Chapter VI: Drugs Part II of IV

Rue meet erm, cigarettes, but actually weed, so, Rue meet Weed, Weed meet Rue.

 

Cigarettes are fucking cool by the way. 

 

Or at least that's what I was absolutely convinced of my entire childhood because I saw cool boomers smoking them. If the boomers did it, it was cool right?  Hardy har.

 

As someone who's been a daily smoker for well over a decade, I can verify just as all of you reading this already know, smoking sucks. 

 

But children can be easily entertained, and even though I was far from your average child, the idea of being cool entertained me. 

 

This particular event transpired at some point between the age of eleven or twelve. I remember it distinctly because it was that odd era when getting hot dogs at Sam's club was somehow a cool thing, which happened around that age for me. 

 

Despite their genuinely impressive parenting effort to not smoke in front of me often, I still knew they did and I knew they hid their smokes in two places. One, in the console of Mom's car, and the other place in a cigar box that sat on a plate under their bathroom sink..........

 

Stop and let that last part resonate........

 

 

Ok.....

 

Now...who else reading this at one point or another kept their weed in an old cigar box from dad on top of the breakup tray?

 

Yeah...so. 

 

One Saturday afternoon Mom went to do some good old fashioned bulk shopping and said that if I stayed home she'd bring me some hot dogs. 

 

Fuck yeah, I can roller blade in the house I thought to myself. We had new hardwoods. I always had to wait for them to leave to be able to skate inside. 

Fucking parents right? 

 

Toxicity blared on the speakers in the living room as I skated around the house. 

Unable to get over how incredibly rebellious and cool I thought I was at the time, I decided I wanted to be even cooler. 

 

How about I go grab one of Dad's smokes from that cigar box under the sink? 

 

Yeah, why not, I said aloud to the dogs. 

 

'Cigarette' acquired, I went out to the pool and lit it with the book of matches I'd taken from the box. My first inhale wasn't much of anything, but the second did the trick. 

 

My consciousness lifted from me in such a way I could feel it leaving my very toes. Taking another hit, the effects of the 'cigarette' crashed into me like a rogue wave hitter a tanker in the Mid-Atlantic. 

 

Woah, this is why my parents smoke these things. 

 

Feeling as if I could un-clench every muscle in my body that had seemingly been taught since birth I sat by the pool for a long time. 

The 3pm Florida sun cast light that fractured the water into millions of boxes that danced across the bottom of the pool. The wind blew the vining plants surrounding the lanai everywhere, as if the wind was reaching out to hug me with leaves and branches. 

The feeling was glorious.

The fire going out before I could take a third hit, a noise from behind me stirred me back into this world and my moment of zen in nature disappeared.  

 

The garage door. 

 

Fuck. 

 

I started thinking, if I just tell her I stole a cigarette and offer to bring in all the groceries maybe I can still have a hot dog. 

 

Then I realized I probably wasn't going to get to eat a hot dog. She always got cheese on them, and I was a portly little fuck. 

 

Getting angsty, I just decided to go in holding what was left of what I thought was one of Dad's cigarettes. Mom greeted me while dragging stuff in, shooing the dogs away, 

 

"Rue, can you help me bring in the groceries.....wait Rue what is THAT?"

 

Busted. Fuck, I'm not gonna get a damn hot dog. 

 

So, I did what I've always done best, I started crying. 

 

I let it all out, how I'd roller bladed in the house, how I'd taken Dad's cigarette because I wanted to be cool, I even told her about staying up on Thursday nights to watch HBO after dark. 

 

She looked overwhelmed. I expected the worst. She dropped the 486 roll package of paper towels and walked over and hugged me. 

 

"How do you feel?"

 

"I'm worried I'm not gonna get any hot dogs because I stole one of Dad's cigarettes." 

"Rue, that wasn't a cigarette, that was a joint." She explained laughing as I cried into her bosom. 

 

Those were the best hot dogs I'd ever eaten in my life.  

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