10 Chapter 9: New Friends and Adventures
Moving on to the end of Grade Ten where social circles began to shuffle, my peers were in an inconspicuous kerfuffle, and with a tussle, a new group of friends were formed before my feathers were ruffled (you're welcome for those satisfying rhymes). The "friend group" spawned from a chance meet and greet on the top floor of Leo Hayes High School. A young man who we'll call Skinny P began sitting upstairs with an acquaintance of mine, I say "acquaintance" because this individual was quite the bizarre character, he was unpredictable and overly self-involved to the point of levitating amidst his own delusion. With that in mind, Skinny P and I started to converse over surface level, superficial banter of a foolish nature, until he began confiding in me concerning his distaste for the friendship he was currently entertaining with our mutual acquaintance. I told him to come chill with me and we'd get up to all sorts of ferociously fun fantastic tomfoolery. Why did we start chatting? Probably because I was bumming money off of him for a bottle of coke every lunch hour. Soon we were chilling on weekends, watching movies, messing around on our bikes and chatting about "the ladies". Tick tock went the clock and it abruptly came to my attention that Skinny P was a cool cat, and that I might want to introduce some of my friends to this fine gentleman. So, I did just that; Skinny P met Blake who lived right across the road from him, he met Johnson who lived a few streets over, as well as Johnson's friend Bruce who lived further down the same street as Skinny. Geoff (yes, the same Geoff) would join us every so often as well. And so, the cohesion of the group began to mold and tighten, and suddenly we were a congregation of weed loving westerners, united by the almighty plant from the heavens... I say "we" but it was more just "them". I resented the paranoia that would overtake me when I'd smoke even a little bit of "the devil's lettuce" as highlighted by the "Ground House" incident.
We'd all cruise down into the woods of Nashwaaksis Middle School, sit on a tree that had recently fallen down and I'd watch them smoke a bowl or pass around a joint. The smell of marijuana always delighted my nostrils; it never made me feel nauseous or gave me a headache like cigarette smoke did.
Skinny P was from Burlington, Ontario, his grandparents lived in a wealthy neighborhood in Ottawa, Ontario. Both Skinny P's parents and his Grandparents owned cottages beside one another a few clicks outside of Canada's Capital. Now Skinny P was a naturally confident young man, and he came from a well-off, successful family. I really enjoyed spending time with his siblings as well as his parents; his Dad in particular. His father carried himself in a respectful manor, he was highly driven and was head of a solid household, but what I really respected about him was his humble and kind nature. He talked to me like an equal and we got along nicely together.
While hanging at Skinny's house, Skinny brought to my attention his intention of bringing a few friends on a road trip to Ottawa to meet his Grandparents and to spend some time at their family cottage. I was thrilled and elated to be asked to join him because he was also someone who's confidence and self-efficacy thoroughly impressed me. He asked myself along with Blake, Johnson and one of Johnson's close friends named Bruce to accompany him to his lakeside abode.
The only real preparations our group had to make before our departure by the big bad bus was to acquire enough marijuana to last us the week we'd be gone. If memory serves me correctly, we bought about two hundred dollars worth of weed.
When the bus arrived, we all climbed on. I sat beside Johnson for the first part of the journey. He was quiet and reserved, so naturally I wanted to fill the air with some incessant chatter. I'd crack jokes, make fun of people, say random things that made no sense, I felt comfortable in my own skin around him, he always seemed to enjoy my sense of humor, and laughed at most of the goofy things I would say. Now, I've always had an issue with self-acceptance, along with possessing an animated personality I'll go overboard sometimes if I think it will bring me more of a sense of belonging with whatever group I'm chilling with. Like I said, Johnson was reserved, quiet, and he portrayed himself as a kind benevolent soul. Sometimes I'll gravitate towards this type of personality because it allows me to dominate the majority of the conversation, it gives me a sense of control over my surroundings.
We had traveled overnight on our way to Ottawa. Skinny P's Grandparents picked us up from the bus terminal and drove us to their house. I remember staring at an inconspicuous bolder that sat to the left of their home when we pulled into the driveway. "Damn that's a sexy boulder" I thought "these peeps got it going on". We sauntered into the luxurious high-end home, were directed into various sleeping quarters throughout the house, napped for the first while and then got up and had something to eat before heading out to the cottage.
Prior to our departure we were standing on the driveway talking to one another and discussing what our adventures would bring. There were a couple of beautiful looking girls standing in the doorway of one of the neighbor's homes; they were pointing and giggling in our direction. Blake, being as bold as he was, made a witty remark towards the girls in hopes of a positive reaction. Unfortunately, for him they made some mean-spirited comment about how youthful Blake looked (implying that he didn't look "manly" enough for them) and Blake was a good-looking dude. He seemed to let it slide off of him quite nicely. That's the thing about taking a chance with a girl or even a guy for that matter, it's a risk, and while a negative response may seem personal, it's generally more about them than it is you. That can be a difficult concept to convince yourself of, but it is true.
Skinny's Grandparent's locked up their home and off we went to the lakeside cabins. When we arrived, the boys unloaded the car, took a good long look at our organic, natural surroundings before walking to Skinny P's Cottage to organize our things and make sleeping arrangements. When we walked in through the front door I was hit by that natural, soul stirring, cottage smell. Now that's a damn good smell, and I was feeling so lucky that Skinny had asked me to come along, what an amazing opportunity.
Skinny pointed to a set of bunk beds and he said I'd be taking the top bunk. We quickly settled in, then went to his Grandparents cottage for supper. It was literally a two-minute walk, just a wondrous little set-up.
Dinner was fabulous, his Grandmother could really cook, they were great conversationalists, and I could feel that they both enjoyed my company and comedic gibberish. The other boys were a little bit quieter and more timid than I was. If I feel safe around the people that surround me, I'll move into being myself more readily, and so I did. When dinner had concluded and we finished socializing we made our way back to "our" cottage, where a long line of rolled joints sat perfectly placed for our consumption.
I was nervous and my heart was ramming itself like a drum as I accepted the joint that was being passed around the circle. Nirvana, "In Utero" was playing ominously in the background. Inhale. Exhale. Wild Violent coughing and exaggerated movements. Around the circle the joint went once again. I accepted it two more times until the room of the cottage started to look and feel different, and then I apprehensively backed away. A few seconds later the high began to take affect and I delved into panic mode. The others were used to the feeling, and the experience of using marijuana was different for them. Minute after minute I was actively and desperately trying to calm myself to a state of relative ease. I was failing. The boys were whispering, playing guitar, eating random munchies and laughing with an intoxicated sense of glee. Try as I might, my body wouldn't stop vibrating. The vibration wasn't a full-blown panic attack, but more of a state of bewilderment and minor shock. I stepped my way over to the bunk beds and quickly stepped up to the top bunk, and buried my head in the mattress with my arse facing the ceiling; I imagine it sort of looked like a child's pose of terror. With my gaze drawing downward into the blackness of the mattress my self-talk began to take affect and my perspective transcended from one of fear and uncertainty, to one of acceptance and objectivity. "I paid for this experience and dammit I'm going to try and enjoy it". Down I came from a precipice of blanketed solace, into a realm of disfiguration and a conjured cinematographic moving picture show, formed from my mind's reaction to the foreign THC. When the THC entered into my brain, I imagine my minds reaction as being "da fuck?". I made my way across the living room that was linked to the kitchen and my rump made its way beside Johnson where he proceeded to explain the song "Dumb" by Nirvana in eloquent style. His words seemed to mirror my own experience as I heard Skinny P and Blake motion for us to come outside. Their words were riddled with a confused exasperation and delight. When I stepped onto the porch and peered outside, there, not even fifteen feet in front of us, was a perfectly motionless doe. The light from the side of the cabin cascaded a deep yellow sheen onto the deer and its surroundings, creating a vivid illusionary feel to this completely random spectacle. We giggled and stared until the doe disappeared into the depths of the surrounding vastness.
For the following five nights we smoked reefer like it was about to smoke itself. Well, I didn't... my tolerance was sheepish, there's was wolfish. I mostly just smoked from a joint, while the others used the "waterfall" method, they used "blades" and they used a "lung" process of cannabis inhalation. If you don't know what these methods of smoking marijuana are, I'm sure your life would not be improved if you did, so I'm not going to get into it now. The nights fused into one another as the days remained separate and more tangible.
The third day after our arrival Skinny P, Blake and I headed out to a cliff that we could jump off of into the darkness of the lake below. It was about twenty to twenty-five feet high. Skinny was the first one to jump, because he had done it before and wasn't as sketched out by a potential collision with some unknown object submerged beneath the murky waters. After that it was a free for all. We jumped with enthusiasm and humor, each trying to complete a more outrageous jump than the others. At one point I decided; after seeing Blake and Skinny do it, to do a front flip off of the edge of the rock face. Well, I didn't push off the stone quite hard enough and instead of landing on my feet I landed on my back. Instant loss of breath, panic, embarrassment; I looked for my friends for help and they gave me a hand back onto the boat, I rolled onto the metal craft attempting to catch my breath as Skinny P quickly drove me back to the cottage. On the way there, my back turned purple as fear turned to humor and I laughed the incident into a state of buffoonery.
We arrived back to the cottages and Skinny's Grandparent's offered to drive us to the liquor store to get us some beer. I was astonished and dismayed by this odd situation. Skinny's Grandparents were going to buy us liquor..... sweet! We piled into two cars. The Grandfather asked if I wanted to drive, whereby he would teach me to use a standard shift. I said "Moya". Boom, I was in the driver's seat on route to buy some booze with my homies, and this standard thing was totally working out in the best way imaginable. This was one of those moments where everything feels right, the wind is in your hair, and your spirit is soaring. So many new experiences, and that sense of oneness with those around me. Interesting that I felt this way before meeting my greatest foe. The old slick, smooth and sadistic; king alcohol.
Most of us, if not all, got Molson Canadian. We got a six pack each and headed back to the cottage for our last night of hooliganism. When we arrived back, we loaded our cans into the fridge and started killing brain cells with the old ganja, and even though it was night number six I still got insanely high and then realized that I still had some alcohol to ingest.
Alcohol was something that I thought tasted like a Brazilian Speckled Tree Frog's anus. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why anyone would want to consume copious amounts of it. That night I didn't definitively find out why, but I did drink enough to feel a little bit more relaxed than usual while being high on Dope. At the time I didn't recognize it as being the alcohol, but now I certainly do. This was my first encounter with "the drink" but not what I would consider my first "real" encounter. Weed was too influential and the paranoia that goes along with it was still omnipresent and all-encompassing,
Our way back to Fredericton on the bus was consumed mostly with irritability and silence. It would appear that the "boys" had had enough of one another. I sometimes would make these sorts of moments about me, because I; being the self-centered person that I was, and can still sometimes be, thought that I was responsible. We were young, impressionable, hopeful and sensitive. Trying to find our way in a pit of social confusion and hormones. We did okay.
