Some teenage boys have taken to smoking pot outside my bedroom window. It happens during the school day, so I'm guessing they're cutting a class or have some kind of "free hour" when they're supposed to be doing something else. This entry will give them a credit in Subterfuge 101.
Most people would be pissed off by these kids. Many would rap on the window yelling, "Get the fuck out of here!" Some might even phone the local authorities or alert the principal at the high school across the street.
But not me.
I'd prefer to listen to them toke up, having a good time, while I lay in bed, seething in envy. There's a big part of me that wants to find out if they'll let me join in, but something inside tells me that no matter how counter culture I may appear, despite the length of my hair and the beardness of my beard, or how "cool" I see myself, I know I'll scare them away, ruin their hiding place and spoil what may well be the one moment of bliss to which they look forward every day.
I refuse to be "that" guy. Maybe I'd be the Lester Burnham to their Ricky Fitts (Angela Hayes will never figure into the equation)? I'm not 17 anymore. If I were a character in Logan's Run, much like Lester, I'd be dead.
I didn't even do drugs when I was their age, because I was so freaking square. It took me years to perfect the masquerade of coolness I now appear to exude. But listening to them outside that window, and peeking through the blinds at them, I sure wish I had. Waxing nostalgic about the past isn't something I engage in too often; waxing nostalgic about a past that never happened even less so, but man alive...
The weather in South Texas is ideal right now. It's the kind of weather people in California pay big money to exist in 365 days a year; in S.A., it lasts for about a week. These guys look like they're having the times of their lives. Outside it's that perfect mix of sunlight and morning chill that makes you feel just so alive. And the cherry on their cake is they're stoned! Goddamn them!!!! They've got no idea of the horrors and disappointment that are in store later on in life, and I'm not about to be classified as one of those horrors or disappointments.
The most horrific thing a baked junior could have to deal with is a long-haired, aging hipster lumbering toward him like some kind of dire warning from the future, indicating he'd better shape up or this is what's in store for him. They should suffer in delusion just as long as the rest of us had to. Far be it from me to be their wake-up call.
I know people who think high school was the best time of their life and I'm pretty sure most of them were high most of that time. I don't begrudge anyone the right to yearn, but if I thought it had all been downhill since high school...just kill me now. End it all.
But there is no fucking way that's the case, as I can't recall a time in my life when I was more confused, frightened and worried about what was around the corner than high school (except elementary school, but that's another story). The irony is I was absolutely correct and justified in my thinking. Maybe if I'd been high throughout high school I would've had more fun. This must be the reason it's called high school, right?
Click here to read Part Two: "The Narc, A Ho & Tinkerbell".
