Tough luck for me to get caught four days after my eighteenth birthday. I mean, I would've been charged as an adult anyway, but still. It would've been okay if it had just been cigars. It's an offense, but the cops don't really care that much about who's importing Cuban cigars and who isn't. But then I had to start working with Shaun. Shaun, who I called Graft, was a major drug lord, and I don't even know how I got mixed up with him. He went to college, but we met and became friends. Slowly I got involved with his affairs, and he with mine.
---
"Hey, Nate," Shaun said in the car, lighting a hit. "You feel like goin' to a party tonight?" I looked at him and shrugged.
"Dude, you're smoking the wrong kind of thing," I told him. I had my black backpack with me, as always, and I pulled a nice one out of the front pocket. "This here, it's the life." I had been addicted to Cuban cigars since I was around eight or nine, first learning about them by grabbing one of my dad's and giving it a try. There are far worse things a kid can get into these days, and it was just a cigar.
"Man, you can't get stoned off a cigar," he said, hitting me on the head. "You gotta get some shit; it's good for the soul. Like speed. Dude, it's awesome, you know it."
Shrugging, I said, "I hate needles, Graft, you know it." I grabbed a half-smoked cigar out of my pocket and lit it with his lighter.
"We're dropping acid at the party. Ronnie's got a whole freakin' load of it. And John's gonna open a meth lab. He's got all the equipment and crap like that. It's freakin' awesome." He took another drag. "So are you coming or what?" I stared at my cigar, suddenly conscious of how it made me feel. It was like I was rich or on top of the world, smoking a fine cigar in one of those maroon silky bathrobes. Instead, I was some seventeen-year-old kid in an old beat up Volkswagen with his stoner friend.
"Hey, Snipes, where are you, man?" I looked up at Graft, surprised that he was still there. "You coming?" I put my fantasies away, focusing on the matter at hand.
"Yeah, I'll be there."
---
And so starts my journey into the real world. It wasn't very long, though, only a few weeks. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but getting my next fix. The drugs were awesome, though, I can't deny it. But you know, I got raided and all, so now I'm stuck in here. Okay, I went to detox first, but that's just a formality. In here I can get anything I want. And I want some angel dust.
---
At the party, I had the time of my life. I mean, you hear about guys having a bad first time, but I never did. Except for that stupid homegrown crap Ronnie tried to pull off as acid. But that's another story. There were tons of people there, man. This kid that looked like a pirate, trying to get us to join some freakin' pyramid scheme, and then there was this other guy who acted like he was on top of the world.
But there are a lot of guys like that around. I won't just dwell on one, will I? Maybe.
"Hey, Snipes, dude, you gotta try this," Graft said. After all that crap I'd learned about peer pressure, I still took it. Let this be a lesson to all those little kids out there, man.
The acid was great, and after a few bottles of beer, everything started to mix together. I couldn't remember a thing. Well, almost.
---
"So you're the new kid," a tall guy with light brown hair greeted. He held out his hand. "I'm Jack." Greenwall Prison. My "punishment", where drugs are even more readily available than on the streets. The cell was tiny and musty, and my bunkmate looked like a pretty harmless guy. I shook his hand.
"Nate. But you should call me Snipeshooter," I replied. He snorted.
"What's with the nickname?" He asked, smirking. It's not a funny nickname, is it?
"Cigars. Cuban cigars." That's all that had to be said on that matter. But still Jack looked confused.
"That's what you're in for?" He asked incredulously, looking me up in down. "I would've thought something different." I raised an eyebrow.
"Like what?" He shrugged.
"I dunno, I dunno." After pacing for a few moments, he finally caught on. "Wait, you can't just be in here for that. Not in prison. What else is there?" I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere.
"Possession and dealing," I said.
"Cigars?" He asked, confused. I laughed.
"No, man," I replied. "Drugs! Angel dust, speed, coke, meth! You ever heard of them?" I slouched against the wall in my orange jumpsuit, back against the bars and facing the inside of the cell, grinning.
"GET ME OUT OF THIS FREAKIN' PLACE!" A voice yelled from somewhere behind me. Man, I jumped like twelve feet in the air. "I DON'T BELONG HERE! I'M NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL! GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!" Several crashes could be heard down the hallway.
"What the..." I trailed off as Jack started laughing hysterically.
"You should've seen your face!" He called over the continued yelling.
"Who is that?" I nearly screamed.
"Some kid," he shouted back. "Got in here a few months ago and says he's innocent." I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah, I'm innocent, too," I yelled. "Just like Bill Clinton!"
"Yeah, well, he freaks out a few times a day. Think he'd learn by now, but he never does." It sounded like a chair was being thrown around in that room. The guards were screaming at the guy to settle down, but it took a full ten minutes for him to calm back down.
"So what are you in for?" I asked Jack a few minutes after the yelling had ceased. He looked at me.
"I ain't telling you yet," he said. "Just wait 'till you get to know me first."
---
So I'm stuck in jail. With a few secrets of my own. Too bad I can't afford bail.
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A/N: Thanks to Nakaia Aidan-Sun for reviewing :-).
And for all of you people who actually know about drugs, in my defense, the only experience I've ever had with drugs is by reading Go Ask Alice, so deal with it.