That Time I Tried Crack

I had ridden my bike over to Jason’s place to get some weed.

He always wanted to hang out, especially when I was in a rush. It’s not that I didn’t like hanging out at his place, which I didn’t because ugh it always reeked of cigarettes, but damn I was really in a hurry today.

So I chilled for a bit in his shitty apartment, taking bong hits and chatting.

He was on the outs again with Gabby.

“You aren’t fucking her?” he asked me.

“She smokes too many cigarettes for my taste,” I said.

Truth was, given the chance, I probably would’ve. Especially after the Vermont trip, I hadn’t stopped thinking of her feeling me up in front of the cops, and then blowing one of them.

“She’s fucking somebody, and it ain’t me.
When I find them, they’re dead.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
I knew he had a gun.
I also knew he had no clue how to use it.

I’d once had to show him how to check if a round was chambered.
And how to turn the safety on.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’ve got a class to get to.”

I had started taking classes again at the community college.
Still bitter about getting kicked out of UVA.

“Want to try some crack?”

He pointed to this giant fucking crack rock sitting on his coffee table.

“What the hell, sure.”

He shaved off a chunk, loaded a pipe, showed me how to hit it.
Then reloaded and handed it to me.

The effect was almost instant.

This wasn’t like coke, which I’d done on the regular.
This was obliterative.
I couldn’t keep a single thought in my head.

Except: I’ve got to get to class.

“I’m gonna be late,” I said.

“Fine, go, whatever,” Jason waved me off.

I went outside.

Looked at my watch.
Looked at my bike.

Fuuuuuuuck I was running so late.

So thankful to have that bike with the hurry I was in.

I thought to myself:

“I’ll get to class in no time.”

Then I picked up the bike—
Put it over my shoulder—
And started running toward campus.