Rise Then Fall - Part One

January 20th was the day that changed my life. Biographers have erroneously put this date of no return three months later, but if you ask me, the correct date was a late, frosty January Tuesday. My life was changed by a letter. I remember it was handwritten in blue ink on brilliant, high quality white paper. The words burned their way into my memory instantly. In fact, I can remember every word of the letter that utterly destroyed my life at the time. I won’t bore you with all those details for a mere parlor trick though. I’ll just give you the highlights. My position at Chrysler was being made obsolete. Sure, they couched it in nice terms, but what it boiled down to was that I was getting fired, and my job was to be done by a robot.

Many say that my life never recovered from this hit. Perhaps they’re right. Many more say that the incident of January 20th was my big break, the push into the deep end of the pool I needed to swim. Perhaps they are right. If you ask me, both camps are, to a degree. You'll see what I mean eventually. What happened on that fateful day was purely mental. A thought I put out of my mind instantly, out of fear. The thought, like the creatures in the game “Whack-A-Mole”, refused to stay suppressed, however.

The thought wasn't so much words as a feeling, but it could be best translated to “Enough of this, I should just turn to a life of crime.” Again, my immediate response to this thought was to stuff it away immediately. I drew away from the thought like I was recoiling a hand accidentally placed on a hot stove. I left the thought alone for months, but it didn't leave me.

About thirty days later, my resumes and applications had not given any leads whatsoever. The thought resurfaced. Approximately two months later, when I had to sell my truck, the thought resurfaced. April 15th, it was all I could think about. April 19th, almost three months later, it finally found voice. I was at my friend's house. I'll call him “C”, to protect the guilty. We were celebrating 420, the annual stoner holiday when The conversation started. We were smoking for the holiday a day early because he had to work the day off.

“You know man, I've been thinking.” I said, passing the blunt we were smoking to C.
“About what, man?” C asked before taking a hit. “So, you know I haven't been able to find a job, right? I've been thinking, like, seriously thinking, about making money other ways, if you know what I mean.” I said.
'Like what?” C said. It took longer to say than to read, because a coughing fit struck him part way through.
I used taking a hit as an excuse to pause to think of the right words. “Like making green off green. I had this idea, to make a brand name for bud and sell that way.” I said. There. I said it. It was out in the open. Rather than the relief I was expecting, the desire to sling got all the stronger. You could have knocked me over with a feather after C's response.
“You know what, man? That's not a half bad idea.”
“Really? You think I could do it?”
“For sure. You're smart enough.”
“I'm not really the salesman type, though.”
“You can learn.”
“Well, it's not like it's really practical. I've got food money for the month and that's it.” I said, trying to end the conversation, wishing I hadn't brought it up.
“I'll bank roll you.” C said.
Well, hell. Even if I screwed up, I figured, I would have a roof over my head and three meals a day, even if they were lousy ones. That was more than participating in the system was promising me.
“How much are we talking?” I said, again determined to do this.
“300? Enough for an ounce? You can borrow my iPod imitation scale for a while.”
“Thanks so much man. You don't know how much this means to me.”
“Just pay me back when you can, and if you can tack a little interest on to the loan, it would be nice.”
“For sure. Do you know anyone with a card?” Meaning a medical marijuana card.
“Duh...” C said, picking up his phone.
“Stupid question, I know.” The blunt had gone out in the ashtray by this time, unheeded.
He put the phone up to his ear, I assume when it connected. I only got his side of the conversation, but it was enough. He managed to arrange an ounce of medical to be purchased and delivered to his house. We took a quick trip to the local grocery store because it was the closest place with an ATM. He pulled the cash out of his account and put it in his wallet.
“Now, don't fuck this up.” he said.
“I won't.”
“Good.”