Kasher in the Rye: The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and Then Turned 16

by Moshe Kasher

“This is it,” I told Monk. “What is it?” he asked, hardly interested. I looked at him seriously. “I quit, man, I’m out of the game. I gotta get my shit together. This is my last bag. I’m done.” Monk looked up. It looked like he was almost impressed as he handed me the bag. “That’s cool, man, whatever you need.” So the next day when I went to his house to buy a bag, he came to the door, looked at me, and sneered in disgust. I smiled and held out my cash. “Hey, lemme hold something, man.” Monk looked at me like he couldn’t believe me. He shook his head and held out a bag for me. “What hell are you doing here?” he snapped at me. “You said yesterday you were out of the game and here you are today. Dude, you’ve really got a problem.” I am here to tell you that if your drug dealer ever does an intervention on you, it’s time to get help. That’s when I started quitting. Every night I’d quit. Every night I’d swear I’d never do it again. I had to stop. I had to stop hurting people. I had to get my shit together. I had to get out of high school before I was thirty. I had to stop pissing anywhere other than the toilet. Every night I quit. And every morning I woke up and forgot about the promises I’d made to myself the night before. The thought to get high would hit me and I’d be at my dealer’s house or at Safeway with a bottle of gin in my pants before I even had a chance to argue with myself. It wasn’t how you would imagine it to be. I didn’t crumble. I forgot. I didn’t have a wrestl...