The problem with most drug users is they don't find their own lives interesting until the moment they first get high. I believe the true gateway to drug abuse is not using marijuana to begin with then graduating to something more intense, but the fact one may perceive a sober life as boring and ordinary. Just because a drug put a smile on your face, doesn't mean your life is any more extraordinary than it was the moment before you decided to inhale or ingest it. No matter how one may deny it, our lives are more exciting than most of us tend to accept.
The day I turned eighteen years old I bought my first pack of cigarettes. I had heard most tobacco smokers say how much they hated their first cigarette. This always perplexed me, to be honest, because if that were true, then why would they continue on smoking and bitch about how hard it was to quit? So with that question in mind, I walked to the park near my house after getting home from school with the pack of smokes in my pocket, holding a birthday card sealed in an envelope from my aunt, and the intention that if I did not enjoy my first cigarette in the very least, I'd throw away the rest of the cigs, never to buy another again. At the park I sat on top of a lunch table in an empty family barbecue area. After three attempts, I lit my first cigarette with a match and inhaled the tobacco's smoke. Lo and behold, I didn't cough, not once. As I continued smoking the rest of the cig, I opened the envelope, and read the card from my aunt. Inside the card there was a hundred dollar bill.
Fan-fucking-tastic the smell was, and fan-fucking-tastic the nicotine hit felt. There's nothing else more relaxing than the first nicotine hit, not even the ones after it. It's a buzz most likely comparable to smoking opium -- the only difference being that nicotine euphoria can only be experienced once, while opiateheads get it with every hit. When I had hopped off the table and took a few steps towards the walking path leading to the parks entrance, I didn't walk a straight line for five steps. That was it, every cigarette after that is not, and will never be like that first.
Marijuana is a completely different. Compared with my first cig, my experience of the green smoke was the complete opposite.
Mario picked me up from my house.
"I thought you already had it on you, man," I said as soon as I sat in his car.
He started driving immediately, and said, "Why's that, cause I'm Mexican?"
"No," I said. "But if you want to get all racially butt-hurt and stereotypical, maybe I should sit in the backseat like an uppity yuppie." I then said in an aristocratic tone, "Jose, take me to my drug dealer on the way to the whorehouse. I'll give you but a little for yourself. You are driving a limo, you know, so only half a line of coke for you."
"We're gonna go pick it up, Olavi," Mario said, reaching for his cellphone. "You wanna smoke, right?"
"Yes, but why you need me with you when you buy it? Wouldn't the dealer be more comfortable if you're by yourself?"
"Dude, we're buying an eighth, not an ounce," Mario informed. "Plus, it's cool I not only provide for your first high, I think it's fun you come with me."
"How is it more fun?" I asked, confused.
"It's fucking male bonding, puta." He searched for a contact on his cellphone, pressed send.
"Shit," I said, "want to play catch too?"
As he waited for the person to answer on the phone, he said to me, "Good idea, maybe after we're done smoking." His phone call was answered. "Hey, man, it's Mario. How you been?" There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other line. "Good to hear. I'm lookin' for an eighth." A short pause. "Cool, bro. Be there in about five, maybe less. Is that cool?" Mario gave me a wink and nod. "Alright, be there soon."
He put the phone down in his lap.
"It's that easy?" I asked Mario.
"Uh, duh," he said. "And hardly any waiting in line. No reservations required."
"Wow," I said, astonished. "Mexicans are truly efficient."
"The guy's white, moron," Mario corrected. "And you know what that means?"
"We're going to white suburbia where we'll get pulled over. Don't worry, Mario, I'll do all the talking."
"No, you idiot, we're going to the trailer park down the road from my house. The one behind El Rancho. What I was trying the say is this guy's cheap with his shit. We're not really getting a full eighth, but it's great quality, especially for a first-timer like you."
"Is he half-white, like me?" I asked.
"No. Total blue-eyed white-trash blond. He ain't cool to hang around with though. I think he breaks into homes, cause I heard he's always trying to sell people new TV's and Playstations."
"Damn," I said. "Talk about breaking the stereotypical mold."
"You know, now that I think about it, I think he's the one who stole my car last year," Mario said.
"That was a real classic," I said. "Now you're driving this shit which has no dashboard lights, or even a radio."
A few minutes later Mario parked his car in front of a double-wide manufactured home in the trailer park. The white dude came out, leaned on Mario's car door, and money and weed were exchanged in an instant with a "Hello, thanks," and "Goodbye." Before I knew it, we were headed back to my house. I didn't say a word the whole drive back. In all, honesty, I was nervous leading up to the drug deal, but when it was over I was happy it was so easy and uneventful.
"Whoa," I uttered when Mario parked his car in front of my house. "It's like I lost my virginity, even though I'm still actually a virgin."
"Yeah, man, welcome to the frontier, a new beginning," Mario said. He sat silent for a second, looking at me. "This reminds me of something."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Remember when we went to Great America our last year of Middle School?" He asked.
"Yeah," I replied. "What about it?"
He tapped my shoulder with his hand, and said, "That was when you finally road an upside-down roller coaster for the first time. The Demon, you know, with the two loops after the first drop. Remember how you were as we were headed up to the drop?"
"Yeah, crying like a bitch," I admitted.
"And when the ride was over, what was the first thing you fucking said to me?"
"Oh, yeah," I said, then recited the memory. "'Mario, let's do it AGAIN!'"
"Exactly, Olavi. Sometimes the danger is merely an illusion."
So with my fear slightly deterred by what Mario had said, I stood in the backyard of my house, looking around at the cracks between the fence's board, seeing if any of my neighbors were in their yards as Mario sat in the patio chair, rolling the blunt.
"Don't be all paranoid, man," he said before licking the swisher paper. "None of them are home at this time. They're at work, and their kids are in school."
I asked, "You think a cop would smell it if he were driving by?"
"Jesus Christ, fucker," he blurted. "You're paranoid before you even get high. I swear, all you first-timers are all the same. No, Olavi. No one is gonna stop to smell the pot. Pigs and people got better things to do when going by the front of your house."
He finished rolling the blunt, lit the bic lighter, and held its fire under the seem he had just licked.
"Why you do that?" I asked. "You might burn it all."
Mario chuckled, and said, "It won't all burn. It's to make sure it's sealed all the way so we can smoke it better." He then held it up to me. "Are you ready?"
I looked around one more time. I didn't hear anyone else in close proximity to my house; we were alone, and all seemed calm and peaceful, as if it were meant to be. I turned back to Mario and saw he had already lit the blunt and was toking on it. He inhaled, held the smoke inside his lungs for a few seconds, then blew it all out. The smell immediately came to my nostrils, as if beckoning, calling me to embrace it's soft, silk smooth euphoria.
"Come on, sit," Mario said, reaching over to pull the other patio chair closer to him. "Sit right next to me, man. Here you go."
I sat down. For a second I only looked down at the lit blunt held in between Mario's thumb and forefinger.
"Take it, man," he said. "Before it goes out."
I took hold of it with my thumb and forefinger, and just like being on a rollercoaster about to be pulled down that first drop by earth's gravity, my lips went around the receiving end of the blunt and toked a mouthful, took the blunt away from my mouth, and inhaled fast. And holding the smoke in my lungs, I thought, Fuck it, then proceeded to toke on the blunt more, doubling the amount of smoke inside my lungs already. I then blew it all out and coughed profusely.
"Damn, Olavi, not so much," Mario said. "Save some for me." He took hold of the blunt again.
I coughed for almost half a minute. Mario continued to smoke.
When my coughing fit was over, I said, "The fuck, man. I didn't even cough that much the first time I had a cigarette." I coughed a few more times before reaching for the blunt again.
"Wow, really?" Mario asked, handing me the blunt. "Everyone I know coughs when they first try a cigarette. Hell, I fucking threw up."
I took a few more puffs of the blunt, and had another coughing fit as I handed it back to Mario. I then stood up from the chair, and spit in the grass.
"Don't worry, man, you'll get use to it," Mario informed. "The coughing fits get less and less the more you smoke."
"You actually barfed the first time you had tobacco?" I asked.
"Yeah. Made me all light headed. Got dizzy and shit. Threw up in a parking lot." Mario started to laugh as he remembered. "Almost spilled all my chunks on the hood of someone's Benz."
"The first time I had a cigarette it felt hella nice," I said. "The nicotine just hits you like that." I snapped my fingers. "In a manner of seconds. What about THC, man, how long does it take before you're high?"
"Well, are you high now?"
"Um, to be honest, no. Let me see." I put my arms out to my side and walked a straight line as if I were being tested for a DUI. I achieved it without faltering in the slightest. "I guess not," I said.
"Come sit back down," Mario said. "Have some more."
"No, man," I replied, sitting back in the chair, motioning away the blunt with the wave of a hand. "I don't want to smoke too much, maybe next time."
Mario leaned back in his chair. He said, "Okay then. Just sit back, relax, and let it come." He continued smoking the blunt. "By the way, what made you change your mind about smoking weed?"
I stared up at the overcast sky, and said, "Because of Summer."
"Dude, it's still fucking November," Mario corrected. "Summer's a long time away."
"Not the season, a girl named Summer," I informed. "She's a coworker of mine. She smokes weed too. I thought if I started smoking, we'd have a reason to hangout. End up sitting in her car after work in the parking lot, have nice conversations, get to know her."
"Fuck her?" Mario asked.
I looked back over at him, and said, "Well, eventually, yeah. But, man, you must understand, I'm in love with her. Not a crush kind of thing. I'm saying love-at-first-sight, motherfucker. Can't get her out of my mind kind of love. And we've talked, had a conversation." I leaned closer to Mario. "Summer keeps me up at night for hours, I'm telling you. Shit, there was one whole night I couldn't sleep."
"Shit," Mario muttered.
"I've never felt this way about a girl before," I said, shaking my head.
"How about compared to the girl back in high school?" Mario asked. "What was her name?"
I began giggling, and said, "Oh, yeah, Ariel. Well, the thing about her was I knew her since I was a child, and never had any feelings for her until the end of my last year in middle-school when one night I had a dream about her. She was basically the very definition of 'dream girl' because I had only fallen in love with her in a lucid dream."
"What's a lucid dream?" Mario queried.
"It's where you know you're dreaming. We were with some other people at the park at night, sitting at a lunch table in the middle of the grass. She was singing with a guitar that wasn't in her arms. It felt so real I could feel my heartbeat, and the evening breeze move the hair on my arms. Just like how I feel the breeze on my arms at this moment."
Mario looked around the backyard. He said, "There's no breeze, man."
"Seriously, don't fuck with me, Mario," I said. "It's a light breeze. I can feel it."
"Dude," Mario said, leaning closer in my direction, "you're stoned. I can see it in your eyes. They're bloodshot."
I looked at my arms, down at my lap, then up at the trees near my house. He was right, there was no wind, like at all. I gazed back at him.
"Whoa," I muttered. "It's like that fucking dream." I raised my arm up, and moved it around in front of me. "Everything is like... delayed."
Mario broke out laughing, slapping his knee.
I looked over at him, smiled, and said, "It's as if you're not there."
"Okay, man," Mario said, "now how does it feel?"
"Different," I replied.
"Have a cigarette. Sit back, relax. There's no reason to worry."
For what seemed like five minutes, I reached inside my pocket for my pack of cigarettes, slowly took out one cig, and place it between my lips. I felt around inside my pocket for my lighter.
"Shit," I said, "I lost my lighter."
"I have it, idiot," Mario said, chuckling.
"I gave it to you?"
"Yes, before I rolled the blunt."
I pondered for a moment, then said, "I...don't remember."
"Here, I'll light it for you." Mario reached over, held my bic light up to my cigarette, and sparked up the flame. "There you go."
I began smoking the cigarette, the tobacco smoke smoothly entering and exiting my lungs.
"See that, Mario," I said.
"What's that, Olavi?"
"I didn't even cough."
He tossed my lighter on my lap. "Don't mean you won't one day get cancer if you'll never quit. So, tell me about Summer."
"The thing is with Ariel I couldn't achieve the courage to even speak to her throughout all of high school, but with Summer, I felt compelled to speak with her. Like fucking metal to a fucking magnet, man. I'm gonna ask her out on a date, man. I'm serious like an earthquake, I'm gonna ask her out for dinner and a movie the next time I see her at work."
"You think she'll say, 'yes',?" Mario asked.
"I could care less about the outcome at this moment, I just want to do it. Are you sure there's no wind?"
"Dude, there's no fucking wind or breeze, and I ain't blowing on you from where I'm sitting. You're just high as fuck cause it's your first time. Won't be the same after this."
"You know, Summer says she eats edibles. You ever had an edible before?"
"You mean like a magic brownie?"
"Yes. She said something about eating brownies before cutting the turkey for Thanksgiving last week."
"I've never had an edible before, just smoked blunts and joints."
"Maybe I'll have her show me how to make magic brownies at her place. That'll be a good way to get closer to her. You know, emotionally."
"Don't hit the nos too soon, Olavi. I know from experience, better to be friends before lovers. If you become lovers too soon, it won't end well."
"How long will I be high for?" I asked.
"I don't know, I told you I've never ate an edible before."
"No, I mean now."
"Oh, I don't know. How much you smoke?"
I began thinking how many times I inhaled. After almost a minute, I said, "I don't remember."
"You're so fucking high, man." Mario began laughing again.
I then sat there smoking my cigarette, rubbed my face with my hand, then stood up from the chair, and surprisingly was still well balanced.
"You think I can walk a straight line again?" I asked.
"Try it," Mario said.
I stood still, staring down at the lawn.
"Well, you gonna walk the line, or not?" Mario asked.
"I don't want to, cause I'm questioning whether I'm even here, or just in a dream," I said.
"Come sit back down."
"You think I'll fall down and not get up, Mario?"
"No, just come sit, relax, and enjoy the high."
I did as he suggested.
"Are your parents leaving this weekend?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Then this weekend we get crunked, and you can tell me more about Summer. Right now, love the high under the shade of the clouds."
About an hour and a half later, when my first high was over, it felt as if a dream ended while I was still awake.
