During my late teens and early twenties, not only were The Beatles on the scene, but also the likes of the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and the Mamas and the Papas. The drug of choice for many young adults was, as you might expect, not alcohol, but marijuana. While my friends and I would meander from party to party, the scent of the forbidden would seep from behind closed doors; but I had no desire to step beyond the boundaries I had set for myself. After all, I had taken the required drug courses in college and had learned to recognize the plant, the scent, and the paraphernalia. Those drug-searching dogs were enough to put the fear of God into me. I didn't want any part of it, but knew that it would likely cross my path more than once in my life.
Three of those moments are embedded in my mind as if they were yesterday. The first incident was rather humorous, while simultaneously frightening; the second was truly heart-breaking; and the third changed my life forever.
FIRST ENCOUNTER
During my second year of college, I transferred from EMC (Billings) to Eastern Washington State University, Cheney, Washington, which is located 15 miles from Spokane. I had never lived in a co-ed dormitory before and found it to be exhilarating--making new friends, huddling with girls on the dorm floor sharing our deepest thoughts and secrets, and surviving the numerous bomb threats that forced us down seven flights of stairs in the middle of the night only to sleep in the lobby of the neighboring dorm.
My roommate Janice had migrated from a tiny farming community and a graduating class of three students to a university of more than 12,000 students. She was forever walking around campus with her mouth dropped open in awe of what she saw. I knew then that she had to be the most naive girl I had ever met. It certainly didn't take her long to prove me right.
One Saturday she needed to venture into Spokane to pick up money at the Western Union office. Neither of us having a car on campus, we decided to wait until after the football game, walk to the top of the hill, and hitch a ride into the city rather than wait an hour for the bus. Students did it all the time; we didn't foresee any problem, but perhaps I had a moment of naivety as well.
Within seconds of reaching the top of the hill, a car stopped and the door flew open. Inside was one HUNK of a guy who looked innocent enough, so I slid into the front seat while Janice hopped into the back. We were babbling incessantly like most girls do when our "taxi" driver turned to me and asked, "Do you care if I smoke?"
"Oh no...go right ahead," I quickly responded, only then to eye him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a baggie filled with the "wacky weed" and several joints rolled in red, white, and blue papers. "How patriotic" was NOT what I was thinking! He lit the joint, had a toke, and offered it to me. I graciously declined, thinking to myself while peering out my passenger window, "Just drive...get us there...FAST...but don't speed...I do not want to see red, flashing lights!" My thoughts were quickly broken as Janice blurted out, "I'll have one!" It was now my mouth that dropped open in awe!
After he handed her the joint, she enjoyed drag after drag and didn't understand why she had to give it back. When she finally returned it to its proper owner, she commented, "That's really a good cigarette." I didn't dare look at the driver because I knew he had to be laughing at her. She was unbelievable!
Having arrived at the Western Union office without further incident, I couldn't get out of that car fast enough. As I explained to her what she had actually smoked, her only response was: "No wonder I was feeling a little dizzy," to which I giggled and replied, "You ARE dizzy!" However, we eventually went our separate ways. I suspect that she enjoyed that "cigarette" more than she wanted me to believe.
SECOND ENCOUNTER
I was having an awesome Monday at school. Homework appeared to have been finished over the weekend, and those "push-the-teacher-to-the-limit" characters in my classroom were rather subdued--a teacher's dream! As the bell rang to end freshman English class, I followed the students out of the room and headed for the faculty lounge to retrieve my mail.
Making my way down the crowded hallway, I noticed that a student, while walking away from a locker, had dropped what looked like a prescription bottle. I picked it up, noticed that it didn't have a label on it, shook it, and heard no rattle of pills. I assumed that it was empty and once inside the faculty lounge, I casually tossed it into the trash receptacle and never gave it another thought.
Shortly after I returned to my room to work on lesson plans during my free hour, a student quietly entered the room and in almost a "whisper" of a voice asked for the bottle that I had found. When I explained that I didn't have it, that I had disposed of it, the whisper became a full-blown ranting and raving tirade as the student DEMANDED I return it. "What? A student in my face?" I wasn't going to engage in an argument about an empty pill bottle. Conversation over! I wrote a pass and sent the student back to class.
But the case of the pitched prescription bottle was NOT over! The longer I thought about it, the more curious I became. What was so important about that bottle? Unsuspectingly, I returned to the faculty lounge, retrieved it from the trash, carefully removed the cap to peer inside, and felt a huge lump rise into my throat. It was filled to the brim with that ever-forbidden marijuana. So many thoughts began pouring through my mind that even to this day, I can't remember what they were.
The next several hours were spent talking with the superintendent and the sheriff as I completed the necessary police report. The entire time, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, felt the pain a student of mine was about to feel, and felt that what had begun as a great day at school had somehow transformed into my worst day at school.
THIRD ENCOUNTER
I always say that TC (Terry) and I had the longest "enragement" in history; after all, it was six months between our first two dates. During the five years we dated, our time was spent playing pool, taking long drives in the country jiving to our favorite tunes, or spending time with his and my friends. I'm quite positive that we were considered the "wild ones," which is probably closer to the truth than I would like to admit.
Of course, we had our disagreements, but he was a fun-loving, free-wheeling kind of guy. Life was good back then...neither of us had a care in the world until the inevitable happened. While sitting around one night chatting with his friends, someone pulled out a joint and proceeded to light up and pass it around. When it came to me, I once again graciously declined. TC was next in line; and as he held that joint, our eyes locked. In a soft whisper, I told him, "It's your choice; but if you do, it's 'down the road, Charlie.'" After what seemed like an eternity, he casually passed it along without partaking the forbidden. Within moments, he took me by the hand and led me out the door. If you were to see us today, you would find us still holding hands. MY HERO!!
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