Edgar Allen Poe Did It.
Football is a huge deal at many colleges, and Mount Union is no exception. In my first two years of college, I went to many games, screaming and clapping and stomping along with my friends. I didn’t understand football then, but I enjoyed being part of the crowd.
By junior year, I skipped football games because I’d started drinking all night long. I would sleep until afternoon, missing out on most daytime occurrences on campus, including breakfast and lunch.
So when it came time to go to one last football game – the last game played during my college career – I really wanted to go. I felt like I’d missed way too many games already, and I didn’t want to miss this one.
I woke up parched and heaving, as always. I crawled to the refrigerator, opened the two-liter bottle, and drank as much Diet Coke as I could. This did very little to quench my thirst, so I crawled to the water fountain down the hall and drank until I could barely breathe. Still, my head hurt, my body ached and the dryness would not cease.
But I was going to that football game. In fact, everyone was going to the football game. My friend Micki offered me a ride, which I gladly accepted.
The football stadium was approximately a three-minute walk from our dorm, and I needed a ride.
When the car stopped, though, no one got out. Micki’s friend pulled something out of his pocket. I’d never seen anything like it – a black chunk of wet grass, maybe.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Micki laughed loudly. “Haven’t you ever done opium before?”
“Nope,” I said. The only thing I knew about opium was that Edgar Allen Poe did it, and I’m not even sure that’s true.
“It’s incredible,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
I didn’t want to get high; I had no idea what I was doing. But my head hurt, my throat hurt, my hair hurt. Sitting in that parking space barely able to function, I assumed anything would make me feel better so that I could enjoy the football game.
So I tried opium. There was foil involved, and a lighter and smoke. I was told to inhale the smoke as the opium burned.
It smelled bad but I did it.
Then we all piled out of the car and walked into the football stadium, where I immediately and consistently wanted to die.
It was a glorious day outside – perfect weather for football – but I was suffocated by people.
Opium made me feel like a pea floating in the ocean. Small and dark and lost, I could do nothing but sit, feeling the ruckus of fans like waves trying to drown me.
There was no game for me; there was no screaming and joy. I wanted to sleep but I was in a state of oblivion. I had no interest in the game, the people, the world around me. I felt like I’d become a chunk of that black, wet grass.
I hated myself for wasting this day, this weather, this event, this moment. There was nothing I could do to regain this time, to rejoin the excitement and fun with my friends.
My day – maybe my life – was over.
At some point I got up, pushed my way through the people, and dragged myself back to my dorm and bed where I slept until nightfall, missing everything.
When I woke up, it was Saturday night. I was missing a party somewhere, so I rolled out of bed and went to find some beer.