Going Down The Wrong Path

All the while thinking it’s the right one.

Needing more than cigarettes, and crying, and writing poetry, I asked my best friend, Debbie, if she knew how to get high.

“Gravol,” she said.

“What?”

“Gravol,” she repeated, “You know, for motion sickness. You get it at the drugstore. It’s cheap. Easy to buy.”

“Wanna do it?”

“Sure,” Mary, new to our group, answered before Debbie could.

“Why not?” Debbie shrugged. “Seems like a plan, Stan.”

We met up with my sister and her friend Vicky at the diner. We ordered a plate of fries for the five of us to share. While we ate, we made plans to get high, and pooled our leftover lunch money together.

Debbie went into the pharmacy to purchase the pills. The rest of us waited behind the post office.

When Debbie joined us she took the package of pills out of the paper bag, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it aside.

I lit a cigarette while she popped the pills from the package. Then we held out our hands and accepted our share.

We waited, super aware of every sensation. If I felt a tingle in my arm or a twitch in my leg, a quiver in my lip, I wondered if it was the medication working.

I turned to Debbie, and asked, “What should we feel?”

“Don’t know,” she said. “Never did it before. My sister did, though.”

“Did she say what it was like?”

“Nope.”

“Who cares?” Mary said. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Lunch hour ended, and we weaved our way through shortcuts, up the back streets to school. As I climbed the hill, my heart raced and my feet became so heavy I could hardly lift them. It was as if my shoes had turned to cement.

In the hall, Debbie, Mary, and I turned toward our classroom while Kathleen and Vicky headed toward theirs.

We sauntered in and sat down. My eyelids were so heavy it took all my effort to keep them open. I sat at my desk, wishing I was at home curled up in my bed.

Mary sat with her eyes closed, and when the teacher turned his back, I threw my pencil at her. It hit her shoulder and bounced to the floor. Others near us stared. Some whispered. I glared at them.

Mary opened her eyes. “Wake up,” I hissed. Debbie giggled, and the teacher turned and stared our way. The three of us pulled ourselves up straighter in our seats. I tried not to blink, fearing I wouldn’t be able to open my eyelids again.

I was so tired, and so relieved to go home. All I wanted was to sleep. Not caring about going to my building, or hearing music, I stumbled into the house, straight to bed, wrapping the blankets around me and escaping into nothingness, not even getting up for supper.

Though I didn’t enjoy the experience, it at least succeeded in keeping me from thinking about not receiving a letter from my boyfriend Will and my shitty life.

Despite our sleepy state and struggle to stay awake, we continued taking Gravol at lunchtime.

Soon Mary suggested we try something else. She told us her sister’s boyfriend kept alcohol in the kitchen cupboard. “I’ll get us some vodka,” she said. “You can’t smell it on your breath.”

We took her word for it. She seemed the most knowledgeable.

The next day, Mary pulled a mason jar filled with clear liquid out of her backpack and shoved it in her jacket pocket. At lunchtime, instead of heading downtown as usual, we slipped off into the woods by the school.

We sat on a log under a large tree. All was quiet and still compared to the beeping horns and noise of downtown. Mary pulled the jar from her large coat pocket, took a sip, and passed it to Debbie. Debbie tipped the jar up and drank.

My turn came, and the smell hit me first, like the rubbing alcohol my mother had once used on my skinned knees. I took a swallow, the burn rushing down my throat, lighting a bonfire in my belly.

The buzz was the best yet. We giggled and staggered back through the woods, tripping over tree roots in the path, laughing when we fell. But once we reached the school grounds, we tried our best to act as normal as possible.

Each step mattered: straight ahead, no staggering, no getting caught.

Mary couldn’t continue stealing a jar of vodka every day. She’d get caught, and none of us wanted trouble for her. She started to take only enough vodka to wash the Gravol down. But it wasn’t the high we wanted.

We never talked about why we wanted to get high. We just kept searching for the best combination.

Our supply ended when Mary watered down the remaining vodka and her sister’s boyfriend figured it out. She got grounded for a week and they threatened to kick her out.

Debbie said, “Not to worry. I know something else: vanilla and aspirin.”

Again, we pooled our lunch money and bought what we needed.

I loved the smell of vanilla extract, remembering how as a child I’d watched my mother bake cookies and cakes. Sometimes she had let me twist the cap off the bottle and I’d stick my nose close to the mysterious liquid that smelled so wonderful. I’d ask to taste it, but she’d never allow it, telling me I’d get sick.

The first time I took a swallow, I learned how bad it was.

Soon, the cost of getting high and keeping ourselves in cigarettes was too difficult to maintain. Most days, we could no longer afford a plate of fries to share. Or enough money for aspirin and vanilla.

“Don’t worry,” Mary said, “I’ve got a plan.”

“What?” I laughed. “Magically make money appear?”

“We don’t need money to get what we want.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” she grinned back at me. “Simple,” she said, “We take it.”

“Are you crazy?” I asked.

“Don’t worry,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “It’s easy. I do it all the time.”

“What if we get caught?” Kathleen asked.

“We won’t get caught,” Mary said.

“What about just taking aspirin today?” I suggested.

“No,” Mary said, “We need vanilla. I’ll get it. Watch and learn.”

We filed into the drugstore behind her. Followed her up and down the aisles. She stopped suddenly, and I slammed into her. Kathleen bumped into me, causing a chain reaction. Mary turned and hissed, “Smarten up.”

We strolled around the store until we were in the pain medication aisle. “Go somewhere else,” she hissed. “Act like you’re trying to find something. I’ll get the aspirin, then leave.”

“Okay,” I said, happy to head as far away from her as possible.

I was sure the store employees must see me shaking. I kept scanning the products, keeping my eyes away from what Mary was doing.

We left the store, buying nothing, with the cashier watching us leave. We headed down the street to the grocery store. There, we repeated the same scenario, but with less confusion.

My heart pounded so hard, it felt like a fist beating on a door. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do or say if Mary got caught. Would I run or try to defend her? Thankfully, I didn’t need to decide what I’d do. Mary shoved the bottle of vanilla into her pocket. We all filed out of the store, and headed to the park.

This became our new lunchtime routine.

Once in the park, we divvied up the bottle of pills. Washed them down with vanilla.

Sometimes we’d buy a bottle of Coke and mix the vanilla with it, but the taste of the vanilla burned through and it only made more of it to drink.

It was best to gulp the dark liquid down straight. Make a face. Cringe and be done with it.

Stealing was like magic. We could get what we wanted and still keep money in our pockets. We could now afford lunch every day and still save enough money for smokes.

We agreed it wasn’t fair to let Mary take all the risk. The rest of us did our share.

A few weeks later, we strutted into the Save Easy to steal a bottle of vanilla and found the shelf empty. A hand-printed sign read: Please ask for vanilla at the front cash. Sorry for the inconvenience.

“Holy fuck,” I blurted. “They know?”

“Shut up,” Mary hissed.

“Don’t make a scene,” Debbie whispered, turning and looking behind her.

I spun around, afraid they were already watching us.

“Let’s leave,” Mary said, grabbing me by the arm.

Why?” Debbie said in her smart-ass voice. “It’s not like we’re stealing or anything.”

“Yeah,” Kathleen said, holding her ground.

“Right,” Mary relaxed and laughed.

“We would if we could,” Debbie said, and grinned.

“Yeah, but the cupboard is bare,” I said, recalling a nursery rhyme about the old woman who went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone. “We’re all poor dogs today,” I added.

Mary looked at me, then shook her head and said, “What the fuck?”

“Funny,” Debbie said and made a face. And I wasn’t sure if she had gotten what I’d said or was laughing at Mary for staring at me so confused.

“Let’s make a run for it,” Kathleen said, and we all ran down the aisle.

Out the door we rushed, laughing our heads off, pushing and shoving each other, almost falling.

We left the store without a care in the world, knowing that if the store employees dared to grab one of us and search our pockets, they’d find nothing.

Outside, we looked back in at the customers and cashiers, either with confused or angry looks on their faces.

“Fuck ’em all,” Mary yelled.

“Yeah, fuck them all,” I agreed.

“They just wish they were free like us,” Debbie said as we started walking away.

“Bunch of cranky old bags,” Mary said, and we all took off running down the sidewalk.

We went into the drugstore, and while I bought a bottle of Coke, Mary went down the aisle and stole a bottle of aspirin.

Back in the park, we stood around with outstretched hands to receive our share, until the bottle was empty.

We swallowed all the pills. The Coke tasted much better without the vanilla, but lacked that extra kick of alcohol.

But soon we found someone of legal age willing to buy the booze we wanted. For no matter what obstacle stood in our way, we found a way around it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy when it came to my boyfriend Will. No matter what I did, what I tried, I couldn’t stop worrying about why I still had not received word from him.

The above story is part of a series. If you’d like to read the rest, the link is below.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.