last night we had an amazing night tripping with nico (it was his birthday) and rebecca, and i asked them the same question. they passed it on to mike who happened to be in the room. i don't know mike at all. he looked at me for a long time and said, "silent walker. i suppose that's not a real name, but that's what you do. silent walker."

nico and rebecca are these two amazing people we just met, people of our tribe... we talked about so many good things, in nico's room, listening to arvo part. making an idol out of experiences.

at some point nico turned to me and said, "can i tell you something? now don't take this the wrong way, but you're a hustler. you hustle." i said, "what's a hustler?" and he and donna tried to explain it to me but i still wasn't sure. throughout the night when i'd be talking about something, nico would say, "see, that's hustling." i don't know. but i like it, whatever it is.

dictionary definitions:

hustler. noun.
(informal) a shrewd or unscrupulous person who knows how to circumvent difficulties.

hustle. verb
5. Slang.
To sell or get by questionable or aggressive means.
To pressure into buying or doing something.
To misrepresent one's skill in (a game or activity) in order to deceive someone, especially in gambling: hustle pool.

at 4 am we decided to drive to the bagby hot springs. nico had the "bagby hot springs emergency kit," a bombproof metal box with all the supplies one might need for a spontaneous trip to the hot springs, including liquor, shot glasses, towels, and other necessities. we hopped in the car, got some more provisions at the local plaid pantry, and started driving toward Estacada. once we made the turn into the foothills of Mt. Hood, we got rather lost and drove around in semicircles for a long time, looking for the elusive "bagby hot springs" sign.

i was falling asleep by the time we pulled into the little parking lot. then we walked the 2 miles through the woods, as the sun was rising, as the mist was rising, around the moss draping down from the fir and cedar trees. i was still wearing my black lace skirt, crochet/sequined black top, and black stockings and brown mary janes, and i felt like the black stockinged pixie among the enchanted forest.

when we got to the springs, we shared a big wooden tub with this aging hippie who had a lot of strong opinions about things that we basically agreed with, politics, drugs, lifestyles. he was great. he kept saying "yahoo!" and before he got undressed he was wearing head to toe tie-dye. soaking in the hot water with the cold morning air and trees towering above. we were all naked. after a while i became faint and dizzy so i got out of the water and got dressed, and we walked back to the car. by the time nico dropped us off here i was near death. i slept for 14 hours.

i woke up at midnight when c. collapsed on donna's bed next to me.

[sub-note. i've not mentioned him much because we haven't been hanging out, but what happened was that he got clean 3 weeks ago at his friend's mom's house, and he's been doing a lot better, more hopeful, determined to never do dope again, more like his old self. i was so happy for him.]

anyway, i wake up to donna saying, "you might want to be quiet, becky's sleeping." i rolled over and saw him lying there almost unconscious, coughing, mumbling, totally fucked up. "i took lots of pills and shot up." my stomach sank farther than it's ever sunk before. "don't take me to the hospital. they'll lock me up." we tried to determine what he'd taken. 10 klonopin. many sleeping pills. valium. etc. etc. and then shot up heroin. i felt so sick. i lay there hugging him and trying to calm him down. he could barely get the words out when we asked, "were you trying to kill yourself?" "yeah. and i failed. i'm such a failure. why didn't i die? why can't i just leave this life?" he stumbled into the bathroom and dry heaved for 10 minutes. now i'm trying to calm myself down. i had no idea how torn apart i would be if he died. racking my brains for what to do, if i can possibley save him.

after much deliberation, we walked, with difficulty, to his house. i lay down with him and rubbed his back and donna made him tea and made him drink water. he threw up more and drank more water. she took all his pills and the remaining heroin back to our house. i spent the night sleeping next to him to make sure he didn't stop breathing.

when we woke up around 8 am, we had the most tortured conversation. he is so sad. i relentlessly turned his negative statements positive, and made some progress. his life really isn't that bad. the biggest problem is that he's seriously in love with me, more than he's ever loved anyone, and i don't want to be with him. it's killing him. literally. i could not convince him not to try suicide again. i have no idea if he will do it again and there's nothing i can do. i would do anything to help him, except marry him, and that's all that would seem to make him better.

he convinced donna and me to let him have the tiny bit of heroin that was left, to "kill the pain." (and what will you do tomorrow when the pain is back? "no, i won't do it tomorrow." it hurts so much to know he did it even once.) after he shot up we went out for breakfast at the cup and saucer and he seemed in a better mood. being around donna and me always cheers him up because we're silly and make him laugh. it's so sad, though. he really wants to have kids but he hasn't found a wife yet. he kept playing with this 3-year-old girl sitting near us, letting her play with his cowboy hat and making her laugh. i wish he could have a kid. it would make him happy.

then we went and bought calexico tickets at the aladdin. i hope at least that gives him a reason to live until september 22.

everything is so lovely it hurts.