Crystal is Aphrodite, Lilith, Oshun, Erzulie, Bastet cloaked in a hooded black robe who promises sweet sex and eternal orgasms. Crystal has many suitors, male and female. Crystal can be found between the mattresses of seedy motels, on street corners, in the glove compartment or in a teen’s back pack. She offers several sleepless nights, indiscriminate sex and the daily threat of death disguised as euphoria. The conversation about Crystal was held over pancakes and coffee at a local café in Long Beach called The Potholder in late 2006 or early 2007. This is not an unusual engagement since, Winston and I often indulged in the act of drinking coffee over deep conversations regarding politics, sex, religion, etc. The revelation slipped in between the clatter of utensils and bells ringing from the door of the café. “ Jackie, I need to tell you something” stated Winston. “Ok, go ahead.” I responded as I dabbed a piece of pancake in butter and syrup. Winston took a long sip of coffee. He maneuvered and shifted in his seat as if we sat in a dimly lit bar with cigarettes hanging off our lips. “I’ve been experimenting” Winston confessed. “Experimenting with what?” I asked as I took a sip of my coffee. “Experimenting with drugs.” he answered. “Ok go ahead.” I responded with a blank stare on my face. Winston proceeded to give me details of drug laced stories involving porn actors and third parties. I didn’t blink as he disclosed the sordid details of this double life he’d been leading. “So what do you think?” inquired Winston. “Well…” I paused as I dabbed another slice of pancake in buttery syrup. “You are an adult and you must be prepared for the consequences of your choices.” Winston had a history of inflating and creating elaborate stories about himself. He often said and did things just for shock value. “That’s it ?” said Winston. “Aren’t you shocked?” he asked “Well, what do you want me to say… or do? You want me to scold you or cuss you out? You’re gonna do what you want to anyway (pause) just be prepared for the consequences of your choices, especially since you know that you have a family.” I explained. When I think back on this conversation we had over pancakes and coffee, maybe I should have cussed Winston out. Maybe I should have displayed utter disgust when he told me about Crystal because maybe, just maybe, he’d be here today if I did. When Winston revealed that he was experimenting with the drug Crystal Meth, that’s what I took it as, an “experiment”. I had no idea how deeply in love Winston was with Crystal. I had no idea of the depth of this love affair until almost a year later Winston’s brother called my husband one day and requested my husband to go talk to Winston because Winston was out of control. My husband and I drove to a Starbucks in the Inland Empire and met with Winston and his brother, Don. The meeting was short of a scene on The Jerry Springer or Maury Povich show. We yelled over lattes and crumb cake. At one time, I stood, and pointed my finger at Winston with anger and disappointment. Winston was always welcomed at our apartment, any time. If we were asleep we just wouldn’t answer the phone. The times he came over, who knows whether Winston was high or not. I could tell when someone was drunk or high from marijuana but when it came to the more serious drugs, I had no idea. It was later when other friends informed me about the signs and symptoms of Crystal Meth. One of those signs, was an extreme craving for sugary foods which explained why Winston devoured the Starbucks crumb cake that day of our disastrous meeting. I thought perhaps he was very hungry and that’s why crumbs were left on the corner of his mouth and cheeks. However, I was wrong. It was a side effect of the use of Crystal Meth. This is why so many meth users have bad deteriorating teeth. It’s because of the use of Crystal Methamphetamine. In January of 2009, Winston dropped by early one morning. He sat on the brick steps of my house with a newspaper and smoked cigarette until I woke to open the door. When I let Winston in, I noticed his sullen face, he lost a significant amount of weight, and his clothes were stained and worn. Winston was a great cook, so I asked him to cook he and I breakfast. Winston visited and cooked for me often in exchange for a typed letter, revised resume, or essay for a class. I put on a jazz radio station for Winston and brewed a pot of coffee and waited for breakfast. Winston hummed to the jazz as he meticulously chopped potatoes and sautéed onions and mushrooms. He whizzed in the kitchen rhythmically from cabinet to refrigerator to cupboard retrieving spices, eggs, cooking utensils. He set the table with two matching plates and silverware. Once breakfast was ready, Winston and I sat at the bar and sipped our coffee. “Jackie, I’m tired…I want to stop.” he said. Winston had constantly refused entering a rehab, he thought the rehabilitation process was a waste of time. Winston worked as a mental health worker for 13 years and possessed some knowledge in regards to the system and drug abuse. “Winston, you’re working your guardian angel overtime, one day they’re gonna throw in the towel” I replied. Although Winston laughed at my statement, I saw in his eyes that he agreed with what I said. “Is this how you wanna go out, is this how you wanna be remembered ? Think about your daughter.” I also told Winston that this visit was accompanied by darkness and it didn’t feel “right” to me. He shunned my feelings and answered his cell and left. We didn’t see Winston for days and then one very windy and cold night in February. Winston showed up on our doorstep. He incessantly coughed and hacked. By then, I knew these were withdrawals. My husband thought he had a cold. But from previous conversations with Winston I knew he hadn’t stopped using, contrary to what he told my husband. Winston fell asleep on our couch and could not be removed. His body went into torpor. We left him there to sleep over night and he coughed and coughed but still never opened his eyes. I could not sleep. I got up and wrote a poem about Winston at 3am: Death is Tailgating I have watched Death tail gate my friend. His sharp turns, sudden taps on the brakes or grand prix skills cannot out maneuver Death’s fixation on his fate. Crystal Methology is my friend’s psychology and she’s in the passenger seat with the window down smiling wanting to paint the whole town red before he’s dead. My friend’s hands are gripped on the steering wheel tight and zombie like. The smell of death flows through tail pipes and flashing reds of motel signs and street lights control his nights. As air blows through Crystal’s hair Highway patrolmen pass and stare while his skeletal reflection in their mirrored shades is a detection that Death is near. I am just a jay walker rushing to avoid a deadly collision as days and nights of bad decisions pop his veins. No bull’s eye on my breasts or daggers through my chest. I may flirt with the mysteries of the night but I do not, will not flirt with Death. Winston slept for a day and a half. I took pictures of him as he lay on our couch as if he were in a coffin. When he finally woke, he was like a new person. He showered and sang loudly and happily in our shower. Winston then left and headed to the unknown. In between Winston’s unannounced visits, my brother was on leave from the military and stayed with us for a couple of weeks. My brother had met Winston during a few occasions but didn’t know him as well as my husband and I. Brian convinced Winston to take an exam to enlist in the Army. Brian told Winston that he could receive monies toward his daughter’s education. That was good enough for Winston. Winston went to downtown Long Beach and took the exam. The following day Brian told me Winston scored very high on the exam. In another day or two, Brian told me although Winston did very well on his exam, he had two felonies on his record. My husband and I weren’t aware of this. Winston didn’t come around for a while after the military background check. I missed his cooking and conversation. We missed his unannounced visits and debates. One afternoon when returning home on April 15th I checked the messages on the voicemail. It was Winston’s sister, Michelle. I listened to the message and tears began to stream down my cheeks. Winston had been shot and killed the night before by a security guard. His death was covered on the local news. Many thoughts raced through my mind, was Winston under witness protection? He shared stories about helping a prostitute try to turn her life around, or about encouraging other users to do the right thing. Many mornings after Winston’s death, I waited for that early morning knock on my door, hoping that it would be Winston, ready to cook my breakfast and explain how he was able to fake his death in some elaborate undercover scheme. However, it never happened. Winston was gone, forever, and not by a needle left in his arm slumped over in some dirty gas station bathroom, but by a bullet, three of them. Crystal is GOD, she reigns on Beach & Ball ( streets in Stanton, CA). Crystal is queen of the underworld, Crystal is Aphrodite, Lilith, Oshun, Erzulie, Bastet cloaked in a hooded black robe who promised sweet sex and eternal orgasms but only delivered death.