I haven’t heard many stories about people getting high for the first time. I’m not sure I’ve even heard one, actually. I know that my friend Lucy said that the first time she “got high” she didn’t even get high. She told me that a lot of people don’t get high the first time because they don’t know how to properly inhale. A lot of times, people just inhale the smoke into their mouths, not their lungs.
A lot of people probably do get high, however, the first time they get high. They get high with a cousin or a friend or a friend of a friend. And they can recall their story either really well or not so well because, well, they were high. Sometimes, when you’re high, your memory doesn’t do you a ton of justice. For me, that’s the case.
I remember some of the night of the first time I got high, but it’s spotty. I’ve always wished that I could remember it better, but in my defense, it was three years ago and my memory is shit so give me a little break.
I’ve wanted to tell this story for awhile because honestly, I’m proud of it. My first time getting high, in my shitty memory, was pretty fulfilling, and to some extent, I’ve wished that I could brag just a little about it. A little. And to some people, admittedly, I already have.
It was 2014 and I was fifteen years old, a sophomore in high school. I’m going to have to give you a bit of backstory on this before I get to the actual getting high part so just bare with me.
I had dropped out of eighth grade at the very end of the year due to some bullying issues and a complicated relationship with a girl. When I say “relationship” I mean we were “dating” and I was sure that I was gay at the time. I had come out to my parents and everything, the whole shebang. However, after the relationship crumbled and I was left a mess dealing with self harm issues and depression, topped off with anxiety, I tried to take it all back in attempts to save my sanity. So, no longer was I gay (in my mind), I was just struggling with mental health and not attending my freshman year of high school. I was tutored at home instead. (Again, sounds very off topic but relevant to the story.)
I saw a therapist and a psychiatrist to try and mend my wounds during my freshman year. I did a lot of work and made a lot of progress with the goal to be back in school the next year. It was rough and it was a rocky road, but somehow I managed to stabilize myself on the right meds with regular therapy. And, as a stable person, I jumped into high school for sophomore year, waking up early, taking the bus, going to classes, doing homework, all whilst taking extra curricular activities to keep me on my toes.
It was a new world to me. I had friends and I was acing all my classes. Though it all seemed fine, I was silently struggling however, trying to juggle everything on my plate, trying to keep myself sane. I had outlets, however, and some of those outlets were even classes in school. I had a creative writing class that I looked forward to, and that was a comfort.
In that class was a myriad of people. There were kids from different grades in it, even seniors and freshman. And there was one girl in it that was a senior who caught my eye, her name was Autumn.
Now, because the school knew that I had anxiety issues, I was allowed in this class that was kind of like a free study but also a room that you were allowed to go to if you needed a break. It was called Mrs. Martin’s room.
There were other kids enrolled in this “class” and one of those kids was Autumn. So, not only was I seeing Autumn on a regular basis for creative writing, but I was seeing her in Mrs. Martin’s room every now and then.
Now, before I go into the details of Autumn, I want to ask you something. Do you ever see someone or meet someone and there’s this pull? There’s this… wonder about them. You feel like you need to be closer to them. You want to talk to them. You want to know them. It’s like this magnetic something or other that makes you want to be closer to them.Do you know that feeling?
Well, whether you do or not, it’s important that you know that that’s the first thing I felt when I saw Autumn.
Autumn was a senior, like I said, so she was eighteen, three years older than me. She had short, dark hair and big brown eyes. She had an opal septum piercing and dimples when she smiled. She had a wonderful smile.
Now, we’ll take a pause to assess Caroline’s sexuality because usually when you get that magnetic feeling (or at least when I do) it’s because you like the person. Romantically. Or sexually. Or both. And, if you’ll recall from earlier paragraphs, I was sure I wasn’t gay. So, at this point, I was just confused.
I became friends with Autumn through the grace of God. We talked and laughed in creative writing, sometimes sat next to each other. She was smart and funny and so so wise. Her writing was beautiful and she was beautiful. It wasn’t long before I decided to take action on this weird crush thing. I sent her a love letter. I sent it to her on tumblr, anonymously, and figured she wouldn’t find out.
She did. And she told me that she had a huge crush on me. But, somehow, we didn’t talk about it. And after that, somewhere along the line, she invited me over her house for a sleepover.
I begged my Mom to let me go and again, through the grace of God, she let me, even though she didn’t know Autumn too much. She didn’t even know Autumn’s parents because Autumn didn’t live with them. Autumn lived under the roof of the mother of this guy Ben who I’m pretty sure she used to date. But, that’s just random details.
I went over Autumn’s house and it was like a dream come true. She was vegan so she showed me how to make this vegan mashed potato dish with all these vegetables. I thought it was amazing. I thought she was amazing.
Anyways, we’re getting to the fun part, I promise.
Later in the night we went to her room and just hung out and talked. When we talked, there was never awkward pauses or silences. She was always easy to talk to. So, I thought everything was fine until she pulled out a bong. And I panicked just a little.
See, I had no experience with weed, but all I knew was that it was a drug and drugs weren’t good for me because I was on psychotropic meds for depression and anxiety. I figured if those mixed, I would fuck shit up majorly.
Now, I should let you know that this is the part where it gets hazy (haha, pun intended somewhat). This part of my memory is spotty, but I know for sure that she started smoking and immediately (and kindly) offered me some. Now, I had no idea how the ever living fuck a bong worked, it looked extremely complicated (even until recently bongs always vexed me), but still she was kind enough to offer me a hit. I politely said no, though thanked her for the offer, and the night went on.
We talked some more and she kept smoking, and then she offered again once or twice. At this point, my resolve was fading. It wasn’t peer pressure, I want to assure you. She wasn’t forcing it on me, I think she only knew that I had never smoked and she wanted to give me an opportunity.
Finally, after I thought in my head, “You fucking moron, you’re gonna fuck up your meds,” and was able to repress that thought, I said yes.
She showed me how to hit the bong and I coughed my lungs out. I took about three hits maybe before I really started to feel it. I was looser and calmer, more relaxed. She offered me some more hits, but I declined, knowing that three was enough and I was easily getting baked.
After that, it’s fuzzy. I remember sitting on her bed and looking around, thinking to myself that I felt like an idiot. She had obviously done this before and was one of those people who could function while high. She could write and draw with no problem. I, however, could barely talk correctly.
However, the high did do one wonderful thing for me that I am forever grateful for. It gave me some confidence.
I remember this part, now. I remember staring at her, sitting on the end of her bed and staring at her, probably looking dopey and blissed out and somewhat in love. And she asked me why I was looking at her that way. And I forget what I said exactly, though I wish I could remember. But it was something along the lines of a love confession.
I don’t remember what I was expecting from that, but what happened next was literally all I could have hoped for.
She smiled a smile that I swear I can still remember and she crawled over to where I was sitting. She straddled my legs and she took off my glasses. She cupped my face in her hands and she kissed me. And she kissed me and kissed me and we made out for I have no idea how long because I was high and head over heels for her and caught up in what was a real kiss from a beautiful girl who I had wanted so bad for so long. It wasn’t everything I had hoped for, however.
She eventually pulled away and gave me that same smile. And then she returned my glasses and went back to where she had been sitting before. And I was like, 100% sure we were going to have sex, but we didn’t. We just sat there for the rest of the night. I remember thinking of asking her to continue that, wondering when she was going to kiss me again. But she only kissed me once. And then eventually, she left to let me sleep in her room while she slept in a spare room.
I woke up the next day and the high had worn off but the memory hadn’t. I left and later asked her about what had happened through snapchat I’m pretty sure. She told me it wouldn’t work and that she didn’t feel the same. I was terribly heartbroken, but I tried to move on. I only saw her a few more times before I left school for other reasons that I won’t get into.
Now, that’s the basics of the first time I got high, but if you want a little more insight into my current life and what I think of Autumn, then keep reading a little longer. Otherwise, if you were only here to hear about the high, then that’s cool too.
Anyways, I’ve gotten into smoking weed recently. I won’t go into my whole marijuana backstory, but I’ll tell you that I have a medical card and a friend who smokes who I sometimes smoke with. Her name is Emily.
Emily and I recently got high and then went to the movies (being high at the movies is amazing, please try it if you get a chance) and we hot boxed her car. She had me bring my bong (I finally get how they work now) and we had a little sesh in her car.
After that we drove around for a bit just to kill some time before the movie started. Now, again, my memory gets wonky when I get high. I don’t know if this happens to any of you guys, but sometimes I’ll get high, do some shit, then once I’m sober, I’ve forgotten about it. But, I hazily remember telling Emily as we drove around, the story of Autumn.
In response Emily said that I should try talking to her. Now, it’s important you know that Autumn is still three years older than me and also lives in Hawaii. However, Emily said that some guys do what Autumn did and it can be annoying, but if I really want to, I could still go after her.
My mind had to work to understand what Emily was implying. She was implying that guys sometimes kind of use you and brush you off. And she was implying that this is what Autumn did.
I wanted to tell her that she didn’t understand. I wanted to tell her that that’s not at all what happened because this was Autumn. She never knew Autumn. And Autumn had some kind of feelings for me, right? I mean, I once found an entry in her journal saying that sometimes she got the intrusive thought of kissing me. That meant something, right?
Suddenly, however, after writing this, after thinking it over, I wonder if Emily had a point. I wonder if I was some sort of experiment for Autumn. It makes me sick to think that, but Autumn was eighteen and much wiser than me. I was fifteen and confused about everything.
In my head, I ultimately believe that that’s not what Autumn did. Though, some of me has doubts. Maybe she did want to get me high because she knew it would loosen my tongue and she knew I liked her. Maybe she wanted the chance to kiss me. Still, I find that hard to believe. But maybe only because all these years I’ve believed the same truth that Autumn was and is beautiful inside and out with good intentions. But, people surprise you. Anyways, she only passed through my life shortly. She wasn’t meant to stay.
It’s terrible how much I’ve written about her and how many letters I’ve written to her. Even now, three years later. But I’ll wave the excuse that I was fifteen and it was my first real kiss, my first time getting high, and the first girl I really fell for. She made an impression on my life and she gave me a story that I will always retell.