You Need to Smoke Pot.
Mired in the quicksand I’d created by being with Larry, and knowing I wanted something more than he could give me, I turned to cocaine, somewhat desperately at times. Coke added to my feeling of oneness with the world, no matter how temporary that feeling might be.
And cocaine was ridiculously fleeting: a brilliant, euphoric high that lasted only a few minutes, followed by extreme desperation for more.
So fun.
I blithely moved forward in my role as a biker chick. I spent most weekends “watching” Larry’s band and hanging out with Ronnie. Ronnie and I talked for hours about anything and everything – something that was seriously missing in my relationship with Larry and all of his family and friends.
Ronnie and I talked about movies and music – not Clint Eastwood and country, which is what Larry preferred, but classics in every movie genre and rock, new wave and punk. Ronnie introduced me to some music I’d never known, and I introduced him to music he’d never known. Then we’d listen to each other’s band suggestions during the week, and discuss them the following weekend.
Ronnie was still a shy guy, but we felt comfortable together immediately. I was probably his first female friend. He asked my opinion on how to talk to women, what women liked, and what women deemed romantic. I could only tell Ronnie my opinions about what I liked, since “typical” femininity was lost on me.
Ronnie had attracted me just by being himself – showing both of us that we were likable in our own weird ways – and I was so happy to have him in my otherwise incredibly dull life.
Our conversations became exponentially deeper when Ronnie showed up at the bar with cocaine. After realizing that I wanted the cocaine more than I wanted the beer in front of me, Ronnie showed up with cocaine almost every week. We would sneak off to the bathroom together – although no one was ever at the bar – and do a line every half hour or so. And everyone drank beer and was happy.
During band breaks, Ronnie also provided marijuana to the band members – outside in Leo’s truck. I still refused to smoke pot, deeming it unworthy of my attention, but I craved the cocaine like a lunatic. I waited until the band came in from break and nearly jumped on Ronnie, begging to do another line.
This went on for months. And the dynamic between Larry and me changed. Thanks to my cocaine habit and his pot breaks, I was wired and awake and he was mellow and tired.
Instead of going back to our place and having sex, Larry and I fought. Sometimes we had sex and then we fought. I didn’t want to go to sleep, and I didn’t want to be left alone, so I verbally spewed venom until Larry started spewing back – both of us wildly inebriated on top of everything else. This went on until Larry slammed the bedroom door, screaming: “Just let me fucking get some fucking sleep!”
Then I finally gave up, turned on my boom box, and wailed along with the songs until the sun came up.
After a few months of this, Larry came up with a brilliant idea.
“You need to smoke pot,” he said. “It’ll mellow you out.”
“I hate pot,” I said. “It’s boring.”
“It’ll be better if you do it after the bar closes,” he said. “I’m gonna get some.”
And that’s how we met Jimmy, the drug dealer.