I MET R. THROUGH A DATING APP. Now I am sitting with him in a wooden booth in a dark bar drinking Campari with soda and lime. We talk, and it’s clear he knows a lot of things. He refuses to say much about it, but for years he studied Kabbalah. He also lived in India, studied Buddhism. Now he works as a professor. We share some ideas about politics, enough to make him stand out among the other dates. We seem to be getting along all right.
Recently he has been to Vancouver. I tell him that I’ve also been there. We talk about the Downtown Eastside, and he tells me he knows and respects the work of Gabor Maté, whom I interviewed on my trip. Maté is a physician and harm-reduction advocate, a proponent of safe injection sites, who worked in the Downtown Eastside for twelve years. He’s also a proponent of the healing powers of ayahuasca, which is how R. knows of him. I enjoy this conversation, the overlaps in our knowledge. I tell him about Da Vinci’s Inquest, the Canadian television program based on Vancouver’s chief coroner turned mayor, the same mayor who was in office when Insite opened. R. tells me that he has done, still sometimes does do, heroin. A casual user.
It’s like a test. I can recall the many times I have pointed out, in abstract conversations, that heroin’s reputation does not align with scientific evidence; that although it can be devastating for some, it is not, in itself, any more dangerous than a lot of other drugs, and people who use heroin are unduly stigmatized. But here it is no longer abstract. Will I hold it against R.?
Later, when I mention this detail to a friend, she frowns. “I like the other guy better.”