Camping

The first time my Mom caught me getting high was a traumatic experience for both of us.

It was 1997, and we were camping up in Massachusetts with the whole family.  My best friend Bobby’s parents let him come with us because I was such a good influence on him.  I got good grades (sort of), and could generally be counted on to have manners and not be a complete fuckup.

We got to the park and set about the process of setting up camp…

Rewind 2 days.

This is the first time I had ever tried to buy weed in my 16 year existence.  I was scared out of my mind.  A guy I knew told me to talk to this badass senior about what I wanted.  I’ve never been more scared in my life.  We met up in the long hallway behind the cafeteria, the hallway that was all but forgotten by the teachers.  I could barely find my voice when asked where the money was.  I pulled out my wad of $5 bills.  I didn’t have a job yet, so I had to save my lunch money for this.  $40, that’s eight crumpled, sweaty $5 bills.  The question becomes, “what the fuck is this??”.  I thought I was about to get my ass kicked, and then I’d be out $40 with no weed… “Sorry Jessica, it’s all I had.”

I am now paranoia incarnate, carrying my pitiful bag of crappy brown weed around school all day.  Finally home, I go about the task of finding a bowl to smoke out of.  I went over to the head shop in the next town over, and the guy at the counter reluctantly took my money after I told him I forgot my ID at home.

Now we’re golden.  I have the bowl and the pitiful brown bag.  Tents, sleeping bags, a boom box and swimming trunks.  Good to go.  My paranoia is creeping back up as I try to figure out where to stash everything until we get to camp.  

Back to the present.

We’ve set up camp, had lunch, and now we’re just hanging out.  There’s a pool at the main clubhouse, and a lake with canoes and peddleboats.  The backside of the lake is the ideal place to do things you’re not supposed to be doing.

Bobby and I made our way behind the lake and smoked a bowl.  I had never been high around my parents before and I was scared.  We hung out for a while, but I smoked too much and I was getting green fever. And paranoid.

We managed to get back to camp in one piece.  My mom figured it out immediately.  She didn’t yell, she just made us go take a nap and sleep it off.

I woke up expecting to be yelled at and grounded, so I moved as meekly as I could around the camp, and offered to start the campfire in the metal rim provided so thoughtfully by the campground.  Bobby had no such fears, so he was being his usually ADHD self, chattering away with my little sister and circling the camp looking for sticks for the fire.

I was squatting next to the fire, blowing and blowing, trying to get it to a respectable size.  I stood up to catch my breath when Bobby snuck up behind me and put me in a bearhug.  He squeezed for what seemed like an eternity.  When he let me go, I took 2 steps forward and fell face first into the fire.

I woke up from the best sleep of my life to my mother screaming and my sister crying, and strangely, dirt in my mouth.  I had bounced the side of my head off the side of the metal rim the fire was in.  My ear was bleeding like crazy.

My mom rushed me to the emergency room, where we waited for 2 hours to have the top of my ear sewn back on.  “Sorry for the wait folks, there was an accident on the highway.  We’ll get to you soon.”

Needless to say, Mom and I never talked about weed again.