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You’re home for Christmas from prep school, looking to cut loose for the holidays and none of your former classmates are available. They’re going to be with their families. So, I’m being with my family. Stoned.
I’d learned some new techniques for getting high. I had a little brass pipe, called a baseball bat. That’s all you needed. And some weed. When you’re home for vacation, but the vacation part of the time off hasn’t kicked in yet, you need to get high. Relax. Let go of all your concerns about school, about failing Spanish, about going back in two weeks. Forget about it, let’s get high.
We drove to spin under the Moontown of Christmas lights. We were almost too high. Then we headed to Dad’s new house on the mountain, to suffer through his family Christmas with his new wife and adopted daughter. A real shitshow. High, it was almost manageable. Sad, but manageable.
When things are really hard we just want to blast off the planet. Get blotto. Release and escape from the pressure of life. We blottoed. I was with my brother at the time, riding in his car. I didn’t have a car, since I was going to prep school. We somehow ended up back at my brother’s apartment. I guess I was sleeping there.
Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?
Anyway, there’s no great way to say this. We were drunk. He diddled me. Wanted me to diddle him back. I didn’t. I was fourteen years old. Fuck you.
There wasn’t enough weed in existence. I never stayed with my brother again. I doubled down on the weed, and held my breath until school started again. I didn’t really want to get together with anyone after that. I was ready to die. To fight my way back into Spanish. To be away from my life.
