It was a regular Saturday evening, I had just got back from doing my daily activities, and boy was I tired. I began to walk up the stairs to my house, but then I noticed something in the alleyway. ‘What was that’ I prompted, with a close inspection I found that it was a mattress, a full queen-sized luxury-looking mattress,’ I said to myself, ‘Huh, that can't be, ’I paused for a second, ‘How could someone even fit that in there’

Moments later I shook it off as another bizarre event of my life, I unlocked my foot and entered my house, dropping off the weight of my bag in an instant. But something was calling me to look in the alleyway again, with curiosity fueling me I walked back outside and saw a person lying on the mattress. He looked as though he was in his mid-forties, but he was almost zombie-like. I looked around to make sure this was really happening, it was. I asked the man if he was ok, he kinda opened his eyes and looked at me with a dazed look on his face. His head tilted back, and body shook lightly, and then a little bit harder.

I walked closer to the man, he slowly opened his jaw just a little bit and muttered something:

‘Uaah’ a light groan followed. As he exclaimed his faint consciousness 

  I scanned the area to find out what could have happened and pondered upon a pair of hypodermics at his side and dried blood down his arm. 

Thinking back to all the times I've seen this scene before in my life, I knew what to do.

‘I wasn’t trying to place his life at risk, 

‘Damnit’ I said to myself, ‘why does it always gotta be the weird stuff all the time’ I thought.

I gave my father a phone call to ask him where he put the prevention kit:

‘Beep.. please leave your message for-.’

I hung up, not wanting to waste any more time, and quickly rushed inside to grab some Narcan. All my life I’ve seen news reports covering the growing drug epidemic in the United States, it was reported that over 100,000 deaths occur each year from overdoses. In recent years accessibility to Narcan and other overdose prevention resources has expanded to more of the general public. However, it’s too late for those who have already died. When I returned outside, I rushed to the guy to see if he was still breathing out responsive, his eyes moved but he was struggling to move or speak. I administered the Narcan and he regained consciousness within minutes. Not wanting to be seen to have to explain what had happened, I ran back inside and checked on him a few hours later, only to find that he had already left.

I looked back to this moment for a few days and thought of the other times that I’ve seen something like this happen. For days I wondered why I would even think about doing something like this? But I guess it was something instinctual that was awakened in me. 

Growing up, my father had always had a big impact on me and my actions, up until 2012 he had worked in healthcare as a nurse at St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, it was one helluva gig for him. At the time he never really told me about the experiences that he had seen doing gods work at the hospital because I was a kid, but a couple of years back he started telling me some stories about his time in the hospital, and the stories of the patients that he would have to care for or the gnarly displays that he would see in the morgue. All and all; I had the blessing of learning from a professional, my father always taught me how to do the basics of nursing, as a youth, and sometimes even now I ask him how to do things like draw blood, read different graphs, check blood pressure, care for seizure patients,  and all that other basic stuff, and one of those things that I had learned to do over the years was learn how to administer Narcan as a basic.

I lived in Queens for just about all of my life, but as a kid I always went to the Bronx with my father, it was how we bonded. Almost every day I’d wake up with him, and leave the house around 11:00 am: taking the bus to Main Street, transfer on the 44, and then get on the 36 to Tremont Ave and Boston Road. 

I got to know people there, and I was treated as everyone’s little nephew. I was always shy, slim, and almost hidden, they called me young joven. 

Now when I went with my dad, I never went with him to his work, he was either taking me to school with him or going to his program (for he himself had history). Every day on the street there was something different, anywhere from crazy people preaching their deranged gospel, to people covered and bloodied on the side of the road. Crotona Park was one of the big parks in that neighborhood, it was this pretty big park in the middle of a busy square, squeezed in between the roads and bustling grey buildings. always a mess, littered with needles, bums, litter, and scum. But what can you do, that’s just how life was, after all I am a New Yorker right? Always in something random.

My dad has told me many stories of times when he had saved people from overdoses, and random people on the street. 

‘I used to see people fall out all the time, on the side of the road, it made me feel like god,’ he issued, ‘people would surround the sucker on the ground, and try to keep them upright, someone even tried pouring water on him he paused briefly to take a breath, ‘I came along, and said: ‘step aside! Everyone got out of the way,’ ‘People knew me and let me do what I needed to do, that day I took a bunch of Narcan from the hospital and I guess it was for a purpose.’

‘So what did you do’ I asked

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I just stuck the thing into his nose and squeezed it, and took the money in his wallet.’

‘Wait why the money?’

‘Because it’s the least he owed me for getting his life saved, the Bronx was burning, nobody but me would have saved him.’

‘So he just woke up fine after that?’

‘Yeah, well; he was mad, started yelling saying, ‘Why did you do that! I was comfortable, just leave me next time!’, ‘I said alright, let you die.. sure, have a good day’ and then left him on the ground.’

‘Wow, that’s crazy how that stuff can just save a man from dying, it doesn’t make sense’ I said

‘Well it just works, does something to your brain, I don’t remember’

That was just one of the stories he told me, if I were to tell them all then this would be an ongoing story, and a never-ending story if I told every story. It’s unfortunate that these types of things have to happen to people, everyone has a story, a life, and memories; it’s unfortunate that people throw their lives at risk for a temporary high, it’s unfortunate how people get hooked onto sweet poison, and risk it all like rabid dogs hunting for their last meal. This isn’t a problem specific to certain areas, it’s a widespread issue that impacts all places on earth, I’ve seen it everywhere, Flushing, Jamaica, West Farms, Chinatown, Newburgh, Salisbury, Cornwall, I’ve seen it almost everywhere.

Not so long ago, last June my grandfather celebrated his 80th birthday. It was a wonderful celebration; all of his kids and grandkids came over and we all celebrated with food, cake, presents, everything. The best part about it was how for once the whole family seemed like it was together. It was one of those types of reunions that had random people you’ve never heard of attend, yes, it was that big. As the day progressed, the adults got to drinking (and arguably the adolescents too), fireworks were being lit off, 50-year-olds were getting drunk, and the night slowly began to creep. 

This one guy at the party, let’s call him Phil (for respective purposes) was an old childhood friend of my uncles and almost like an adopted son to my grandfather. I never knew the guy or met him, but at the party, he seemed like a very genuine and kind gentleman. However, it was apparent that he had a drinking problem, considering the two-almost three boxes of beer he downed on his own. But everyone is a sinner somehow, but that doesn’t make them evil. ‘Phil’ was a family man; he had a wife, and I think two daughters around 15 years old. 

Soon it got to be about 8:00 pm, and it was time for me to go back home with my parents and cousin. I remember seeing ‘Phil’ almost completely drunk, stuck in a sitting position on the edge of my grandfather's lawn. As I was making my way to the car, I saw my dad saying goodbye to ‘Phil’, trying to get his number; unfortunately for my dad, ‘Phil’ couldn’t get a word out  if his life depended on it, he tried but he could only mutter slight sounds that didn’t make sense when put together. But I will never forget it. When I passed by him I felt shivers go down my neck. He was tomato red, and looked as though he was turning blue. I said to myself, "This man is going to die.’ A couple days after the party, I get a text from my aunt, in the text it said:

‘Hello, did you hear what happened’

‘No, no I didn’t?’ I replied

‘Phil died last night’

Silence took over the room, it was a new type of feeling, it was like there was tension but also freedom from it all at once.

‘Oh my god’ … ‘What happened?’ I continued

"We're not sure, last night he was unresponsive and when we called the ambulance, they said he was dead. They tried using a defibrillator and narcan, but he never woke up.’

‘May he rest in peace, god bless.’

We never found out what happened to Phil. There were a number of theories, one pointing towards his alcoholism, another pointing towards a hidden underlying heart condition, and another pointing towards possible opioid use during the party. After all, he was with a bunch of his high school friends. I don’t want to point towards the negative in regards to him and his family, so I’ll stop this story from here. 

Death happens everywhere, at some point in everyone’s life, it’s natural, it’s a god given right. There is nothing we can do about it. My grandmother always told me ‘you think you have control over everything, but really we are all just living the inevitable’ perhaps her words have meaning, or maybe it’s just another one of her famous quotes. One thing about life is that you are blind to what you don’t see. That one guy that appeared on the side of my house is one of my dads best friends, his name is Jose. 

Unfortunately he struggled with addiction from the age of 17, I’ve talked to him many times, and he’s one of the nicest men you could ever meet. He’s doing fine, as a matter of fact he’s visited a couple times since the incident. I've never told him about what happened because I don’t want pity. I wish only the best for him, and everyone else that struggles with such a terrible disease.

So what was the point of writing this; all and all, this was just a rant about my life that stretched on way to long, it is meant to serve as  a message to readers to be aware of the people around them, everyone’s life is important, and we as humans need to always look out for each other. Hopefully someday all overdoses can be prevented, maybe one day.