by Steve M
He sniffed the contents of the jar and a smile came to his face. He rolled a fat one, lit it and took several large puffs. Billows of smoke came from his exhale. After about the fourth really big hit he could feel the strong effect starting. He relaxed some, leaning back in the chair. His shoulders began to gradually lower with his tension level. For someone in deep shit he was smiling.
Taylor: (in a fake redneck accent) Damn fine stuff you grow here, Mister. Wow!
He continued to take large hits from the joint.
Narrator:Thank you. I had to grow almost 50 plants of this strain before I found the right one to be the mother plant. You are smoking the best Satori I have ever found.
Taylor: (normal voice) This is definitely some good shit. The best I ever had. HIGH AS FUCK and not paranoid. We don’t get stuff like this around the people I know. Ain’t no fancy names. It’s just weed. If it gets me high, that’s as good as it gets. This stuff is awesome!
Narrator: Back to our problem. How old are you ... and don’t lie to me. I am not some chick you are trying to fuck and you aren’t trying to buy alcohol. Honesty is the only way you will stay alive today, understood?
He hesitated for a moment. His shoulders moved up again.
Taylor: Seventeen ... and the drinking age in Mississippi is 21.
Fuck, a minor. Was hoping for a higher answer, considering one possible outcome.
Narrator:Can you prove that?
Taylor reached into his front pocket, removed his wallet and then held his driver’s license a few inches in front of the camera next to the speakers. I hit the image capture button on the control panel of the software. He had not lied about his name or age.
Narrator:Good, thank you.
Behind me a police cruiser pulled into the oasis and up to the front of the box store. I watched this through the rear-view mirror. All the spaces were full, so rather than park over on the side and walk 50 feet to the store, the police car quickly whipped into a handicapped parking place. Thug life (with badges). Assholes. To anyone observing, I just looked like a middle aged business suit, sitting in his BMW, having a conversation on his phone, some business negotiation, parked over on the side for quiet. Technically accurate I guess.
Narrator: How long have you been on your own?
Taylor: A couple of months now.
Narrator: How are you doing?
Taylor: It was hard the first two weeks. Not much to eat. The only choices I could find were either rob people, give blow jobs or steal shit and try to sell it.
Narrator: Which did you choose?
Taylor: Steal stuff. But it ain’t always easy to sell.
Narrator: No it isn’t. Successful thieves are rare – except in government and business.
Taylor: I tried robbing some lady in a mall ... grabbed her purse and ran. But she started screaming. Bitch held on to it forever before she let it go and then I dropped her fucking wallet. Mall security almost caught me, but I broke free from that fat ass and then there was no catching me. (Pride smile on his face).
Narrator: Good outcome for you, even if you didn’t get the money. Consider yourself lucky.
Taylor: Can’t bring myself to snatch a purse from some elderly lady. She’d be a lot fuckin’ easier to take it fromfor sure. But every time I get ready to do it – to snatch it – all I can think about is how she will probably break something if she falls. It stops me every time at the very last second. I am such a fuckin’ pussy!
Narrator: Were you planning to steal from here?
Taylor: Mostly I was looking for a place to sleep but was gonna take anything worth anything when I left in a couple of days.
Narrator: I appreciate your honesty. Where is your mother?
Taylor: She is living at my aunt’s house with my little sister, Gina. They don’t get along but it was either that or Jesus barracks.
Narrator: Jesus barracks? Do you mean a homeless shelter?
Taylor: Yeah, crazy homeless people, junkies and the down-on-their-luck mixed together, with a lot of Jesus zombies running the place. The zombies are nice to you until they determine that you won’t join their church or follow their rules. Then they look for excuses to throw you back onto the street.
Narrator: That’s not very Christian of them.
Taylor: Yeah, I don’t remember Jesus preaching that either.
He takes a final pull from the joint and sets the second half on the table top.
Taylor: I would have joined her in the barracks, but I ain’t goin’ to that bitch’s house, not while that fucking asshole husband of hers is around. I hate that sumabitch.
Narrator: Why, what’s wrong with him?
Taylor: He gets drunk on Friday nights and starts slapping my aunt around and doing nasty things to her sexually in front of whoever is around. Stuff that is supposed to be done in private,you know ... like masturbating her.
Narrator: In front of other people?
Taylor: Yep, then he makes them sit near the front row of the church on Sundays, all pious and shit, like he is some perfect little fucking Christian. I’ve seen him do that kinky shit before.
Narrator: That is wrong on so many levels.
Taylor: Yup, when I tried to stop him, he hit me and threatened to make me join in too. Said he would make me his mouth slave. Fuck that shit. I’m better off out here on my own. He makes my mom suck him off every morning or else he will throw them out.
Narrator (Bullshit alarm)
Narrator: That is bad. Repressive beliefs always cause weird things to happen.
Taylor: Yeah, just wish my little sister didn’t have to see that shit. Don’t want her to grow up thinking that it is a woman’s place to let her husband smack her around and shit. Don’t like her being exposed to all that phony religious bullshit either. Some lessons are too big to unlearn.
Narrator:How old is your sister?
Taylor: Eleven. She is only my half-sister, but I don’t make no distinction.
Narrator: That’s good.
Taylor: Mom shacked up with a really nice guy for years until he went broke about a year ago, then she threw him out. He’s the daddy.
Narrator: Until he was broke?
Taylor: Yeah, I tried to get mom to not throw him out. He really loved her. But she wouldn’t have any of it. If he couldn’t give her the stuff we needed then he had to leave. She told me she was just doing it in our best interest. But that is just bullshit if you ask me.
Narrator: Why do you think that?
Taylor: Mom just likes stuff. She’s a real consumer. I’m not. Mom’s idea of happiness is a larger Wal-Mart.
Narrator: That’s a shame. Possessions are not as important as people.
Taylor: Yeah, I don’t like that much stuff. The fascination wears off the more you have, like the 12th cookie from the box just ain’t that great.
Narrator: That is called Diminishing Marginal Utility. You said your mom was a teacher before ... where did she teach?
Taylor: Kingston Elementary. After my dad left, when I was little, we lived with my grandfather while my mom went to school to finish her degree and become a teacher.
Narrator: Sounds like a good plan. Education is always the smartest move.
Taylor: That was the best times. Grandpa was a tough old man, lots of rules. But he loved us. And he never spanked me. He fed us and he made mom do her homework. He ain’t with us no more.
Narrator: Sorry to hear that. Sounds like a good man.
Taylor: Yeah, he was. Mom said the state budget cut backs to pay off the banksters hit us and that’s why she lost her job.
Narrator: That is happening all over the country. The wrong people are paying the price as usual.
Taylor: But we already live in a poor state. Budget cuts in Mississippi is like trying to rob a naked corpse.
Narrator: 49th or 50th in most categories.
Taylor: But you know, sometimes when I get high, I think that it shouldn’t be as har
d as it is for us. But I can never figure out how to change it. It’s like we are playing cards in a game where everyone else is cheating, ’cept us, so we can’t win.
Narrator: That’s about the size of it.
Taylor: At best we only lose a little, sometimes we lose a lot. Now we ain’t got nuthin left, they got it all. Everything ‘cept what I have right here, right now.
Narrator: Yeah, the system doesn’t work properly for everyone, just for the few at the top these days.
Taylor: You ever seen a pool hustler let someone win a game or two to keep them betting? That is as good as it gets for us, the hollow excitement of a sucker.
Narrator: You don’t go to school?
Taylor: Nope. I stopped when I hit the streets. Wasn’t because it was hard or because I didn’t like it. It was cool learning stuff and I did really good in stuff I was interested in.
Narrator: Then why did you stop?
Taylor: It was just that I’m too embarrassed to be around them now. They make fun of dirty homeless kids who can’t fight.
A text message arrived from my wife:
- Wife: What’s up? Where are you?
- Narrator: Service station off 10. Delayed by visitor at daughter 2′s house (our code for house names, taken from our numbering of daughters as part of their childhood game where we were all robots).
- Wife: Is it one of her frenemies? That bitch always wearing blue like she owns the color?
Fuck sometimes she pushes the security limits, can’t cover up everything simply by using an obvious fucking metaphor!
- Narrator: No some kid I never met before. homeless.
- Wife: Oh dear. Help him out. Be nice. Think like this Jewish mother that loves you.
Narrator: Taylor, today is your lucky day. If you follow instructions you will survive this.
Taylor: Fuck yeah! Long overdue, long overdue ... long fuckin’ overdue!
He jumps up from the chair and does a dance reminiscent of a football player who has just scored the winning touchdown. Except imagine if the player was having a spastic seizure instead. Hilarious in the total lack of coordination. I mute the microphone due to my laughter. He had better sort this out before he gets a serious girlfriend, hip and thrusting rhythm being as important as it is.
Narrator: Step one. Get you outfitted.
Taylor: OK. What do I need to do?
Narrator: On the shelf above the table you will find a box of latex gloves. Put a pair on and keep them on until you leave. Sleep with them on. Then go close the kitchen window you forced open.
He returns after a minute smiling.
Taylor: I was able to re-lock it but I couldn’t get those contact magnet things back in place.
Narrator: Now listen carefully. There is a fake light plug just inside kitchen, up above the counter, near the microwave. Take a flat head screw driver from the tool board over on the other wall. Inside of the box you will find $500 in $20 bills. Put them in your pocket.
Taylor: $500? Cool! Yes sir. And you ain’t wanting nuthin in return?
Narrator: No. Then take a shower and get cleaned up. Keep the gloves on at all times. Wash your hair. Don’t forget to put the fake electrical box back exactly as you found it. If you try to run, you Bar-B-Que, don’t forget that.
Taylor: Yeah, I won’t forget. You can be sure of that shit.
(Narrator’s Note - As a commercial ganja grower the best outcome for me was becoming obvious. I had always known that this day might come, the day when my life would be much better off if someone else lost theirs. That does not mean I was prepared for it, you simply can’t be.)
About 30 minutes later. Taylor was back in front of the cameras.
Taylor: All clean now, check.
I was stunned. I could not believe it. I frantically opened the screen capture of Taylor’s driver’s license and zoomed in. Oh fuck, there it was, clearly and in plain sight right in front of me and I fucking missed it.
Gender: F
Forced Entry
Part 2
I was stunned. Shocked. Took me a few seconds to recover.
Taylor: Are you still there?
Her head was still wrapped in a towel and while nearly flat chested, wearing just a t-shirt, now I noticed breasts.
Narrator: How successful have you been passing as a boy on the streets?
Taylor: Very. They all think I am a 15 year old boy named Daniel. Took the name from the actor who played the wizard kid in the Harry Potter movies. Got to see the first one. It was marvelous. Best film I ever seen.
Narrator: You are safer as a boy?
Taylor: Fuck yeah. If they knew I was a girl, I would have already been raped by the pervs who troll down there.
Narrator: Then good thing you can pass for one.
Taylor: There was a black girl I knew last month, Emily. She told everyone she was 18 because she was tall, but she was really only like 14. She went with one of THEM and nobody has seen her since.
Narrator: Did you report her to the police as missing?
Taylor: Wow, you sure don’t live in my world. No, we don’t report anything to the cops. I just hope she don’t end up in the morgue or the end of a dog chain in some perv’s basement.
Narrator: I understand. The police are not trustworthy these days.
Taylor: Much safer as a boy. I have always been good at acting. Pretending to be a boy is easy cuz they are just so stupid most of the time.
Narrator: Yes, regrettably most men don’t mature until they are at least forty years old, if then.
Taylor: Yeah well that is sad and puts the burden for maturity on the woman. Don’t seem fair.
Narrator: Fare is what you pay when you get on the bus.
Narrator: OK. Let’s discuss a plan of action. Tonight you will sleep here. Do not go outside. The television and stereo work and there is a decent selection of channels on cable. There is some food in the refrigerator. Not much, but enough for you to fix a good spaghetti dinner.
Taylor: Thanks, I haven’t eaten today.
She walked over to the closest grow table.
Taylor: Is this like hydroponics?
Narrator: Yes it is.
Taylor: So like, there is no dirt?
Narrator: Correct.
Taylor: Why do you grow this way?
Narrator: It is faster, produces more and saves me from hauling in a lot of dirt. Imagine how much dirt just this one room uses. It is just over 1000 liters. That is a lot of dirt to haul into here every few months and have to dispose of the same amount. Imagine 20 large bags of soil at Home Depot every two months.
Taylor: Cool. So how does this work?
Narrator: The plants receive a constant flow of nutrient enriched water over the root system.
Taylor: And the netting that it grows through is to support it because the roots don’t have the dirt to hold onto?
Narrator: Yes. You catch on quickly.
Taylor: When it is interesting. And this is the most interesting shit I have EVER seen.
She had entirely dropped the bad boy punk routine. Upon discovery, it just didn’t make sense to keep it up. She was like a kid, wide-eyed with wonder in the laboratory of a mad scientist.
Narrator: Remember, you are not to go out tonight, understood?
Taylor: Yes grandpa. (She laughed.)
Taylor: Are you going to be there all night watching me?
Narrator: Yes
Taylor: That is kinda creepy.
Narrator: Yes, it is.
Taylor: You didn’t watch me in the shower did you?
Narrator: No, there aren’t any cameras in the bathroom and I wouldn’t have watched you even if there were.
Taylor: Why? You gay? Like it’s okay if you are. You have been nicer to me than ANYONE in the last couple of years, so I like you, even if you are gay. Just saying.
Narrator: My sexual orientation is not your concern, but no, I am not. Underage naked girl
s are not my thing, regardless of how attractive. Besides, my children are older than you.
Taylor: Like you’re somebody’s dad? Cool! And do you do DAD kinda things with them?
Narrator: There are no DAD kinda things. And no, I was not a great dad. I was a selfish fuck that spent more effort on my career and traveling around the world than on my family.
Taylor: Sorry to hear that. Family is the most important thing, especially when apart.
Taylor: Where is the best place you have ever been?
Narrator: Paris, the Eiffel Tower with my wife at 10PM when all the lights start flickering and we kiss. Thousands of couples show up every night and do the same thing. At that moment, in that place is something very special.
Taylor: Hmmm ... a romantic, I see. Where is the worst place you have ever been?
Narrator: Las Vegas, Nevada.
Taylor: What? Why Las Vegas? I heard it is pretty out there. All those casinos, flashing lights.
Narrator: Las Vegas is like huge fake breasts. Nothing is real, just plastic. It is all provided with a clean veneer over the grime of its purpose, to swindle. And I don’t gamble (present circumstances excluded).
Taylor: So why aren’t you out there still traveling the globe, sending post cards with funny looking stamps back to the folks at home?
Narrator: Well ... I just didn’t like it anymore. The level of bullshit required to advance my career any further came at too high a price. Was not willing to give up that last little part of my soul that they didn’t already own. Eventually the years of submission show on your face.
Taylor: You don’t seem to be someone who likes having a boss.
Narrator: Besides, there is a new and improved, completely soulless generation coming up who are ready and willing to sell it all to advance, no questions asked. Org chart worshiping greedbots.
Taylor: Greedbots ... cool.
