We didn’t smoke the weed right away.
Mitchell took the little plastic baggy and scurried through the kitchen, pulling out drawers – thinking a second – closing the drawers – and then finally settling on stuffing the weed bag into a metal drink shaker, screwing the lid tightly on top.
“Really, Mitchell.” I said. “You think someone’s interested in busting us for weed? We’re more likely to go to jail for insider trading.”
Mitchell turned serious. “Shh! We don’t say ‘insider trading’ in this house!”
Ok, so like I’d said before. We might not be the edgiest people on the planet, but we were trying.
And, let me back up a moment, because Mitchel was actually quite happy about his birthday present.
I’d put the little baggy of weed on our round, oak kitchen table with a happy birthday post-it note stuck to it. I was waiting for Mitchell to get home from work.
He really didn’t notice it right away, but his first words in the house were:
“Ashley, what’s that smell?” He sniffed loudly (a little thing he does all the time which I truly detest!)
Mitchell is notoriously good at picking up on disgusting smells. Like that time Sonya Blade, our beloved but feisty Yorkshire Terrier, decided to take the world’s tiniest poop on the bottom of his tie wrack.
“There’s dog shit in my closet. I know it!” Mitchell freaked out. I had no idea what he was talking about.
But he was right. There was dog shit in his closet.
Anyway, Mitchell could smell the weed, but he didn’t know he could smell the weed.
After loosening his tie, throwing down the mail, picking up little Sonya Blade, and pouring a Malbec into a Le Creuset wine glass, he stopped by the table.
“What’s this?” He said picking up the bag and peeling off the post it. He gave a sly little smile.
“You know what it is. Happy birthday, baby.” I replied.
We hugged. We’re a good couple. We like each other.
It was another few days until we actually got around to pulling that baggy out again, but it happened on a Friday night.
Mitchell was tired, extra tired. He had some long hours at the office and was feeling bananas on the inside.
We rolled a joint from rolling paper we found in what we referred to in our waspy way as our “Junk Drawer”. They were from almost eight years ago.
“Can rolling paper expire?” I asked.
“Are you an idiot?” Mitchell asked. I laughed.
You had to be there.
Mitchell rolled a perfectly packed joint, as is his fastidious way. I couldn’t roll a joint to save my life. It would end up looking like a smashed burrito from Taco Bell.
We sat on the patio with Sonya Blade (no worries, it was well ventilated) and lit up.
Mitchell took the first hit and then passed it to me. I took one drag….then two….then three.
I burnt the back of my throat, and I started coughing.
Mitchell and I were facing each other on our cushioned outdoor patio furniture.
I started to feel something around minute four and that’s when I suddenly decided I didn’t want to be high.
“Are you high now?” I asked.
Mitchell’s eyes were nearly closed. He went to open his mouth and a laugh came out instead. He just sat there. Giggling.
I began to feel anxious, I was worried about what was about to happen. I could already feel time start to change….I could feel a haze cover my eyes and tickle my nose. I felt like I needed to fight it for some reason.
Just relax, Ashley. I thought to myself. Stop being such a fucking square. This isn’t a PSA from the 1970s. You aren’t going to throw yourself out a seventh story window. Besides, your house is only two stories anyway. Worst case, you break an ankle. Plus, you’ve got great insurance.”
“Are you high now? I asked again.
“Yes.” Mitchell answered this time. “Are you?”
“We need some music.” I declared.
I grabbed my iPad and opened youtube searching for “Danny’s Song.” The dulcet guitar plucking filled the silent space.
“This is good.” I assured Mitchell. “This is going to be good.”
People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one….
“If I make snacks will you eat them? Mitchell asked.
And we’ve just begun…think I’m gonna have a son.
“I can make popcorn.”
He will be like she and me as free as a dove…
“We have the Costco brand.”
Conceived in love…
“Hey! Can you stop singing?” Mitchell shouted.
“Oh my god, I was singing!” I realized. I broke out in laughter.
Mitchell started laughing too. We just kept going like that for minute after minute. We knew what was happening – how cliché! – but we wanted the cliché. We wanted the break from our realities. We laughed because that’s what you do when you’re stoned but also because that’s what we wanted to believe you do when you’re stoned.
Mitchell made some popcorn in a big Pyrex bowl. Laid it on his belly. Fed some to Sonya Blade for good measure.
We fell asleep on the cushioned seats outside, almost leaning towards each other. Sonya Blade was nested on Mitchell’s shoulder, her nose nuzzled to his ear. We all love each other.
I woke up a few hours later with a crick in my neck; my mouth was bone dry.
“Mitchell.” I whispered, giving him and Sonya Blade a gentle shake. “Psst. Mitchell. It’s time for bed. Let’s go.”
He stirred, and we stumbled inside together.
“Didja we do yit?” He slurred from sleep and pot.
“We did, baby. We did do it.” I assured him. “Not, let’s go to bed.”
To be continued….