went to prenatal training classes together, but a pall of apprehension hung over our halting effort as we both tried urgently to heal the rift in our relationship before the baby's arrival. At around 10:30 p.m. on October 14, I went to sleep. Ninety minutes later the phone rang. It was Allyson saying that the baby was on the way! I threw on my clothes, made a few obligatory phone calls to the effect that "my baby's having a wife" and set a world land speed record for riverside hospital. We walked the halls but her contractions began to come faster. We tried getting into a hot shower with no relief so we went back to the room. I dimmed the lights and started the music we had chosen, and environmental music tape called The Tranquil Forest which contained night sounds of the forest: crickets, frogs, and running water with the occasional accompaniment of a harp. It was beautiful.

      For four hours, Allyson's sister Kristy and I held her hands and reassured her that things were going well. She had chosen natural childbirth and got no pain medication. I was very proud of her bravery. In the final hour, the midwives came in, and at 4 hours and 30 minutes, I first saw the top of our daughter's head. The memory of those last thirty minutes will live in my mind forever, as we each held one of Allyson's legs. Her struggle was titanic and almost more that even I could bear. At about 5:02 in the morning on October 15, 1993, Ariana Camille was born.

      All of my training and experience failed me at that moment. I was terrified for this little purple "cone head." I just knew anything that could do something like that to her head must certainly have caused some kind of brain damage. I'm sure everyone got a good laugh over my hyper-concerned state, as the nurses tried to reassure me that this was normal and that our daughter was fine. Those four days that we lived together in that room were the happiest experience of my life. We took many photos and talked of things to come.

     

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