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CHOICES

So May is chuntering on and as exams (largely ignored) and study leave (highly anticipated) approach, me and Rainbow relax quickly into a routine. We go everywhere together and I start to feel like we could really, seriously, have a chance for a future. We meet up practically every day after school, we watch her DVDs, she teaches me how to say “fuck off” in French, I teach her how to bellyboard, we spend more hours in bed than even I thought I was capable of, and I feel very grateful and very proud. I tell her things I've never told anyone, I let my guard down more than I've ever done before. Most of the time I'm a pretty upbeat person, but Rainbow knows when things aren't okay and I start to be able to tell her when I'm not feeling tutti-frutti about my life. In particular, she's not fond of the drug-addled part of me that edits Friday nights before recounting them, and instead of being defensive, calling her a whore, turning off my phone and getting twatted, I begin to admit that sometimes I wonder what in the blue hell I'm doing with the precious little time I have on earth.

Rainbow falls into step with my gang easily enough, given that we only hang out with them occasionally because in all honesty now that I know Rainbow and her ideals and dreams and general amazingness I'm a little embarrassed about the gang at times. Putting it plainly I'm terrified she'll realize how stupid and stereotypical they all are and that it will reflect badly on me. To be fair to them we act no different, so I know I'm no better, but I am generally brighter than they are, and not a slag, and I should probably know better than to do all the things we do . . . which I guess makes me worse. In any case, Rainbow is cultured and intelligent and I am not having our budding love life obliterated by the sight of me snorting horse tranquilizer and waxing lyrical about why we're all so doomed. Mainly because I look like a cock when I do. I just don't know if my actions make me one or not (I hope not for Rainbow's sake). The difficulty when you're fifteen is that you have an idea of who you are inside, but you are facing five or six years of time when you will be molded more or less into the human being you will be for your whole life, and the issue is that you don't know what will make the difference, what will decide who you become. You find yourself doing things you never thought you'd do when you were ten and things were simple and druggies were idiots and you were going to be a spy or a firefighter or the pilot of a World War II–era Spitfire and the girl of your dreams was Katie Pool, to whom you said “I love you” when she climbed a ladder above you in gym and you saw her knickers. And then you have to ask the same old questions, about a man and his actions and how he feels inside, and whether the choices you made were the right ones, or whether they were choices at all.

WHY STONERS ARE LIKE BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIANS

The tricky thing about stoners, or alkies, or any type of addict, even those of us who do it socially, is that we are like born-again Christians (bear with me, it will make sense). We not only partake in our drug of choice, but we actively encourage others to; we preach; we hang about on street corners selling our wares; we advocate it as a way of life, as normal, even as the right way to be. It strikes me as odd when I think about it, that I dabble in the worlds I do, when I'm really not a fan of the other types of organized religion. And getting stoned
is
a religion. Let's examine the parallels:

1. All religions and all drugs are just another way of getting you high, reaching that heaven, exploring that connection with a deeper consciousness. Amen, brother.

2. Both disassociate you from reality. Example A: While in the launderette the other day (our washer broke) I read a pamphlet on depression, it being the only thing around apart from a pamphlet from the same series on addiction to prescription medication, and with a hangover and four Tylenol in my stomach I wasn't in the mood for a lecture. I didn't realize, however, that it was a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet until, at the end of an otherwise informative article, it said, and I quote/bastardize “Don't worry, because God's Kingdom will restore the ‘new earth,' a society of righteous people on earth, to perfect physical, emotional and spiritual health. All sicknesses will be wiped out permanently.” “Unrealistic” isn't the only word that springs to mind, but a definite disassociation from reality. Example B: the K-hole, not something I've experienced, though I may well at some point, but certainly the pinnacle of the stoner's version of the sweet denial of guilt and avoidance of responsibility.

3. Both prey on the weak, one on Old Age Pensioners and university students, the other on impressionable teens and . . . university students (weaklings). In any case, both offer a way out to people in trouble; both are seemingly a solution.

4. Both require dedication and worship. You are a much better stoner if you know the Art of the Right Amount of Stoned, you gain more respect the more information you have at your fingertips, you get a better price and better stuff if you shop around and take advice and lastly, perfecting all of the above will enable you to have a long-term, sustainable habit, and not burn out over a mere summer. With religion, the dedication and worship part is obvious. It is required. In the Bible. Speaking of which, stoners should get one of them. Maybe I'll write it and make a mint.

5. Both have networks of support. As the church has its congregation, its “love for one another” bullshit, its interfering do-gooders yadda yadda yadda, so does the stoner. Believe me, you will never have a better friend than a junkie. They will fight for you to the bitter end, they will hold back your hair as you vom into the bowl, they will sit with you at five in the morning when you're waxing lyrical, they are on call any time you're low and you need to feel that high. And the reason that they both have such fantastic networks of support is . . .

6. The thing about choices/getting fucked up all the time/living your life by something questionable is that you want other people to do it too, to reaffirm your choices. It's that wonderfully reassuring concept of “If I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me.” Aw! The merits of supportive friends.

HUBRIS ALREADY

We are at a party at Ash's flat. It's just a group of us sat about, but Ash is dressed like someone from the seventies, with massive flares, platform boots and her Afro wildly curling. The lads sit about and worship her while I brood.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much puff and booze I'm doing and unfortunately my pensiveness on said subject matter seems to be well timed. Earlier in the evening, on the way over (I came with Mike and Jamie from the chippie), we ran into Gav, bleeding from his nose and both eye sockets. He managed to tell us that he'd fucked up a deal for Fez by spending the profit on skag again. He was shaking and trying to be brave but you could tell he was freaked out.

“It's the junk,” he said with his big grin still present, but pained from the beating he'd obviously just received. “It's making my head go all weird. I've got to get off it, you know, man.” He managed to laugh weakly and warn us not to tell anyone before the police showed up. He then winked at us, told the bobbies he didn't know us and was just asking for money, and they cuffed him over the front of the patrol car and fucked off with him in the back. The worst thing about it (and this sounds weird but it's the first thing that sprang to mind at the time) is that Gav and Fez are friends. They always have been. You wouldn't expect Fez to fuck up a mate like that. It's a sign that something's getting serious somewhere close. We get these waves of bad atmosphere that run through Clyde County sometimes, 'specially in the reet scummiest parts of Langrick, and in those cases everyone is at risk. You don't choose whose side you're on, or what part you play, someone else does, someone older or bigger, someone with less fear, someone who'll stick a knife in your face or jump you 'cause at the end of the day they've got less to lose than you do. I saw a program on telly about a place in Los Angeles where kids growing up have to be in gangs, because if you're not part of one then you're against one and you're the first to feel the shit when it hits. Seems like there's so many different places where human beings have set up a society in the world, and they call it civilized and they tell you there are choices, but if you're broke or weak or in need you can move anywhere you like, because you're still broke and weak and in need and the rules all seem to be the same. So it's the same thing here. You're in with a gang or some crazy twat, or you're out, in a really bad way. If something goes down in this wave and one of our mates is called up, as it were, to fuck shit up or be party to something heavy, we just have to turn a blind eye and wish them luck. It's horrible to say but you have to take calculated risks. You defend your family and your very closest friends, but what it comes down to is that you can't risk your life for anyone on the sidelines. And that's something that we've all thought about, and it's not a nice thing to have to realize or decide about yourself, but you can't just act the dumb hero and play anyone else's games 'cause the risk of dying in some places in the world is too great for that kind of thing. And I'm not saying it's as bad here as it is for those kids in LA, not at all, and I'm not saying that girls here have it easy either. Pregnancy can't be fun for one thing, but you can bet it'll be guys like us and not chicks that get picked on for the shitty jobs. But as I say, there aren't any choices. If a storm is brewing, we just have to hold on and keep our heads down 'til it passes.

Jamie and Mike and I agree on this, in fewer words than I've used here, before we get to Ash's. We're all in a shit mood now, so, and against my better judgment, we smoke up before Rainbow and the others arrive. The last thing I want is to be on edge all evening and a prick to Rainbow, who, we decided the other day, is now my official girlfriend. Woohoo!

She arrives and the evening gets much better. We cuddle and chat to Ash and the others, who now actually like Rainbow, though not enough to stop propositioning me, and then we put on the Enemy and dance about singing, “Leaning on your fence when you told me, you were gonna make lots of money,” and dream together about Rainbow selling her art, and me being a politician, or maybe working for a JFK-esque president on the campaign trail. It's about midnight and precisely at the moment when Jamie whips his cock out for no reason but to show off, and Ash is pulling a pair of scissors out a pencil case and winking at him, and the room is singing in chorus, “It's not okay to be this way, it's not okay to be a slaaaaaa-aaaave,” when a giant box of laced baked goods (chocolate no less), having been covertly passed around the room, lands on my lap. They look too good to resist, and like a fat kid after a cupcake, my beady little eyes are fixed on a fix. I'm just coughing up cash for a few, however, when Rainbow puts her lips to my ear and says: “I think I have to go.”

“Really? Are you okay?” I light a fag while Danny, of Danny and Dildo fame, bags up three for me.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she says unconvincingly.

I put my arm around her and kiss her head, worried about her but still smug with my couple status. It's a novelty to actually take care of someone, and for the things you do to be really relevant to how happy they are. I'm glad to be able to make Rainbow feel good. Ha, thinks my stoned and tiny brain, I'm closer to Rainbow than anyone here . . . so fuck all you cunts. “You sure you're okay, darlin'?”

“I'm just tired, I'm gonna go.” She pulls away from me and stands up and I follow suit.

“It's cool.” I blow smoke out the side of my mouth, knowing she doesn't like it. “I'll walk you home. Have you ever tried these? They're not too powerful or anything. It's not like a joint, it's just a little high. We can eat them on the way.”

Rainbow picks up her coat and, without looking at me, says, “I'm not hungry.”

I laugh. “That's not really the point.”

She turns to me as if about to say something again, then shakes her head and looks down at my hand. My fingernails are yellow and grubby, my fingers clumsy and misshapen. She strokes them with her own long, elegant hands. “Stay, it's fine. I'm not in the mood.”

“Have you never had space cakes before? They're not dangerous, they just make everything funnier.”

She shrugs and looks away. She seems about to say something but she stops, or maybe I interrupt her, perhaps with a little fear about what might come out of her mouth. Coward. “All right.” I cuddle her and kiss her hair. “We don't have to, babe. Come on, let's go.”

She smiles and hugs me. “Thanks. I just don't like the idea of it, that's all.”

I get my college backpack and wait for her to go to Ashley's skanky toilet. I look across at Danny, who stands poised, subtly waving my prepacked bag in his hand. He's done this before. He winks at me covertly, conspiratorially, and I shake my head, pause and then stride quickly over to him, grin widely and open my backpack. He throws two fluffy little chocolate cakes with Barbie icing inside.

“Something for the road, mate.” He claps me on the shoulder.

I zip the bag up and hand over what's left of my cash. I suddenly realize what I'm doing, what the deception could cost me. So far our relationship has been so innocent, and I've never lied to Rainbow, I think, guiltily. But then I think of all the crap that blows through here, like Gav's face and knifings and suicides and Jamie, Mike and me getting jumped that summer when we were kids and I know that life isn't like that. Life isn't innocent and me doing two fluffy little cakes won't change shit about it. But it might make me feel better, for the moment at least. So I shrug, feeling myself becoming my cold, stoned alter ego, and thinking, Fuck it, I've done them before. And I'm drunk. I turn to see her coming out of the bathroom. She smiles at me and takes my hand. My brain rattles around like a pinball, coming to the decisive point, that she doesn't know and won't, and if she finds out, she'll just have to love me for who, or what, I am. I smile back, kiss her lips, and lead her out of the party and into the night.

I occasionally wonder about these little deceptions, which I've had to do before with Mam and Tommo, usually when I'm too stoned and dreamy to think straight, or muster up much of a conscience. They often seem the most regrettable part of being a little bit of a stoner, but sometimes I think it's all to do with your point of view. In the end, Rainbow just doesn't come from the same place as I do. She doesn't have a handle on things, she wouldn't know when to stop, so of course she has a right to be scared. She just doesn't get it, and wouldn't, so there's no point in arguing. Eventually I'll want to get off everything, but right now there's not much else to do of a weekend. Ways can be changed later, I think. It won't hurt tonight.