It Gets Worse

“Should I?” I thought to myself as I stood in the crowd of people. Most of the people in the room were dancing but I was standing in the back corner with seven other kids. Their piercing eyes cut through me like a knife. Every single one of them was staring at me waiting for an answer. The question came again but it was muffled by my loud heartbeats which grew faster and faster as I looked around the room thinking of a response.
 

Then I noticed a kid sitting on the couch on the opposite side of the room. He was all by himself with a needle in his arm. His head drooped down onto his chest and he stopped moving. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him wondering if he were still alive. After a few seconds, he picked up his head and let out a quiet yelp as if he had just seen a ghost.
 

Now, I could hear the music playing in the background but that wasn’t what I was focusing on. My head snapped back to the seven people in front of me when I heard the question for a third time. This time I could hear it loud and clear and knew I had to give a response soon. The question repeated over and over in my head.
 

“You want a hit?” I was cornered. There are only two possible outcomes of this situation. I wanted to answer, “no” but I knew that if I said that, they will call me a loser and then walk away. I will be a loser for the rest of high school if that happens. The other outcome is that I say, “yes” and take the joint. By doing this, I can be popular and fit in but for the wrong reasons. I wish there were an alternative but there isn’t.
 

Finally I make a decision. I extend my arm into the middle of the group of kids and make my hand into a fist. I hold my closed hand in between all of us and make my final analysis of the situation. Then I slowly extend my pointer finger and my thumb from my closed fist and take the joint. The second I grabbed the joint, I lost control of my hand. As if the joint were controlling me, I took a long breath in once the joint reached my mouth. Everyone cheered as I held the smoke in my lungs. I listened to everything they were telling me to do.
 

“Hold it! Don’t cough! Just a few more seconds aaannnnddd let it out!” I opened my mouth and saw the cloud of smoke flowing out. I watched the cloud go past my head and reach the ceiling where it spread out and disappeared. I dropped the joint and coughed. My eyes were watering but everyone was still cheering.
 

Once I was done coughing, I picked up the joint and took another hit. A senior boy walked up to me and said, “Hey man I’m having a party next weekend at my house and I’ve got some way stronger stuff if you wanna come.” I nodded with a big smile on my face realizing that I was now, as most would call, cool. Once the guy walked away, I started to walk around the room. Every few minutes I would lift the joint back up to my mouth as if I were a professional. My heartbeat slowed to a steady pace and was drowned out by the pulsing beat of the music.
 

My legs started to get tired, so I sat down on the couch right next to the kid with the needle in his arm. I looked over at him and saw his face close up now. His eyes were bloodshot with dark bags hanging below them. His lips were chapped and his skin was pale. Looking at his arm, I noticed that the whole area around the needle was infected and bleeding. Past the needle, I saw his head turn towards me and he began inspecting me.
 

His eyes locked onto the joint in my hand and he said, “Ya that’s what I started with too. Trust me, it gets worse.” Then he turned his head back and placed it on his chest. I sat there quietly for a while staring at the man thinking about all the questions I wanted to ask him about how he got to where he is now but I saw that his eyes were closed. I kept looking at him with my mouth hanging open. I was looking at myself.