Want Some?
When I headed off to college, I was solely a drinker. My pill-popping days were behind me; I’d given up marijuana. I knew about harder drugs, but I drew a line in the sand at those because I didn’t want to stick a needle in my arm. Not only did I detest needles, but I assumed I would overdose and die on my very first try.
None of this stopped me from snorting something called “crank” with a 23-year-old named Terry who styled his hair like Rod Stewart. I loved Rod Stewart and therefore anything Terry did was okay with me.
I met Terry at the gas station where he worked. I showed up repeatedly, back in the days when gas station attendants pumped gas and I didn’t have to get out of my parents’ car. Sometimes I drove by and just ogled him from the road. Terry really did look like Rod Stewart from afar.
One day I got up the nerve to say, out loud: “I really just wanted to meet you.”
With no hesitation and a huge smile Terry said, “It’s nice to meet you!” Then he pumped my gas and invited me to a party at his house on Saturday.
I went to the party. In fact, I went out with Terry several times. He played Rod Stewart songs in his car – loud – as we drove around town. He didn’t make a complete stop at the stop signs in his neighborhood. Terry was wild. He gave me his AC/DC necklace, which I wore until my neck turned green. Our time together was magical.
I admit: Terry treated me much more like a younger sister than a girlfriend. And I treated him much more like Rod Stewart than a gas station attendant.
One day, at one of Terry’s many parties, someone had formed lines from powder on the kitchen table. I had no idea what it was or – when I saw what they were doing – why anyone would put something inside the nose. This seemed like a completely backwards idea.
But Terry was – did I mention – 23 years old, and that made him cool. So when he almost jokingly asked, “Want some?” I squeaked “okay” so I could be cool, too. And I learned how to shove white gravel up into my brain by way of my nasal passage.
This unpleasant sensation, he said, was called “snorting crank.” Until this day – 40 years later – I never even wondered what “crank” meant. The internet says it’s methamphetamine, but that can’t be right. Meth is horrifically addictive and I don’t remember having any mood-altering reaction at all. In fact, I hated the whole process. Maybe that’s because “crank” is made with battery acid and antifreeze.
Believing I was still cool a couple of years later, I crushed up No Doz caffeine tablets – which I am mortified to discover are still sold in stores today – and I snorted those, too. In fact, I taught other college students to snort No Doz. Gravel in the nose is still a bad idea.
My relationship with Terry was short-lived, given the chasm between 17 and 23, although I never returned Terry’s AC/DC necklace. In fact, even after he realized that he was lightyears ahead of me in maturity – though he never matured much past 23 in his lifetime – Terry pretended not to notice when I drove slowly by his gas station, or up the mountainside past his house on a one-lane road in the snow.
While I loved looking at him, I was relieved to be done pretending to be old enough. And I went back to only drinking for a long, long time.