Puff Ain't So Magic After All

October 12, 2007
By
When I was 12, my world seemed wide. Anything I wanted, possible. I saw my life as an unended book, a train that didn't need to follow tracks. I could have done anything.

Then I was 13. I took my first puff and doors closed, the train needed tracks, the book's outline was sketched out. Marijuana. Ganje. Dope. Mary Jane. My mind started to fry and my life lost it's unpredictability.

The worst time was a Thursday morning, 6 a.m. My friend called me and wanted to "wake and bake." I had an algebra test and an in-class essay on Lord of the Flies. But instead of these obligations keeping me from getting high it stressed me out, drove me to need a way out. So I snuck out and smoked. I failed the test and skipped the essay. But that wasn't the worst. The worst was my 8-year-old brother, had to walk himself to our K-12 Waldorf school. My parents were working the night shift at the clinic. I forgot. My brother never made it to school that day. We found him in the town library at 3 p.m. -- he got lost on the two-mile walk.

In all honesty though, even this didn't stop me. I smoked for two more years after that. Now I'm in a mix of Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior classes. Everyone knows I failed, I know I failed. And no matter how hard I try I'll never have the range of opportunities as before... that... first...





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