Goof's Story Part Two...

Goof and I drifted apart during high school- though we were still always friendly towards each other. We just weren't in the same group, that's all. She sat with the Cool Kids at lunch time- like Joolz and Reevesy. They didn't like Me very much; I don't wear the right sort of clothes and none of the boys liked me; just for a start...

But Goof was still my friend; she'd wave at me as I rode my crappy bike past her house every afternoon on the way to feed my horse- I think she even came with me for a ride on her one time.

After she did the HSC Goof moved away to go to University- but she never got her degree; she took up Heroin instead. I think she had always been depressed since her mother's death and saw it as an escape. She told me, many years later, that she was eighteen the first time that she ever shot up. And then she did it the next day. And the next. And that's the way it went every day; even on the day of her Lover's funeral three days after she found him slumped and alone, in the toilet dead, chin on his chest. Apparently he'd cut off his own air supply and had been too stoned to realise...

From what I can deduce, this is the Precise moment when Goof should have gotten the thought in her head to stop using the shit herself- this should have been the wake-up call she needed; losing her lover of four years to the same drug she's infatuated with. She told me once that losing him was the hardest thing she'd ever been through- but that still wasn't enough to make her seek help for her own drug addiction.

I'm the same. I probably won't get help until I'm forced to, either.

By the time Goof and I were organising the Year Ten of Nineteen-eighty-nine ten-year Reunion she had a well-kept secret habit of eight hundred dollars a week. She doesn't have a job but she has two inheritances to spend; her dead Lover's Life Insurance and a favourite Great-Aunt's legacy. It's just such a shame that she wasted it all on Heroin trying to escape her painful past.

I haven't seen Goof since a few months after the School Reunion was held. She slept on my creaky lounge for three awful nights and I watched on while she sweated and trembled and vomited as she tried to go Cold Turkey. On the last morning she woke up and begged me for some money for a taxi- which I Knew deep down was going to be spent on a hit of Hammer- and left; telling me she would be back the next day. I know I shouldn't have given her the money knowing that it would probably go on drugs- besides; I needed the money myself to pay for the back hoe to come and dig the hole in the ground that I was going to bury my horse in next week when she was getting put down- finally, because of her gammy legs...

As Goof left she gave me a swift kiss on the cheek and promised that she'd see me tomorrow. That was five and half years ago. I rang her for the first few weeks- up to thirty times a day- leaving message after message on her voice-mail- trying to find her- until she changed her phone number. I know. Stalker-Girl sux doesn't she?

But it wasn't about the money Goof. Never.

I just wanted to know that you were okay...

If I could tell her one thing- Today- it would be that I miss having her as my funny friend. I never judged her for her drug problem; just like she never judged my own drinking problems. And if you're reading this, Goof, then by now you'll know I'm a Pot Head as well. I want you to meet my littlest Son. And my eldest Son misses you, too. He loved flying kites with you in the Park and going for walks down past the Hanging Tree.

The last I heard was that Kahn had finally died- aged twenty one; that You had finally gotten your drivers licence- aged thirty one; and that you were in rehab getting shock therapy. Aunty Joan told me when I saw her at the shops. I just hope that you're alright now, Goof. You are too beautiful to be wasted. You're also one of the few people I know who could never hurt anybody- not even if they tried.

Well- except for Themselves I mean...