Major Lee High, Mission 1

This is part 1 of a 2 part series about the first time I smoked pot. I highly suggest listening to Pink Floyd while you read it for maximum pleasure.

astro 1

I was an astronaut. Once. Kind of.

Sandy and I were kickin’ it watching Days and chain-smoking when an amazing idea popped into her head.

“Let’s go over to Tommy’s and get stoned tonight!”

She did this a lot. Sandy was the kind of girl who would have to share her inner thoughts the moment an idea popped into her head or I think she may have actually exploded. Like Scanners, but not just her head. And I’m not kidding, spontaneous combustion is a very real phenomena, so it was a bad idea to silence people like Sandy… or it could’ve gotten messy real fast.

“Sure,” was my normal reply to Sandy’s ideas. There was rarely a reason to say no to one of her sudden ideas. They generally ended in hi-jinx, hilarity and sometimes handcuffs.

OK, only that one time…

“Have you done it before?” I was only drinking and smoking thus far. I was nervous at the prospect of adding drugs to my milieu.

“Yeah, Tommy got me high once, but it didn’t really do anything. He says I need to try again.”

Oh, just think of the accomplishments we would’ve made if we put our determination into, say, school.

Tommy’s eyes were always red and half-closed. It seemed like he was stoned all the time. And I’d only ever experienced one-word conversations with him.

Until this night.

Sandy and I waited until dark and sneaked into Tommy’s room. Of course, I was wearing a skirt – with a closure – so getting in the window without showing Tommy my underwear was a bit of a challenge… and then… a failure.

And I was wearing my Thursday undies on Friday.

Mortifying.

But Tommy didn’t seem to mind – he actually smiled. It was the first time I ever saw him smile full-on, besides his permanent stoner half-smile.

black-light

Hi. I’m glowing.

Once I awkwardly gathered myself, I noticed that I was glowing. And that I had a shit-ton of lint on my navy shirt.

And Tommy’s smile was, well, green.

Sandy ate shit getting through the window, as she was about as clumsy as a puppy who hadn’t grown into her feet yet. She grinned a big yellow grin and I could count the cat hair on her leggings.

I dared not ask what was wrong with the lighting in his room, as I was quite sure it was intentional, but I now was even more scared to do drugs because I already felt like I was in an altered state.

I wish Sandy would’ve warned me that Tommy’s room was possibly the raddest place on the planet. I would’ve definitely chilled over there a helluva lot more had I known. Maybe she was scared she’d lose me to his room.

But I doubt he would’ve watched Days with me and his parents didn’t let him smoke in the house so that was a fat chance anyway.

And he never talked, but Sandy talked all the time, so those two cancelled each other out.

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The walls were covered with Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden and Metallica posters. But the coolest part was that I felt like I was in Hawkeye and Trapper John’s “swamp” on  a glow-in-the-dark M.A.S.H. set. He had that army green netty stuff everywhere.

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Point if you think army green netty stuff is badass. 

I was immediately bummed I never even thought of doing that to my room.

He just had a twin mattress on the floor, but his room was so cool that it didn’t even need a waterbed with a mirrored headboard. The funny light was at the head of the bed emanating a bluish-purple beam. The bed had netting all around it and I wondered if he was scared his room was going to be suddenly invaded by big ass bumble bees or may flies.

It was now Out of Africa meets M.A.S.H.

I must admit I did feel protected from any impending infestations of overly large insects.

He put on Dark Side of the Moon. The three of us sat on his bed as he packed his large glass bong with weed. Thankfully he knew it was my first time so I didn’t have to pretend to know how to smoke out of that thing. I’m sure I would’ve found a way to burn my face off and, even worse, embarrass myself.

“This is a bong. It’s the only way to smoke. Gets you super high and it’s a really clean high.”

Shwew. I definitely wanted a clean high, whatever the hell that meant.

“I’ll take a hit to show you how it’s done.”

This was the most I’d heard Tommy speak. Ever. By like a zillion. He was really in his element. Then he ripped that bong like a true pro. I was impressed.

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Rip it. Rip it good.

But it got weird real fast. He held the smoke in his lungs with fierce determination. His eyes started to water. His face got red and started to contort. And I wasn’t even high yet. This was a bad sign. What the hell had I signed up for? It was too late to back out.

Then a noise came out of his face. A noise that frightened me. A noise I would never allow to come out of my face the next, oh, 8,000 times I got high.

It sounded like he was about to sneeze and fought it, but sneezed anyway without opening his mouth ever. Or kind of like the sound Felix Unger made when he was cleaning out his sinuses.

He started to tremble. My fear intensified. I was scared he might have a seizure or something. How would I explain this sordid situation to my mom? Jesus man, exhale already!

After about the run time of all nine parts of Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Tommy finally exhaled enough smoke to fill the room, coughing all the way.

pot-leaf-cannabis

Tune in next week to find out if I inhaled! Hint: I did… I just realized that was a rhetorical question. I also am very happy that rhetorical was on my 10th grade vocabulary test because I use it quite a bit. Vermilion? Not as much.

About courtrundell

Comic. Mom. Writer. Reno escapee. Recovering from alcoholism, drug addiction & bipolar disorder. I blame Reno.

Posted on May 3, 2016, in 1980's, drugs, reno and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. OMG love your drunkalogue…Your descriptions are awesome, I felt like I was there and that is good writing. My first high was around the same age and I was pouring Diet Coke and thought it was so funny so I peed my pants. Not as exciting as that guys room. Now sober 11 years I don’t pee on myself quite as frequently. xo Mara

    Liked by 1 person

  1. Pingback: Fryday Night | Courtney Rundell

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