My friends and I included, became obsessed with mature and interesting lives my sister's new friends lived. They drank and smoked and partied! They also smoked Marijuana...but I made the admission that they did, and I didn't care, these people were fun! Soon, my sister's friends became my own, I hung out with them, I met new people and made them laugh. They loved me, like my father obviously hadn't. The attention I lacked as a pupil at secondary school was compensated for here and for the first time in my life, I felt popular.
One day, I was acting wild and crazy as usual. I was jumping about after drinking this marvellous commodity called 'Stella Artois'. I had been practising in smoking recently too. A boy named Jack, no older than 19 or so became a little irritated by me. He, like most people down at the 'paddock' were Working Class in background and in accent, I had always resented what my Grandmother called the 'commoner' but her assertions had been wrong, these people were like anyone else I had met. Jack was an ex-Cocaine addict, and a respected figure. He instructed me to ‘toke’ the 'Buddha' he had been smoking and lay down for a while. I did, and what I entered was an inescapable mental roller-coaster of excited hallucinations and terror. 3 hours later, a lovely young woman woke me up from my conscious sleep, and ushered me to sip some water (which I did, and was refreshed like I had never been before).
This activity became a regular occurrence for me, and as my mind was altered, so were my perceptions of reality. We had made a maxim out of some lyrics one guy used to sing while playing the guitar (he's another story, when I feel more confident I'll tell you about him) which was "Heavens not a place where you go when you die, its that moment in life when you actually feel alive--so live for the moment!"
So several months passed, my brain damaged by the persistent consumption of beer and Marijuana. My stomach became pot like, and my attire dirty and overly worn and my bodily hygiene was of no standard. My hair grew down to my shoulders, and I wore a beany which became my own identifier. I was the waster everyone wanted to get wasted with; I even earned my name in improvised acoustic songs.
It was on September 4th when a friend of mine invited me to come with him to 'Jonno's' to get wasted. I grasped the opportunity and began walking with him through the urban mess of my town. We walked and walked and discussed trivial things until we came to a housing estate, like the one I had recently moved out of. The houses in the area were detached and had double-glazing--an obvious sign of decent income. We passed by a few colder sacks until we came to a large house with Greek style pillars on its porch. We didn't need to knock, the door was opened the instant we set foot on the property.
And there was Jonno standing in his door way. He was quite short for someone his age, and I believed then as I do now that he tried compensating for his small stature by acting tougher than he actually was, perhaps his place in the trade was another way of reassuring himself that he was an equal.
Now, his family and he were quite well off, although Jonno had a bad way of showing it. He always wore tracksuit bottoms of other chav attire, the job he had alongside his underground one wasn't exactly flashy either. He wasn't one to complain, but he never shut up about Morrisons.
Jonno invited us in, and led us to his living room, where upon my arrival, I was stunned. It wasn't the expensive furniture, it wasn't the LCD TV or the Xbox 360 which amazed me, nor the decor but what was spread out across his coffee table. Very recently, a distant relative of Jonno had died and left £11,000 for him. And obviously, she was a little bit more than distant if she was ignorant enough to leave £11,000 to a drug dealer.
There was several Tupperware containers on the table, each bag fitted according to the amount of weed in them. The fruits of the deceased relation. In total, 10 ounces of Marijuana were in Jonnos possession, and £10,000 plus the profits from his business. I don't believe I'll ever see that much cash and drugs again, but in that moment I had stumbled upon the Ark!
After the formalities, I felt obliged to show some respect to the man. In such a house, in such a place of criminal sovereignty I wasn't sure of how polite I should be. Still retaining my bourgeoisie manners and my child-like naivety, I asked "should I remove my hat?". To an extent, I think he was humoured by my innocent stupidity, but unsurprised. I can't read minds, but I knew Jonno enough as a friend and as a businessman to understand that he's crossed kids like me many times before. I was quite contented in suffering my embarrassment, but he replied "No, no not at all. Let’s roll a splifferoo shall we?" and the place became happy.
My memory of the rest of the night is slightly blurred, but as I recall it was business as usual for him and his phone never stopped ringing (except when we played on the xbox 360, his phone was muted and his relief channelled into driving his virtual car).
"I want a gun" said Jonno
"Awesome, why?"
"Cuz' no fucker would be able to mess with me, besides I need one with this much shit"
"Awesome"
For some reason this leaves an undying impression on me, I suppose it’s because it reminds me of how much I had devolved. From fantasying about drinking beer like my dad did, on one day, to smoking Cannabis with a drug dealer who was preparing himself for war the next. It was funny too, for shortly afterwards he shifted the conversation to my sister and their relationship, as if a girlfriend to him was just another tool for posterity.
Some argue that drug dealing is the worse form of capitalism, but in fact it’s the best. We delude ourselves with illusions of black and white. 'Drug dealers aren't human' according to my family, but the gent sitting next to me was. He had thoughts and feelings and ambitions regardless of how small. His home wasn't a sweat shop, it was a business beating it’s the competitor--the authorities. It isn't a lack of laws which gave him a steady income, but too many. Prohibition of narcotics gave him reverence, respect and most of all, money. It was also revealed to me that my social class I used to abide in wasn't as decent and proper after all. The buyers who came to Jonno's door weren't always at the fringe of society, no, they were predominantly the pillars--the centre of society.
It was a learning curve for me, and at the same time another blow to my innocence. I sincerely miss those days. It being September 4th, I was expected to return to school the next day. I smoked a joint Jonno had given me before leaving for my class. On the way there in the car I 'whitied' and was sick violently. My mother put this to anxiety, oh how could she make me go to school now knowing how much I feared it? I never returned to that institution.
If you've read this, you might have noticed that I haven't mentioned the friend who invited me to Jonnos house. Truth be told, I hadn't treated him very well that night. I often ridiculed him for his daft looks and his speech impediment and I hadn't been lenient in my routine on that occasion. And so I pity myself, because though I apologised shortly afterwards, I never had the opportunity to apologise for the other times I had been malicious for the sake of entertainment. His name was Matt Cornish, known to us all as Pasty and it was the last time I would see him again.
http://www.granthamjournal.co.uk/news/T ... 1845028.jpTEENAGER DIES IN CAR CRASH
Published Date: 27 October 2006
A teenager died and two others were injured when the car they were travelling in crashed into a tree on Saturday.
Matthew Cornish, 17, died in Grantham Hospital after he and two other teenagers were cut from the back seat of the red Honda Civic they were passengers in.
The crash happened at Minnetts Hill, Barkston, at 5.10pm.
Matthew, a Grantham College student and former Sir William Robertson School pupil, lived with parents Steve and Linda and sister Kerri in Shanklin Drive in Grantham.
The family have been left devastated.
Mrs Cornish, 46, said: "I couldn't believe it when I got the call from the police. They said he was wearing his seatbelt, which I always made him do when he got in the car with me.
"The house is so quiet without him. He was always slamming doors or playing his music loud in the morning. He really will be missed."
Mr Cornish said: "You read about this sort of thing in the papers all the time but you never expect it will happen to you."
Two 14-year-olds - a boy and girl - were taken to hospital after firefighters released them from the wreckage. The boy, who suffered head injuries, was later transferred to the Queen's Medical Centre in Nottingham.
The girl was taken to Lincoln County Hospital for treatment to injuries which police described as "non life-threatening".
An 18-year-old man, who was driving the car, and a 14-year-old girl, who was the front seat passenger, are not believed to have been injured.
Matthew's funeral will be held at the Salvation Army Citadel, London Road, Grantham, at 11.15am on Wednesday, followed by cremation at Grantham Crematorium.http://editorial.jpress.co.uk/web/Uploa ... tephen.jpg[/imgc]
This has been one of my many stories, and one of my more defining moments in my life. It was just want experience out of many which has shaped me into who I am today. I'm not intelligent, I just avoid being stupid. Too much depends on my own will to act responsibly now. I'm not proud of what I've done, and what I've participated in but I'm not saddened either. I hope you've enjoyed it.
But anyway, here's my first time smoking weed.
Wow! Great article! Like I said earlier, you should be a writer.