"Marijuana" (extract from Definition)
By Luke Labern
The following is an extract from a novel that is currently on hiatus called Definition, which I was writing during September-December 2013. The extract is chapter 3 from Part II on the effects marijuana can have on creating a strong bond between friends and family, and on the positive effects the drug has.
3
Marijuana
‘I’m no good at this,’ Christopher said, screwing up the rolling paper he had been working on.
‘I’ll do it. I think the way I do it is easier.’ William was two years younger than his brother, but their ages were largely irrelevant; they were more like twins. William was taller, by a few inches; Christopher was rather plump around the face. This was how the majority of people told them apart.
‘I must admit, you’re pretty good at rolling spliffs.’
‘It’s not a spliff,’ William corrected him; ‘it’s a joint. A spliff is marijuana and tobacco—a joint is pure marijuana.’
‘Oh, right. You know, we should get a bong. I saw them for sale, there’s a shop called “Smoker’s heaven” in town. It’ll cost about a fiver each, I reckon.’
‘Can you imagine if Dad saw it!’ William had by this time already crafted a perfect cylinder out of a new rolling paper.
‘It’s Mum we should worry about,’ his brother said, frowning. ‘How have you done that so quickly? You’ll have to teach me.’
‘It’s pretty simple, Chris. There’s no need to do it the way you were doing it—like I said, there’s no tobacco. Remember when I used a pen? I wrapped the paper around it, licked and sealed it, and already had the perfect shape.’
‘What about the roach?’
‘Oh, yeah—I cut the roach first, using a piece of card. You just make sure it’s rolled up tight enough to slip into the cone you make.’ He paused to lick the paper, leaving it to dry for a few moments. ‘Now, though, I don’t need a pen. I do the roach first, then I wrap the paper around that—it forms a cone by itself. Then I take the cut up cannabis and drop it inside—using one of the scissor’s blades to pack it however tight I want it.’
‘Then you twist it at the top?’
‘You’ve got to twist it at the top,’ he laughed. William completed their evening’s entertainment and held it aloft.
‘That’s a work of art,’ his brother said, smiling.
‘You think?’
‘Absolutely. Now let’s smoke it!’
They boys, already similar in their appearance, grinned an identical grin, and prepared to smoke. They were in the infancy of their smoking career. Like many boys their age, they had tried alcohol—for that was the one legal drug that really allowed one to escape the banality of modern life—but neither had found it anything more than a rite of passage. Neither liked alcohol, or its effects—it was just the thing to do. When one of Christopher’s friends had offered them ‘some green’, the elder Paper boy’s heart began to beat—he immediately purchased an eighth and brought it home. He had paid extra to have it pre-rolled into three spliffs. The first, he nervously smoked when the house was empty one weekend—he coughed, and spluttered, and had the best night of his life.
Quite literally, his life was changed. Over and above the half an hour of psychedelic bliss (which could never be repeated) in which time appeared to slow down, colours became more vibrant, and Christopher found himself more a philosopher than ever, the very idea that there was a plant that could instantly turn a dull day into a pleasant one, or a stressful night into a calming one, was a profound discovery. Before smoking it, he, like everyone else unacquainted with the mysterious substance, was worried by the apparent dangers it posed to his mental health.
Upon actually trying the substance in question, however, he found it not only harmless, but to have a range of beneficial effects that he might consider his entire life without fully exhausting.
In short, Christopher learned a valuable lesson: that his experiences mattered more to him than the words of others (which were often spoken for a reason other than to spread truth).
Excited as he was, he gladly introduced his younger brother to the drug—who was, of course, affected not only by the drug and the positive effects already mentioned, but by the gratitude he felt for his brother. Though they were never ones to introduce age into the bargain, this was one scenario where William was eternally thankful for his elder brother. It was a moment that strengthened their bond—they were not just brothers, but friends.
‘I just can’t believe it’s illegal,’ William began, passing the joint to his brother. Christopher inhaled, held the smoke for three seconds, and slowly exhaled, enjoying the sight of the smoke. There was a tactile pleasure there; almost as if the smoke was relaxation incarnate.
‘Of course it’s ridiculous. Did you know the Prime Minister smoked it when he was at Eton?’ Christopher laughed at the absurdity of it all.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? “Do as I say, not as I do,” right? What a joke.’
‘It would be a joke—if there weren’t people in jail. It’s ridiculous. There are people on “cannabis watch”—you know, Harry got caught smoking near the barn in his car, and they put him on it!—and their futures are going to be affected. The people in charge organise the country so that you need all these bloody documents… degrees, CVs, all that; and in the process they make life so boring that you can’t help but want to escape. Most people drown themselves in alcohol, but the few who find this magical plant get threatened by the law?’
This was not merely the rambling of a stoned young man; it was a point many, many intelligent and passionate people were dying to see a politician answer honestly.
‘I’ll never understand it,’ said William, finishing off the joint; ‘they’re quite happy to drink their whiskey at night, but it’s not all right for us to smoke a joint? Is it any wonder…’
Christopher looked at his brother, pointing downstairs. It sounded as though their mother was coming up the stairs. False alarm.
‘Is it any wonder that there’s such a difference between the generations?’
‘Well, I’ll make damn sure my kids know how to unwind with the right drugs.’
‘And smoke with their uncle,’ William joked.
So the conversation continued: relaxed, enjoyable, philosophical. The brothers had never been the sort to fight one another—not since before they were teenagers—but to anyone who considered them there and then, it was quite clear that when they were left alone, to smoke a drug that did nothing but enrich their lives, their relationship was made all the more rewarding. Of course, with time, they would separate, and find themselves spending more time with women—but these memories could never be taken from them, and both considered these times (a little bit of rebellion and bonding under the old family roof) some of the best of their lives.
The brothers laughed into the night. In time, they would come to smoke a little more, and sample the myriad dealers that lived in their area, each with their own preferences for strains, weights and customer service, but for now, the boys spent the entire evening focused around the single joint.
‘Shall we play some Pink Floyd?’
A Short Story,
Published 07 March 2014
Published 07 March 2014