A Little Nickel Bag
by
Evelyn F. Altheimer-Fain
That is how it started, just a little nickel bag of marijuana. She did not want to die. I do not believe that anyone who cannot kick the illegal drug habit ever wants to die of an overdose, but unfortunately it happen to her. She was barely twenty. All of us were very young back then, but she was always different. We (the ones she left behind) believed it was because she loved the wrong man. That is not news, and regrettably, what she did to keep his love cost her everything, including her life.
Out of respect for her families still living, I will name her Doris. She was a beautiful dark skinned Africa-American woman, barely in her twenties as were most of us. We loved her because she appeared to have it all together.
I cannot say that we were the best of friends because there was that bit of envy and rivalry that two women sometimes carry toward each other when both are young and attractive. We got alone simply because we did not let those emotions overwhelm us. Still, we were not the type of friends who went shopping together each week or sat watching the soaps.
