First Dance with Mary Jane

5 03 2010

It was one of those summer days when there isn’t a cloud to be found in the sky,  like someone hand-colored the sky with ‘Sky Blue’ from a Crayola box.

A fourteen year old me (read: skinny bitch with all the parts still in the right places) sat alone in the tiny double-wide sized house I had called home since toddler-hood.

What is a small-town teen to do, home alone on a gorgeous summer day? Raid their parent’s stash of ganja, that’s what.

I had watched all the adults in my life toke up since I was old enough to see across the room, but for some reason I had never thought to try it myself until this day.

I rolled the world’s worst joint, and lit it on the stove burner because I couldn’t find a lighter, and smoked it.

I sat back down in the living room and thought I don’t see what the big deal is…

Then the storm door started to make a popping noise.

Hah, I laughed out loud, snap, krackle, pop! OMG…..rice. krispies.

And we just happened to have some in the kitchen.


I think so.



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