Power is not alluring to pure minds. (Thomas Jefferson)

When I was eight I got high for the first time. I didn’t mean to. I made a pot of tea to share with my mother who was in the study reading by the fireplace. I prepared the tray: poured milk, dappled out sugar from the bowl on the table, where my father and Uncle Tony were having their usual Sunday afternoon riot. I brought the tray in and even prepared my mother’s tea for her from the rations on the tray. She doted on me and was enthusiastic about “what a great girl” I was and “how sweet” I was. When the teacups were empty she realized that my sugar was heroin.

She was upset then angry, not angry like when the boys get angry, but angry in her own quiet way. It may have been the maddest I’ve ever seen her. She wiped away her tears and barged into the kitchen where in a firm voice she explained to the boys sternly what had happened. They giggled at the incident. She disappeared from the room and returned with Senior.

“What did you do?” Senior asked ominously.

“Nothing,” Uncle Tony defended with newfound sobriety.

“Penny tells me you two had a hand in getting her and Honey high.”

“Well,” my father started to explain before Senior silenced him with a fierce swipe that wiped the drugs and drug paraphernalia off the kitchen table.

He stormed out and my mother went with him, leaving the boys in silence. I could hear my mother crying in the other end of the house somewhere. I could hear Senior’s rich soothing baritone voice. I didn’t care about anything. I was high. I felt indestructible. I was a hero, no a heroine, and I loved heroin. I didn’t care about losing control. I had never felt more powerful. When my mother wasn’t around, which was rare, I would sit in the kitchen with my father and Uncle Tony. I would do drugs discretely and eventually not so discretely. I would listen to them intently and try to absorb every morsel of information they had to offer. I began to realize the importance of the information I could gain from them because they were the most powerful people I knew. I wanted to know everything there was to know about drugs, everything, and I wanted to know all about their lifestyles. They answered my questions and told me their stories. They didn’t realize it but they were training me to become a gangster.

After I got high that first time my fate was sealed. I always knew I wanted more power but now the plan was formulating as to how I could attain it. My family had the knowledge, history, connections – both good and bad, but I had something they never had: ambition. Ambition would make me and break me.

At age eight, heroin graced my palette and ignited the direction of my tireless thirst for power.