Arcanepr0n
2008-10-14, 01:34
I’ve always smoked pot but not like this, never like this.
Terry and I were brothers, except we had different parents. It didn’t matter to us nor to anyone else. We were brothers. Everyone wanted to be in our family, there was never room. We have close friends and that occasional girlfriend that comes and goes, but they were always just pawns in our master plan. We dealt pot. We never needed a real job, and besides we had all we needed. High school was the stock market and we never dropped points. Life sure was sound.
My mom came in my room that morning just like every other morning, yelling at me to get up while opening my blinds. My room was then engulfed by nothing. I guess I was spared of sunlight that day. I rolled over to catch a glimpse of a typical march morning then disrupted by my pops out on the driveway pointing at his watch to me as he skidded onto the road to his white collar prison. As I finished my traditional half hour shower, threw on my zeppelin tee, and headed downstairs mom was already out the door. My Lunch ready was on the table beside my backpack. Terry wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes so I smoked that spliff I rolled last night and devoured a bowl of cheerios. At half past eight I threw those pills mom leaves me everyday into the garden and jumped in the vintage brown sedan, Terry always lets me drive. I connected the wires and pulled the clutch. Driving high isn’t dangerous, it’s almost a game. The better I drive the higher score I get; I’m really good at games.
We owned that school. Senior year passing everything except math, I was pleased. I had ten minutes before the bell so I met up with this loafer of a kid who texted me last night asking for a dime bag. I had time to go get my English text out of my locker and go take a quick leak before class. English was a solid class. The teacher was about five years due retirement but he really knew his stuff. He came in a few minutes late because he was on duty, can’t blame the guy for wanting a coffee before class. I had double English this morning so it meant novel reading. Everyone had to read 10 minutes of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” Hemmingway’s best he said. Everyone except Terry read, the lucky bloke. After I finished there was still a good forty minutes left to nap (I did so in ecstasy). Recess was prime time. I made more money in that half hour than a motivated lawyer in northern California could have got in a full one. All the chronic folk lined up like screaming school girls for Hannah Montana tickets, except I never sell out.
Third period was best unspoken of. Math is a melancholy moment of my day, worse when stoned, especially when we were supposed to be enlightened by this tyrant. This guy was straight up thirty-two years old, but his constant sneer and furrowed brow aged him ten years. He portrayed himself to be the king of numbers and we were all jesters of his court. I put up with juggling his equations to avoid detentions though. The only numbers I needed to be concerned with are the ones in terry’s wallet anyway. Terry was better at math so he just whispered me the answers.
At lunch time everyone piled in their cars to go consume their precious fast food. We waited outside in the parking lot in the middle of the teenage stampede. I earned more than enough lunch money for a week. Terry and I go out alone, always alone. We drive past the busy commercial utopia, past the Wal-Mart, past the grocer. Stores turned into houses, houses into woods, the woods into a field. It was our field. We parked the Oldsmobile crooked off the shoulder of the worn dirt road and sat on the regal rock as we do every afternoon. We would smoke the rest of our product in that field as we do every afternoon. We would split my mother’s famous PP&J sandwich as we do every afternoon. Not all was the same that afternoon though; the overcast skies cast a shadow over the area. No birds in the sky, this was not a happy place today. We passed the old wizards pipe that I’ve had since junior high school around for what seemed like hours but in our trance time never passed. We smoked a lot of dope on that rock, perhaps a punishment for not selling enough. I most defiantly did not beat the high score on the drive back to school.
Gym last was mirth, but not this last period gym class. Maybe it was my eyes, or the stink of my clothes. When I saw the principals and that sketchy kid I met before English slowly walking behind I knew what it was. The walk to the office was my last free walk. When I entered I sat beside Terry, my backpack sitting on the unkempt bureau. I kept replaying the end scene from the Titanic in my head. It was the only thing that I could think of that was worse than this. I need not explain the events in that office. Everyone has seen balding men get really pissed off before. They have me on camera multiple times. I was nailed for possession and trafficking. A week long suspension would have been nice; I’d take that with bliss. They searched Terry’s car and found my beloved pipe a couple grams lying on the passenger side floor, and the real owner’s wallet.
Grand Theft Auto sounds a lot worse when being tried as an adult. I could sit here and write about all the long court dates, all my moms’ emotional breakdowns, and the old man not even acknowledging me. The truth is after I got caught it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t until I passed the pen to Terry to write his account of the story that I knew the outcome of my case. The pen floated almost in slow motion as it went through the middle of Terry’s hand and thud on the cold floor of the questioning room. I was alone. I sit here almost finished my insanity plea. I hope they have good pot in the asylum. At least the garden stayed out of trouble.
for English class.
Terry and I were brothers, except we had different parents. It didn’t matter to us nor to anyone else. We were brothers. Everyone wanted to be in our family, there was never room. We have close friends and that occasional girlfriend that comes and goes, but they were always just pawns in our master plan. We dealt pot. We never needed a real job, and besides we had all we needed. High school was the stock market and we never dropped points. Life sure was sound.
My mom came in my room that morning just like every other morning, yelling at me to get up while opening my blinds. My room was then engulfed by nothing. I guess I was spared of sunlight that day. I rolled over to catch a glimpse of a typical march morning then disrupted by my pops out on the driveway pointing at his watch to me as he skidded onto the road to his white collar prison. As I finished my traditional half hour shower, threw on my zeppelin tee, and headed downstairs mom was already out the door. My Lunch ready was on the table beside my backpack. Terry wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes so I smoked that spliff I rolled last night and devoured a bowl of cheerios. At half past eight I threw those pills mom leaves me everyday into the garden and jumped in the vintage brown sedan, Terry always lets me drive. I connected the wires and pulled the clutch. Driving high isn’t dangerous, it’s almost a game. The better I drive the higher score I get; I’m really good at games.
We owned that school. Senior year passing everything except math, I was pleased. I had ten minutes before the bell so I met up with this loafer of a kid who texted me last night asking for a dime bag. I had time to go get my English text out of my locker and go take a quick leak before class. English was a solid class. The teacher was about five years due retirement but he really knew his stuff. He came in a few minutes late because he was on duty, can’t blame the guy for wanting a coffee before class. I had double English this morning so it meant novel reading. Everyone had to read 10 minutes of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” Hemmingway’s best he said. Everyone except Terry read, the lucky bloke. After I finished there was still a good forty minutes left to nap (I did so in ecstasy). Recess was prime time. I made more money in that half hour than a motivated lawyer in northern California could have got in a full one. All the chronic folk lined up like screaming school girls for Hannah Montana tickets, except I never sell out.
Third period was best unspoken of. Math is a melancholy moment of my day, worse when stoned, especially when we were supposed to be enlightened by this tyrant. This guy was straight up thirty-two years old, but his constant sneer and furrowed brow aged him ten years. He portrayed himself to be the king of numbers and we were all jesters of his court. I put up with juggling his equations to avoid detentions though. The only numbers I needed to be concerned with are the ones in terry’s wallet anyway. Terry was better at math so he just whispered me the answers.
At lunch time everyone piled in their cars to go consume their precious fast food. We waited outside in the parking lot in the middle of the teenage stampede. I earned more than enough lunch money for a week. Terry and I go out alone, always alone. We drive past the busy commercial utopia, past the Wal-Mart, past the grocer. Stores turned into houses, houses into woods, the woods into a field. It was our field. We parked the Oldsmobile crooked off the shoulder of the worn dirt road and sat on the regal rock as we do every afternoon. We would smoke the rest of our product in that field as we do every afternoon. We would split my mother’s famous PP&J sandwich as we do every afternoon. Not all was the same that afternoon though; the overcast skies cast a shadow over the area. No birds in the sky, this was not a happy place today. We passed the old wizards pipe that I’ve had since junior high school around for what seemed like hours but in our trance time never passed. We smoked a lot of dope on that rock, perhaps a punishment for not selling enough. I most defiantly did not beat the high score on the drive back to school.
Gym last was mirth, but not this last period gym class. Maybe it was my eyes, or the stink of my clothes. When I saw the principals and that sketchy kid I met before English slowly walking behind I knew what it was. The walk to the office was my last free walk. When I entered I sat beside Terry, my backpack sitting on the unkempt bureau. I kept replaying the end scene from the Titanic in my head. It was the only thing that I could think of that was worse than this. I need not explain the events in that office. Everyone has seen balding men get really pissed off before. They have me on camera multiple times. I was nailed for possession and trafficking. A week long suspension would have been nice; I’d take that with bliss. They searched Terry’s car and found my beloved pipe a couple grams lying on the passenger side floor, and the real owner’s wallet.
Grand Theft Auto sounds a lot worse when being tried as an adult. I could sit here and write about all the long court dates, all my moms’ emotional breakdowns, and the old man not even acknowledging me. The truth is after I got caught it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t until I passed the pen to Terry to write his account of the story that I knew the outcome of my case. The pen floated almost in slow motion as it went through the middle of Terry’s hand and thud on the cold floor of the questioning room. I was alone. I sit here almost finished my insanity plea. I hope they have good pot in the asylum. At least the garden stayed out of trouble.
for English class.