DOPE, WINE & BEER

A bat whooshes overhead. Maybe I should do a story about bats. I'm supposed to be an expert on Brownsville and the border, yet I know nothing about bats. Is this the right time to smoke a joint? I'll have to send Adrian into the house because I don't want him observing me. Marcos is too young to note anything unusual. I used to see both dope and alcohol as recreational activities, but now I'm utilizing them to assist me throught the day, particularly in the evenings when I'm doing nothing and I strictly want to endure three or four hours without incident until I go to bed and sleep. Sometimes I feel as if I'm merely enduring until I die, hoping that I can escape this existence without getting caught for doing something stupid. I'm as crazy as the next guy and capable of any outrageous act, but I'm banking on dying before doing anything ridiculous." "Throw me a pass, Daddy-O," says Adrian. "Not right now, papa. I want you to work the soccer ball with your feet. Forget about the football. You have a big game Saturday and you have to improve your ball control." If I had been stoned, I might have thrown the ball with Adrian because dope sparks an interest in life. These aren't the good old days when dope made me goofy, sleepy and hungry. Dope energizes me, enlightens me and exorcises the demons by providing me with another perspective on my private hell. It gives me that existentialist groove. I walk through the enclosed patio into the frontroom where Fabiola is sitting on the couch watching television. "Where are the boys?" "Where do you think they are?" "You can't leave them outside by themselves." "I'll be in my room for a second." "Why are you going to your room?" "I'm in need of inspiration." "Don't you think that you're doing a little big much of that?" "It doesn't do any harm. In fact, it brings me relief." "You don't have to smoke it in front of the boys, do you?" I retrieve the joint, retrace my steps and tell Adrian he needs to go inside until I call them. "Why?" asks Adrian. "Just do as I say." "Okay." Marcos acts confused with Adrian's sudden disappearance. "What's wrong, papa? Don't worry. Your brother will be out here as soon as I finish this joint." I hold the joint in front of me. It catches his curiosity. When I reach for a box of matches that I have hidden next to the screen window, he cocks his head to one side. He remembers a pattern. A light goes on in his head. I'm going to strike a match. I hold the flaming match in the air before I take a hit. I count to ten, a marijuana Zen exercise, and exhale. Marcos follows the smoke as it dissolves into the air. If my calculations are correct, I have a half-bottle of wine in the kitchen and two or three bottles of beer in the refrigerator. I'm sufficiently stocked for the balance of the day.