Smooth Criminals

The first time I got stoned was right after I finished a court mandated petty theft seminar. I was 15 years old. At present, my best friend was Kayla Kessler. Junior high school had ended. Shauna and I started high school at different schools and our friendship died out. Kayla and I had been best friends on and off since the fourth grade. Tall, thin and extremely smart, Kayla felt older than she really was. To my delight, she was into stealing and rebelling too.

So, we re-instated our best friend status through our common interests. After months of relentless shoplifting from make-up to eating at restaurants and abruptly leaving without paying, we got caught stealing at the local department store, May D&F.

An undercover police woman dressed as a granny pulled us aside right as we were ready to leave the store, our pockets full of fake jewelry and sample lipsticks we swiped from the make-up counters.

We were taken to the back of the store. We had to display our stolen goods in our hands while we sat on a stool and our photos were taken. A flash of me giving a big sarcastic grin appeared in my mind, but I was too devastated to be a smart ass so I just gave them some teenage attitude.

Then, we were put in the back of a police car and taken to the station. It was a long, quiet, painful ride. Kayla and I sat quietly in the back, staring out the windows and weeping. At one point, she turned to me and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

“I love you too," I said. And then we both started crying again.

Our parents were called to come get us. Kayla’s mother arrived first and I was left alone in the waiting room while the police explained to my friend’s mother the awful things we had done.

I was sitting by myself thinking, “I could run away! Yes! No one is looking,” but I had no idea what to do after I ran away from the place. When my parents arrived, we too were taken into a little room. The police man closed the door behind us. I’ve never seen a more disappointed look on my mother’s face. Both of my parents sat stiffly awaiting the news.

“Your daughter was caught stealing at May D&F,” he said dryly.

My parents turned and stared at me coldly. I looked down at the shiny white floor and hoped no one would address me.

“As she is a minor, this will not go on her permanent record. It will be erased when she is 18 years old.”

Silence in the room.

“She must appear in court and the judge will decide what happens.”

It turned out our punishment was a full day of rehabilitation, a petty theft seminar. Also, we were banned from the department store for two years. We imagined posters with photos of us and our goods displayed in our hands, placated all over the department store in big “Wanted” style.

One early Saturday morning, Kayla picked me up in her little old red car. She drove us to the university where our seminar was taking place. We were in a small room seated around a huge oval table. Our teacher was an older man with kind eyes and a calm voice. To break the ice, he had each one of us present ourselves and what we had stolen.

A Mexican man with a mustache said, “I stole a TV for my wife.”

A woman with long stringy blond hair and no make-up said, “I stole a carton of cigarettes so I could see the second floor of the prison. I heard they got good food there.”

“I do not belong with these people!,” I thought, “ I’m not one of them! I’m not a real loser.”

A well-dressed woman said, “I stole a Nestlé Crunch Bar while standing in-line at the grocery store,” she paused, “I don’t know why I did that. I’ve never stolen anything before.”

Three college guys were seated together. One of the young men spoke for the group, “We stole a picnic table from City Park and brought it back to our house," he paused and looked around at the group. “We also stole three of those orange construction cones.” The trio looked at each other and broke out into laughter. That sure seemed rebellious, I thought, stealing a picnic table?

Kayla and I were obviously the youngest criminals at the seminar. At break time, Kayla who was tall, confident and extroverted struck up a conversation with the college gang. One of the guys was 24, had a full five o’clock shadow and wore cowboy boots. He told us to meet them in the parking lot after the seminar.

After the seminar, we headed outside. The cowboy guy was standing by his big pick-up truck. “Hey, you guys wanna get high?,” he asked.

Kayla and I took little time to reflect on our answer. We were not going to turn down an opportunity like this. The only problem was we were expected home right after the seminar. Both of us were grounded for eternity. On the other hand, it was still afternoon and our parents didn’t know how long our seminar was supposed to be.

We both climbed into the truck. The cowboy’s name was Bart. He filled a brass pipe and lit it for me, “Inhale and hold it in," he said still holding in his own smoke-filled breath. The smoke burned my throat but I was determined to get stoned.

Soon, I felt like I was watching a slide show. Each time I blinked, it was as if a slide was changing. I started feeling very anxious. Our voices sounded high and ridiculous. I looked around and all of us had eyes like slits. Suddenly, I couldn’t swallow. I thought I was going to choke. “I can’t swallow,” I announced in a panic.

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Bart, “You got cotton mouth.”

“Cotton mouth? Cotton mouth! Yes! That’s exactly what it feels like!”

“I need water. We need to get some water,“ Kayla said as if in a trance. “I’m going inside.” She stepped out of the car and I followed her into the university building. The hallways were lit brightly. I held my hand out to block my eyes from the fluorescent rays. No one was around on a Saturday. I could clearly hear the buzzing of the lights.

We searched for a water fountain. My friend being a full foot taller than me covered more distance in less time than I and soon I was lagging behind. My eyes focused on her to guide me through the endless corridor. Her walk was slow and deliberate. She looked like an elephant, over-sized and somehow elegant at the same time. With each step she took, I could hear the sound dump-dee-dump-dee-dump in my head as if I were creating the sound effects for what I was seeing.

“Kayla,” I called out, “You’re walking like an elephant!,” I was worried and confused.

“What?, “she called back, “Stop being weird.”

We found the water fountain. I took long lapping sips like a lion in the savanna who had just found a precious stream. Cool water flowed into my mouth, down my throat, bringing about great relief. Every time I swallowed, I could hear an over-exaggerated sound inside my head, gulp, gulp. It was disturbing.

We left the building and found Kayla’s red car waiting for us all alone in the deserted parking lot. It was time to go home.

“Oh, my god,” I blurted, “we can’t go home like this!”

Kayla was not a good driver so I wasn’t sure what would happen now, but being grounded by our parents trumped her incapacity so we got in the car. Once she started driving, our paranoia really kicked in.

“Oh, my god,” she said repetitiously. “Oh my god! That car is going to hit us,“ or “Oh my god, the light is yellow!”

“Oh, no!,” I’d burst out, “Ahhh, “and I’d squeeze my eyes shut to protect us from harm. We somehow made it to my house. I have no idea if we were actually ever in danger.

I got out of the car and told myself, “Act normal! Act normal!” Kayla drove away and I headed towards the door.

My mother was waiting for me in the kitchen. “So, how was it?” she asked.

I tried to avert my tiny pink eyes. “Fine. I’m hungry,” I went to the fridge feeling hungrier than I’d expected. I pulled out a huge lump of left-over roast beef and grabbed a bottle of creamy cucumber salad dressing for dipping. I sat down. My mother sat across me, watching me, watching me.

I dipped the meat in the white creamy dressing and as I took a bite, I heard the roar of a lion echo in my head.(I guess I had an African-theme going on) Oh, no! I hoped I was acting normal. Quickly I announced my fatigue and retired to my bedroom where I fell asleep. Evening fell and I awoke when my father knocked on my door. “Come in," I said, still groggy.

He walked in and sat next to me on my bed. “Your mother said your eyes were all pink,” he looked at me with raised eyebrows waiting for an explanation.

“Oh,” think, think, think, “My boyfriend just broke-up with me,” I lied, “I was crying.”

“Oh,” my father looked concerned.

I looked down, feigning a teen with a broken heart. “I’ll be okay," I said.

He exhaled loudly through his nose. “Okay,” he got up and left.

Thank god I wasn’t high anymore. I hadn’t enjoyed it at all. It made me paranoid and it was scary. But, I will have you know that a great affinity for pot was in my cards.