Chronicles of a Stoner
Chapter Five: Stoners Say the Darndest Things
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I hit the joint and coughed.
The weed was dry and it hurt going down my throat.
“So, if you could get stoned with anyone, dead or alive, who
would it be?” I asked Cody.
“Hmm…” he paused to take his hit and, I assumed, to think
about the question.
After blowing out a thick cloud of smoke that filled my
truck, which we were attempting to hotbox, and after having a coughing fit, Cody
finally answered the question.
“I would have to say…George Carlin.”
“Good answer,” I replied, plucking the joint from in between
his fingers.
I hit the joint, which was getting so small that the resin
around the end was starting to burn my lips as I hit it.
that was already lingering ie aie air, I gave the joint back to Cody.
“I think I’d like to get stoned with someone weird…like
Chuck Norris or Burt Reynolds,” I said, though I’m not sure why.
“What?” Cody asked incredulously, like he couldn’t believe
it.
He suddenly reached over and grabbed my cell phone off the
dash board. I could see him punching in
the numbers and I knew who he was calling: Chris a.k.a. Boobs.
Cody held the phone up to his ears and was silent for a few
minutes, during which I assumed that he was waiting for someone to answer.
Cody started talking, though I had to guess what the person on the other line was saying
because all I could hear was Cody\'s side oe coe conversation.
“Is Christopher there?”
“Okay.”
Cody looked at me and whispered with a stoned (or lazy) grin on
his face, “His grandmother answered.”
And then Cody started to laugh.
For some reason, we all found Boobs’ grandmother’s thick German accent
to be hilarious.
assumed, Boobs was on the other line.
“Hey dude.”
“Oh, you’re stoned, too?”
“Yeah, we’re getting there.”
“You wanna hang out?”
“Yeah, I’m with her.”
“Well, we can just pick you up at that thrift store down the
street from your house.”
“Okay, but first, listen to this.
get stoned with and she said she would want to get stoned with--”
Cody paused to put the cell phone in between us so that I,
too, could hear Chris’ reaction.
“—Chuck Norris.”
And for the next five minutes, all we could hear was Boobs’
infectious laughter.
* * * *
After my first time getting high, I spent about a month at
my Aunt’s house in
was fifteen, Andrew was twelve, and I was thirteen.
One of the first things my cousin asked me was, “Do you
smoke weed?”
After that, we were inseparable.
One time
made me go with her to see her boyfriend halfway to his job at a Wendy’s that
was fairly far away from her house. We
were all on bikes, which I didn’t mind.
…well, I didn’t mind until my cousin insisted we get ripped
off our asses. Then we had a problem,
because I had never been stoned and had to ride a bike.
But after I was so stoned that I could barely think
straight, I didn’t really think about it.
So, we left our toking spot—in the
middle of some random woods—and started the bike ride to the halfway point to
boyfriend’s work.
At first, it went all right.
I was a little wobbly, but I managed.
That is, until I hit a parked car (which I thought was farther away than
it turned out to be at the time of impact).
That wasn’t that wasn’t all fish and grits, if you know what
I mean.
I decided it would probably be safer to walk my bike for
awhile, or just until I felt confident enough to try again.
I ended up walking my bike the rest of the way to the
“halfway point.” I looked around, not
exactly sure of where we were, as Sharon and her boyfriend tongued each other’s
throats. I really didn’t want to witness
that. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Finally, after their—ahem—goodbyes were all done and over
with,
motioned for me to follow. I got on the
bike and managed to keep it steady while riding it, so I gave her a
thumbs-up. And so we pedaled off in the
direction of her house.
The ride to the “halfway point” was pretty quiet, but now
that her boyfriend was gone, I felt more comfortable talking to her, and I was
still stoned and wanted to know if she was, too.
It was like she read my mind because she turned to look at
me and said, “God, I am still very fucking
stoned. How’re you doing?”
“I’m good,” I replied, as I felt my high grow more
intense. Ah…so this is what they mean by
creeper bud. Your high just kind
of…creeps up on you.
Oops. I wasn’t paying
attention to
tuning her out, but she was talking to me.
I tried to catch the last part of what she said, but I really had no
clue on what the fuck she was talking about.
“…and it just felt so good,” she ended whatever she was
talking about.
And then she looked at me expectantly.
So I looked her square in the eyes and said, “Right on.
hand balled up in a fist.
stopped and I kept going. After seeing
her ten feet behind me, I stopped and turned my bike in the opposite
direction. When I finally got to her,
she was standing next to her bike, laughing.
Her face was red and when her laughter gradually died down to a few
chuckles, she sighed contentedly and wiped her forehead of the sweat that had
collected there.
“What?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
“Y-y-you…” she stuttered, “w-what y-you s-s-said.”
from bursting out with laughter, which looked like she was really struggling
with.
I heard her mutter “oh, fuck it” and she, once again, burst
out with laughter.
* * * *
It was the second night of living in that wretched tent with
Luke and Cody. Well…it wasn’t so
bad. We were sixteen, it was summer
time, and we had all the freedom in the world.
But the ‘no money’ part wasn’t all that great.
And yet, we had just come from Janna’s house.
Oxy’s, and from whom we just purchased a skimp ass twenty sack from.
So we were driving back to the tent, which was all the way
across town, and we decided to smoke a bowl on the way.
Gatorade bottle with a hole melted on the side for the carb,
and a metal bowl piece melted in place, next to the carb),
which we were using in this instance.
After getting thoroughly and utterly baked, we talked about
a bunch of bull shit, when the conversation suddenly turned to forgotten, weird
musicians.
“Don’t you clown on Michael, man,” our black friend, Luke,
threatened. I just laughed this off
because I knew he wasn’t serious.
“God,” I started, “who was that one guy…”
I paused to light a cigarette.
“…he sort of looks like Prince, and he wears purple--”
I was cut off when Cody asked me for the lighter, and I gave
it to him before continuing.
“He had that one song…” and I attempted to hum it, but I
remembered too late that I forgot how it went.
And I went on to describe all these features that this
nameless artist supposedly had, which I was probably wrong about ninety percent
of it.
“I have no fucking clue who you’re talking about,” Luke
said. I think he was getting a little
annoyed by my descriptions, as was Cody.
But finally I said, “…and he had a bunch of scars on his
face.”
“Seal?!” Luke asked in a voice that
led me to believe he was pissed off.
“Um…” was what I replied with.
I suppose Cody thought it was the right time for him to
speak up because he said, “You went on for half an hour, giving us descriptions
of this guy that didn’t even fit, and then you finally say ‘oh…and he had
scars’? If you had said that at the
beginning, we would have known who the fuck you were talking about!”
But only after a few moments of silence, Cody and Luke
started to laugh their asses off.
* * * * *
Author\'s Note: I just wanted to say that even though we were immature and laughed at my friend\'s grandmother\'s German accent, that does not mean that I am in any way, shape, or form prejudice against or racist of German people. I find their culture fascinating and would love to visit the country and I think the people are great. And I\'d like to add that I am very fond of both Seal and Chuck Norris (especially in \'Walker Texas Ranger\' *coughnot reallycough*).