4. A nineteen-year-old

When I was in the sixth grade, a detective, complete with a badge, came into our class armed with various samples of drugs: little red pills, white powder, and some greenish-brown pot. They were all enclosed in plastic boxes attached to a board, and he pointed to each one in turn, explaining how each substance constituted a threat to our lives. He even went so far as to burn some marijuana, so that each of us would be able to recognize the pungently sweet aroma and we would know enough to stay away from any place where that smell could be found. I believed everything he said; marijuana was surely an evil. How could anyone do something illegal like smoking pot, not to mention risking harm to their brain?
    In junior high the same thing happened, this time with the health teacher. But what the teacher doesn't realize is that by telling kids how bad it is she will just raise their curiosity. You just sit there and think: what is it like to get high? What does she mean by euphoria? So all the curious kids went and got high because nobody could explain how it felt.
    My first experience came shortly after that. Two close friends of mine, both a year older than me, asked if I wanted to try it. I knew that Marie, who was like a cousin to me, had smoked previously. At first, I was quite shocked and disappointed in her, but gradually the newness of the confession wore off, and I no longer viewed it in the same alarming light. Already the logic was setting in; if so many people smoke pot, and nobody seems to be harmed by it, how can smoking pot be so bad?
    Marie's invitation triggered conflicting emotions within me. I was flattered to be considered "cool" enough to be asked, but I also felt frightened and nervous. At the same time, I was excited by the prospect of this new adventure. I would finally see for myself what it was like to be stoned.
    The first time was disappointing. Other than feeling a searing pain in my throat when I inhaled the smoke, I felt absolutely nothing. I had something of a natural high from the tension and the excitement of the event, but I felt nothing from the pot itself.
    The next time, though, I wasn't disappointed. I felt a light tingling in my fingers and arms, and my eyelids felt strangely heavy. Everything was suddenly funny; I had a perpetual grin on my face. Things looked different. They seemed clearer, more distant. I suddenly became aware of all the little ridges on the trunk of a palm tree. I had trouble judging distances as we were walking, and I experienced a case of the famous munchies. The experience was definitely a positive one, and I had a really fun time just acting silly.
    Since then, I have had many unusual experiences while stoned:
    —swimming in the lake at night, I felt like my body lay floating on shimmering glass;
    —walking back with a friend to her house at midnight, we both felt like we were in "hobbitland." The road looked like the one to the Mystic Mountains, and any minute we expected to see Bilbo Baggins or a dwarf pop out;
    —sitting down and eating an entire cake my mother had just baked with my brother, who was also stoned.
    I also found that when I was in Florida, I could not smoke pot during the day. The intense heat combined with being stoned made me unbearably sleepy. I did, though, enjoy being stoned in cool woods or mountains during the day. Nature is overwhelming by itself, but combined with the effects of pot, it is even more so. I would almost feel like crying because the woods were so beautiful.
    Last year, I stopped smoking marijuana because I stopped enjoying the high. I suddenly began feeling self-conscious when I smoked, and I began to care what people thought of me. I was thinking too much about depressing things when I was stoned, and I found that I no longer enjoyed smoking except with very close friends. I started to get more withdrawn, more contemplative when I was stoned at parties; it was less and less of a social drug.
    I no longer smoke, but I still get high. For instance, I would rather drink a glass of good wine than smoke a joint. Wine relaxes me and makes me feel good, but not the least bit uptight. And if I am really in the mood to relax and party, which happens about twice a month, I take half a Quaalude. No moral judgments, please, I just think they give the best high of all. Besides, anything in moderation can't be that bad. Which reminds me: even marijuana can be detrimental to a person's well-being if it is used continually.
    So there I find myself, in the category of people who used to smoke marijuana, but who no longer do. I'm not for it or against it. If people want to smoke around me, fine; I just won't smoke with them. I find that observing can be as interesting as participating.
    Being a former smoker rather than one of the people who has never smoked puts me in a special category: I don't smoke marijuana, but I know what it's like, and have experienced it. I think that marijuana is a learning process that everyone should go through.