Tell them to get me out of here, Leigh!
You know, one day I was just smoking in my crib. I was all alone. And then these guys in white just barged in my door and then dragged me out of the house. I don’t know, Leigh, I wanted to fight back but for some reason I can’t. It happened all too quickly. One moment I was just lighting a blunt, and before I even got a hit, I was wearing thick metal bracelets and was in a car with some guys in white. But don’t worry, Leigh, they didn’t hurt me. They said I was just going to talk to some important guy. I asked them why I can’t move my hands. They said it’s ‘cause of the bracelets they made me wear.
I was at ease at first. Then I realized where we were. There are a lot of them now, Leigh; a lot of guys wearing white. I asked the lady, also in white, behind what appears to be some counter.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“You’re in a rehab,” she said, then asked, “You must be Jason Jones?”
I don’t know how she got my name. I swear, Leigh, I am not cheating on you. This is the first time I met this lady.
I asked her why I am in a rehab. She said because I smoke pot. Well, yeah, that’s true. But then I was startled with what she said next:
“Who told you?” I asked.
“Ms. Claire Jones, must be your mom,” the lady in white said.
And that was that. I zoned out completely when I heard your name. She said “Leigh Morgan”, didn’t she? Why did you have to tell them, Leigh? What did I ever do wrong? Was it my fault that you are like bicycle tires that keep on spinning and spinning and spinning in my head. I can’t make it stop.
Was it wrong to see you in the bottom of the bottles of beer I downed? I can’t help it. I keep on finding your lips, but fail to. So I kiss the rim of bottles instead.
Was it wrong to listen to loud, loud music? Tell me, Leigh, how else can I drown the static that reminds me you’re not around anymore? It makes me feel lonely. But don’t worry, you know, sometimes, I still listen to our song. In fact, it is the only song I listen to. Over and over. And I hear your voice, Leigh. I hear you singing to me.
And they said my house reek of burnt weedgar. But was it my fault that all my clothes still smell like you? I was just trying to mask the scent of your perfume. Remember that red plaid I wore when we met on the bridge near your place? I still haven’t washed it, Leigh, I’m sorry. I was wearing that shirt when we hugged—that later turned out to be our last. It still smells like you! I never washed it. And I don’t think I ever would. That shirt, and the smell of your skin that clings to it, that was my last memory of you. And then the next day you’re gone. You left me grasping nothing in my hand but a roll of bleezy slowly smoldering into ashes. But I’d give it up to once again hold yours.
So tell me, Leigh, what’s so wrong with getting high? I was just trying to get rid of the ache somehow. It makes me forget you for a little while.
Please tell them to get me out of here. I don’t want rehab. It’d just make me think of you. Even more restlessly. Then I’d feel death come a thousand times a day for the whole time I would stay here.
Tell them, Leigh, that I just do it to numb the nagging pang in my chest. And tell them that you are the only rehab I need. Because even after two years, it still feels like it was just yesterday. It keeps on replaying in my head. And it hurts so much, ‘cause even after all this time, I still gravely long to see none but you knocking on my door.
Photographed by Inah Maravilla
Styled by Neal P. Corpus and Inah Maravilla
Make-up by Aquinna Duyan and Nicole Valencia
Modeled by Chad Alviar, Manu Fernando, Rovin Mizuse, Geo Santos, Elejah Saiki, and Julia Velasquez
Assisted by Pamela Batac, Chelly Patalud, and Thea Torres