Murph woke to the sound of chopping, or that’s what he thought at first. He put on his underwear and jeans and walked into the kitchen where the sound was coming from, the only room that had light. Annabelle stood by the table wearing a man’s shirt and nothing else that Murph could see. She was chopping up and down with a fork into a bowl.
“Want some tuna fish?” Annabelle asked. “I woke up hungry and so here I am.” She was squishing the tuna, readying it for the mayonnaise.
Murph poured them both a glass of wine. He went to the living room and returned with his pot and the Bambu rolling papers. Annabelle was still mixing in the mayo when he lit the joint. They smoked it all the way down. Murph sipped wine. Annabelle made the sandwiches. They ate them standing side by side leaning against the counter.
“I’m going back to sleep,” Annabelle said.
“Did you see it’s still snowing?”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow. I’m sleeping in and then I’m tripping.”
“Not without me. We can go out and play in the snow.”
“Tomorrow night we’ll take more Quaaludes and finish that last bottle of wine. Then we’ll smoke till we fall off to dreamland.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Annabelle said.
They lay in bed huddled close. At first they were both laying on their backs. Murph stared into the darkness. He couldn’t see what Annabelle was doing, but he could hear her breathing. After awhile she asked him how he started into drugs and why. Murph told the story of a thirteen year old boy who lost his mother unexpectedly and how not even six months later he was hanging out with a group of friends that got blasted on beer every Friday night. He went on about how this group didn’t really care about him, didn’t even know him except for one guy who was a friend who was friends with the others who brought him along. He went because they always had beer.
Then he talked about his best friend, Bobby. Bobby introduced him to pot and he was off to the races. As far as Murph knew, or felt anyway, Bobby was the only person who cared about him. Bobby was the one who accepted him just as he was, who didn’t judge him. He and Bobby had a lot of experiences, were inseparable. So he first smoked pot with Bobby, then he always smoked pot with Bobby . Next came codeine they got from the local pharmacy in the form of Romilar cough syrup. By eighteen, when he went away to school, he was a pothead and then he became a garbage head. Garbage head–if it’d make you high, he’d take it. He tripped for the first time with Bobby too.
Annabelle turned on her side so Murph could spoon her. Murph turned too and for a moment they lay there just enjoying the feel of each other. Then Murph asked Annabelle how she started into drugs. She told him pot. A boy turned her on when she was fourteen so he could screw her. “It’s a gateway drug,” she said. “Opened my gate. And here we are, you and me, cutting school for at least two days and staying high.”
“Great, ain’t it?”
“Just peachy,” Annabelle said.
Note: The State of Massachusetts is soon voting on whether or not to legalize Marijuana. Marijuana is a gateway drug and should not be legalized. Decriminalized yes. Used medicinally, yes. Annabelle and Murph, depictions of real people with real experiences, illustrate this clearly. In AA they say: man takes a drink, drink takes a drink, drink takes the man. Need anymore be said?