I was thirteen the first time I pulled the split cigar that was resealed with the finest indo-weed. Thank goodness it was sativa. I’m not sure if everything was funny, if I was funny, or if I was just doing funny shit. My cousin’s anti-D.A.R.E. propaganda proved too powerful, and his wordplay too closely aligned with my impressionable sense of wonder.
“Ok now pull in but don’t inhale it. Close your mouth and then breathe through your nose.” Instructions for the damned and the enlightened.
In spite of the loud laughs from my first experience, I didn’t get high for a really long time after that. It wasn’t because I couldn’t access it, it was simply because I didn’t care to do it again. Let’s be clear about this, no one is truly addicted to weed. If people don’t have it, there’s no Ray Charles sweats or stealing from your family to buy cheeba. That’s ridiculous. Weedheads just drink some water and go the fuck to sleep. In fact, my weed “addiction” started during my senior year of college and even today I don’t smoke everyday, and I can go weeks without thinking of the stash. Even your biggest weedhead can go cold turkey today. It wasn’t until my senior year of college that I really kicked it up a notch.
Ideas like putting the weed in the hookah turned into habits when guests were over. Large smoke sessions turned into having more weed than cigars. First-timers freaked out after the indica settled in and they felt their heartbeat beating through their chest. Pssst, that’s my favorite part. In all of my years, there was one person who I could never smoke with me, my brother.
Out of all the people in the world, I admire my brother the most. He’s one of those guys where you can pair the leadership traits and routines of top leaders and CEOs of the world with him. He can focus and accomplish, whereas my attention spam last about the time it takes for Chris Johnson to run the 40. Whenever he came over, I could tell he wanted to join the cipher when the blunt was lit, but I know my brother needed incentive. Once again, he won’t do anything that’s not for his benefit. Thank goodness for weed regulation.
Out of the blue, he called me up one day to let me know that he had started to take edibles. What of a hell of a way to be introduced to the wide world of body high. Edibles leave me incapacitated. Maybe it was because the first time I had them, I was standing in line at Wal-Mart and I rushed the cashier to bag my shit up because I was in another universe wearing a non-NASA approved spacesuit. It was 4/20. There’s a picture from that day somewhere on my Facebook. I had to host an event after the brownie hit. It took me an hour to change into my suit with the first forty-five was spent sitting down in the bathroom floor.
A couple of years passed by until we smoked the cheeba together, as two millenial brothers should. He was visiting NYC and guess who had a blunt rolled up ready to go? Me. I’m the blunt master. I’m talking about bring the best blunt roller in your rap crew and we can go toe-to-toe. Swishers please. Since he was heavy on vaporizers, the blunt served too harsh for him and he only pulled it a few times. Throw that in the bucket of our ying and yangs.