Hit it

Highschool, or, the highschool years are some of the most turbulent in people’s lives. These are the times when kids begin to have sex, to experiment with drugs, to hit or miss what they want to do in life, what to do with themselves. In highschool, we wanted to act grown. We wanted to show we were men. Who knows how to sex; who shows up with booze; who knows how to smoke. These were things of great importance.

I remember that first time I smoked pot. Nothing happened — I didn’t even get high or anything. This new kid had just been transferred to our school. We sat on the bus together. This kid was like no one I had ever met before. He came from a bigger school; he rapped, he got bitches, or so he claimed. He had mad stories. Every Monday he would tell me all about his crazy weekend. He hung out with older kids. They invited him to their parties; he knew a lot of people. It was everything, man, the swagger. Guy was into Drake and Eminem. He knew their bars to a T and even messed around with his own stuff. It’s strange, hanging out with him made you feel better about yourself he was so cool. Yet he often made you feel like a loser on account of you not getting any bitches or anything. He seemed to have the secret key to confidence. He was confidence. This guy was like a meteor colliding with the constellation which was the rest of the class; he’d send us all on our path. Guy came in and influenced everybody. Guy was just doing his thing too. Growing up. Like the rest of us.

Months of sitting next to this guy and listening to his stories had an osmosis effect on me. The change was gradual. Subtle at first. It began with my speech. Words that had never been part of my vocabulary began to creep up. Things were suddenly “chill”, every male in the vicinity a “bro”, females became “bitches”. Then came the clothes. Ralph Lauren polos were in. True Religion jeans were it. I needed a gold chain. Some precious metal to distinguish myself. A good watch. I had neither.

For some reason this guy took a liking to me. I was everything far from cool. Skinny as hell. Unobtrusive. Thick glasses. Bad skin. Completely unremarkable. Perhaps he saw in me the promise of future glory. Potential. A dormant player whose hope was not yet lost. With some work, maybe, something could be made of myself. Or, perhaps, I was just another sucker whom he could dump all his stories on and stunt. I never knew.

Eventually, I got curious, as all kids do. I wanted to act up you know? Be bad. Prove myself in a way. To him? To myself? I don’t know. I just had this itching curiosity to try it. There was such an air of badness about it. Only troubled kids did it. Yet in my dorkiness, I wanted to see what was up. I asked shyly at first.

Hey bro, uh, listen, I — uhm, wanna ask you something.

Wassup?

Uhm, — it’s about you know, weed.

Shhhhh buddy, bring it down a notch.

Okay, okay. How does it feel?

I don’t know man, it’s impossible to pass in words, it’s amazing, music sounds amazing, food’s amazing, and you get all these big ideas.

Is it bad though? I mean, do you get stupid?

Fuck no, bro! Am I stupid? All rappers smoke. Listen to their shit, you think that’s stupid? Plus they make millions of dollars.

How long does it last?

Not long bro, twenty minutes, tops.

I looked out the bus window while Drake fed “Pop some fucking champagne in the tub son, nigga, just because, son” into my left earbud.

Is it addictive? Does it lead to harder stuff?

Bro, you can’t get addicted to weed dude, and there are a million miles from smoking a little weed and doing crack or coke or whatever.

I nodded.

Can you get it for me?

Fuck you mean get it for you? I don’t sell. Plus, you wouldn’t know what to do with it.

I retreated into this truth. I kept quiet and turned to the window.

Tell you what. There’s this little thing going on Friday night at Chino’s. Couple of bitches, some of the guys. Turn up and we’ll see.

A wave of elation came over me. I struggled to keep it down.

Ok. I’ll be there.

I got my mom to drive me to Marshall’s to shop for clothes for the party. She held up two polos side by side. One was Ralph. The other U.S.P.A..

They’re basically the same thing. This one is 70 dollars more and I don’t really see why. They’re the same brand, she said.

I was about to go into the minuteness of the big pony and the small pony, but she put the Ralph back and went for the checkout.

Friday afternoon I washed and conditioned my hair. I left my moustache to look older. The night before, I slept with toothpaste over my pimples. I put on the polo that draped over my body and put cologne on. I took my brother’s watch that was too loose for me.

My dad drove me.

I’m nervous, dad.

That’s normal, you don’t know what’s gonna happen. It’ll be fun.

As we went up the hills and around the bends, I felt an intense tingling in my stomach.

My dad pulled over and I got off and walked over to the front door. It was open. Rap blared from the inside. I could see that everyone was in the backyard. Like Rafa said, couple of guys and some girls. I took off my glasses, folded them, and put them in my pocket. A blur set in. I approached the group. I was so nervous I could hardly speak. Rafa said,

Yo! He made it! I told you he’d come.

Hey guys, — what’s up? I squeaked.

Rafa’s arm went around me.

Sup buddy, you good?

Yeah, — yes.

Cool bro, cool. We were waiting for you. You ready?

The others gathered round.

Rafa took out a toothbrush case. In it were two joints. He took one out.

Light it up Rafa! A girl said.

Wait. Rafa turned to me,

Bro you know how to smoke?

Uhh — yeah, man. Yes…

Bullshit, motherfucker be lying!

Easy guys, easy, Rafa said. Give me a cigarette. Alright bud, listen well, Immna teach you how to smoke. He put the cigarette on the corner of his mouth and lit it. He took a drag and let out the smoke. He gave me the cigarette.

First of all, you hold it like this okay? He put it in the middle of my index and middle finger.

Alright. Drag. Fill your mouth with smoke. Now inhale.

I let out the smoke. Did I do it right?

The group laughed.

No. You gotta inhale the smoke. You just kept it in your mouth. That’s not smoking. Give me it. I’ll show you.

He took the cigarette.

Okay, pay attention. The way to get it in your lungs is this: when you have the smoke in your mouth, swallow it like if you were scared. It’s like a gasp. He took a drag and opened his mouth. The smoke danced slowly in his mouth. He gasped the smoke down. He let it out with an exhale.

Got it?

Yeah, I got it.

He handed me the cigarette for the second time.

I put it in my mouth and following the cues, I dragged and did the gasp. My lungs bucked automatically and I went into a coughing fit.

The group laughed and cheered.

I’m dizzy, I said.

Then you did it right. Keep practicing. Here comes the good one, Rafa said.

He took the joint from his ear and burned the tip off. Then he blazed the body of the joint, up and down, up and down.

Even burn, he said.

He put it in his mouth and lit it. He smoked. He puffed clouds of smoke over everyone’s heads and bobbed his head to the bass.

He passed the joint around. Eventually it got to me. Adrenaline rushed my body. I knew this moment would change everything.