An Hour

(date of actual occurrence is July 13, 2012)

I had been planning it for awhile, and today I finally did it. I went to a new doctor and was given an official recommendation for the use of medical marijuana aka MMJ (I have had JRA since age 5). “Yay!” I repeated, all the way home, almost sarcastically. It took all day but this evening I finally got the first supply of gianhoblets that I needed. The supplier was a guy named Randy, who drove a Corvette, and looked better than I did with a shaved head. And I look damn good that way. With my new-found legality I couldn't wait to go for a walk after dark.

So this evening, when the sun was almost down, and the summer temperature had fallen from 149 degrees (fahrenheit) to a nicer 89, I opened my gianhoblets. I opened the first bottle (J1) and smelled it. Damn it smelled good. I opened the second bottle (Super Silver Haze) and smelled it too. Fuck! It smelled so fucking good. I decide to save that one for later. I loaded my sneak-a-toke with J1 and dropped it into my pocket. I put my adventure vest on, and stepped into my sandals. I slipped outside and through the gate, evading the sharp ears of the two resident chihuahuas. I walked out onto the pavement and made my way down the street toward the hill. “I wanna get baked.” I thought. I walked on as the sun fell behind the mountain, darkness rushing in like a reaper's cloak. Fuck that’s a good line. I’m leaving it in.

I walked along, and saw a woman walking her dog. The dog stopped to shit as the woman no doubt feared for her life as I came ever nearer and walked past. I’m not really a psycho, the Propoganda Machine just makes me look like one. A few moments passed and I lifted my sneak-a-toke to my lips and lit it up. I inhaled deeply. Not a bad feeling. The lungs definitely noticed it. The flavor was nice, almost chemical-like. But sweet as fuck too. Mmmm. It was good. I exhaled and walked on as my head tingled and my eyes went bionic. I began to look at the homes around me, wondering if any of the tenants were awake. Could they hear my flapping sandals? My sandals made a ‘flap-uh flap-uh’ sound as I walked as silently as my ninja training allowed. The sandals kind of defeated the purpose though.

I reached the bottom of the hill. I was leaving Heritage Park and walking along South General Kearny. Destination: Veterans Park. I began to ponder the legality of what I was about to do. Sure I was legal. The MMJ was legal. But was being in the park at night legal? It strikes me as strange that in 2012 I’m carrying MMJ in my pocket, intending to smoke it in the park and the one thing that concerns me is, “Is the park closed at night?" Back in 1987 all I was worried about was getting caught smoking weed in the park.

Now I'm just wondering if anyone sees me, will they think it’s weird to see some guy sitting on a bench, smoking something suspicious? The 21st century is fucking weird. In their minds they'd already believe it’s illegal because that’s what the Propoganda Machine teaches them. Or they think, "That's one of those legalized pot-heads that are ruining our city." But I walk on, destination confirmed. I enter the park and begin walking through the thick luxurious grass. It’s soft beneath my steps, feeling almost cloud-like. I realize that I only took that one puff, so I can’t be feeling it yet. Soon I’m at the children’s jungle gym. CrEePy! Okay I’m 43, and I’m lurking in the park just after sundown like a serial killer waiting for some poor young girl or clueless businessman with a briefcase to walk by so I can drag them into the bushes and rob the woman and rape the man. Yeah, you read that right. This is 2012. It’s all fucked up in the 21st century, man.

So I circle the jungle gym in the darkness like a ninja and find a way up. Ladder. Nope. I ain’t climbing that shit. What if I snap my ankle? So I move on and find the steps. I take them. I’m on the platform and there’s a swinging bridge ahead of me. Fuck*. Oh well. Too late to turn back now. I'll just have to brave it and hope I don't fall. I walk across and it’s fucking juvenile. Danger Level: Negative 827. An infant couldn’t get hurt on this fucking thing. I find myself on the next platform. The entrance to the curly slide is in front of me. Perfect. With my ninja skills I wedge myself into the housing of the top of the curly slide, the slide itself curling down and away into darkness. I feel weird in there. So I get out. “Fuck it. I’ll sit on the platform.” I think, and I settle in. I feel weird. So I decide to put my back against the plastic safety wall. I settle in. I take a puff. That’s two now. Then another. Another. And another. That’s five. It only took 10 minutes to get to #5 with all the constant traffic. More cars passed by the park in that 10 minutes than have passed by in the last year. What the fuck? Is there a show letting out somewhere? Shit, it’s Friday night. I just know they can see me there, lurking like the psycho pedofile they see on the news and in movies. The guy that will kill your children and rape your husband before he robs and kills you. Yeah, you read that right.

So I decide the J1 is kicking in big time and I move to a park bench. Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. Some middle-aged loser in the park at night. I take another puff and then another. That’s seven. Suddenly I hear a strange sound like a twig snapping and I realize I could be the next unaware victim that dies like an idiot. Who goes to a fucking park at night? Killers, and stupid people. Like every teenager in the Friday The 13th movie series. "Let's all go somewhere dark and make out and junk. Except for you, Jimmy. You're the weird guy without a girlfriend who only came because you're close friends with my boyfriend. You should just go for a walk or something." Yeah, that's me, Jimmy. I'm THAT guy. But just so you know, I have a wife and kids, so I'm not just some loser. Well, I am a loser, but I have a family too.

So I'm THAT guy, and I'm sitting with my back to the woods.  I just heard a twig snap. The killer is here. I just know when I look behind me, I'll see the "normal guy-looking killer" right there, coming for me. Nope. No killer. There is a car on the corner though, and some activity. I see a young woman taping a cardboard sign to the stop sign. She pulls some more tape off the roll and it dawns on me that the tape roll was the sound that I heard. Not a snapping twig. Hmm. Yard sale no doubt. As I watch I find myself wishing I had one of those big black permanent markers. Then after they leave I could vandalize their sign. Next to their ad for their yard sale, I could write in something like ‘Blacks Welcome’ or ‘Free Shit’. They would get alot of traffic at their yard sale. Hell, I’d go just for the spectacle. It would be epic. Arguments and fights, the police being called, news vans pulling up to get the newest story on the air first...pandemonium.

I watch as they move around the corner to the other stop sign. The girl jumps out to tape up another sign. I lose interest and look around, taking another puff. That’s eight by the way. It would be funny to vandalize their signs though. I must remember to buy some big black permanent markers. I could go out on Friday nights and vandalize yard sale signs, and then drive around on Saturday and check each one for pandemonium so I can blog about it later.

As I sit there, cars passing, the people inside no doubt noticing me, I get up and begin to walk home. I don’t want my family to freak out if they notice I’m gone. They wouldn’t understand that I just wanted to take a walk to the park for no apparent reason. So I head home. As I walk toward the park's perimeter fence I see a car approaching up the street, their lights shining right on me. They see me. I know they do**. Oh well. I gotta get home, car or no car.

I walk back up South General Kearny and soon I’m entering Heritage Park. “This is going to be a long climb.” I think to myself as I walk, my sandals ‘flap-uh flap-uh-ing’ as I walk along. Damn, it sounds loud. I step out of them. It’ll be better to carry them. In my sock feet, I’ll be able to be stealthy. As long as I don't step on a rock or something sharp, no one will hear me pass with ninja silentness. I will be as shadow. Everywhere and nowhere. I walk along, and then movement catches my eye. Fuck*. Another human being. A man taking his dog for a shit. By his movements I can tell he has seen me. I resolve to walk on boldly, as if I belong there, because let’s face it, I do. I think to myself, “I hope he doesn’t notice that I’m baked like a fucking cake.” He's probably thinking, “He looks weird. I hope he doesn’t hurt me.” Face it, folks. The Propoganda Machine is hard at work, scaring Americans into avoiding all contact with people who are different because they’re probably a deranged serial killer or a terrorist or something. And by different, they mean anyone who isn't you. Everyone else is dangerous.

I walk on, realizing that I’ve been gone about an hour. I’m turning onto my street. Almost home. I move into the driveway and come to the gate. I must not rouse the two resident chihuahuas. I hear voices inside. Bunji. Davey. Eddie. I love them all. I reach for the gate and misjudge the distance. My hand jams against the gate and it rattles metallic-ly. Fuck*. I wait for the yapping voices of the dogs. Nothing. The sounds of laughter and fun come from inside. I move up the porch and through the door. I must act quickly to mask the smell. The J1 will certainly make it’s presence known, so I opt for a wash down with a hand towel, a brush of the teeth and some tetrahydrozoline in the eyes. Dammit, I can’t find the tetrahydrozoline.

 - - -

* In a voice like someone who knows they’re completely fucked and they’re tense as hell.

** In a voice like Michael York in Logan’s Run when he accuses Jessica about knowing something about how to reach Santuary. Watch the movie. When he says the line, you’ll know.