Helping the Lost

                  An intervention as the name implies is a communal intervening into the life of someone struggling with an addiction.  Mark, my brother; tormented by the loss of his girlfriend to a rare blood disease turned to drugs after a month of grieving.  His drug of choice, crystal meth. This intervention began with a knock on a poorly painted apartment door.
         “Who is it?  Is that you Randy?  Did you get it?” coughed my younger brother through the door.
         “No, it's me Cindy.  I brought you something to drink, thought maybe we could talk.” she solemnly replied.
         “Well, maybe for just a few minutes, I'm expecting somebody.”  We heard footsteps and the clank of some empty bottles as he approached the door.  Then, the click of the lock and the door swung open.  A dirty disheveled head poked out, his bloodshot eyes darting at each one of us, his best friend,  two former co-workers and me.
         “What are you all doing here?” his eyes paused on mine.
         I swallowed and responded, “We came to help you.”  I could sense the distrust and longing at the same time.
         “Whatever.  Just stay out of my way.  I have important business to tend to.”
         “Mark.”  I paused to let the name remind him who he was.  “You need help.” Cindy began to sob.
         “Ya, I need someone to go get Randy and bring me my ice!”
         “Mark.”  I paused again to allow him to focus his attention.  “We all miss you.  We love you.”
         “Love?  I lose the only thing in life that gave a shit and you want to talk about love?”
         “Mark.”  I paused one more time forcing him to deal with the emotion of the moment. “Please forgive me.” Mark lowered his and started crying, whispering “please help me.”