How to Love a Man Who Loves Heroin More Than Anything
By Amy Solomon
I liked Greg's dating profile because his answer to "how would you describe your aesthetic?" was "coastal elite." There was a New Yorker tote in evidence, and he either indicated that he was Jewish or the vibe was loud enough that I assumed. His answer to "what you might be doing after work" was "going to an AA meeting."
I didn't know if that was supposed to be funny, true, or both, but I'd just spent the summer getting dumped thrice in a row—twice by text—so I wasn't all that concerned with semantics.
We texted primarily about baseball for a couple of weeks—very hot—so our first date was Diet Cokes at a sports bar for the end of a Dodger game. Then the game ended, and we walked to a bookstore, then ice cream. Or maybe it was ice cream, then bookstore, I can't remember. What I can remember very clearly is when Greg's sobriety came up. I said something to the effect of, "So, you're an alcoholic?" Greg replied, "No, no, not alcohol—I love black tar heroin!"
So, again—funny, true, or both? Turns out true. Greg loves black tar heroin. Too much, in fact (though I'm not sure anyone's really nailed a balanced relationship there). When we met, he had just celebrated a year of sobriety; on August 7, 2022, he has five years. A month later, we have four years together.
Greg should star in an after-school special on the opioid epidemic. "Wait… this tall, handsome Jewish boy from a life of suburban privilege got hooked on HEROIN?! Wow, it really IS everywhere!" Stealing pills from his parent's medicine cabinet for a fun weekend here and there eventually devolved into a heroin addiction that nearly killed him. The story has all the juicy bits—nights in jail, a car crash, teaching cops how to use the dark web to buy drugs to get out of a charge, rehabs and relapses, and a family tree full of fellow addicts.
When I tell the story of our first date, people often ask if I was nervous to date a heroin addict. Maybe I'm naive, but I never even gave it a second thought because it's nearly impossible to square Greg today with Greg as a user. Greg today is silly, gleeful, serene, and balanced. He was…doing meth in Walmart parking lots in the Mississippi delta? Excuse me?
Even four years in, I don't know that I've fully wrapped my brain around it, despite constant reminders–he goes to AA meetings every week. He literally spends his days helping addicts newly in recovery get back on their feet. Road trips are filled with comments like, "Oh, I went to a rehab over there. We jet skied every day. I immediately relapsed after because it turns out sobriety has nothing to do with jet skiing."
Greg, The User, may be entirely conceptual, but I am grateful to him. Greg is his goofy-ass self today because, quite frankly, he didn't think he'd be here. He couldn't imagine this far into the future. So now everything is all bonus, and it's a fucking fantastic way to live. If you suggest stopping for a fountain Diet Coke from McDonald's, Greg will squeal with excitement and tell you you're brilliant. He gets teary if he receives affection from one of our dogs (or any dog, really). He often says, "I can't wait to meet my sandwich." He walks in and out of our front door fifty times per day to admire his garden. He's said "this was the best day of my life" more times than I can count, and it's often simply because he had a great nap. And a good hot dog at a ball game? Nirvana. The simplest things are exquisite, and it's contagious.
Ultimately, this is an advertisement for dating Greg, something I wish everyone could get a chance to do, but I am unwilling to share. So sorry. But it's also an endorsement of not running from someone with a bananas past. Do they love black tar heroin? Cool. Walk to Jeni's. It could be really great.
*****
Amy Solomon is a TV/film producer and the editor of “Notes from the Bathroom Line.”
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