Jacob is really something else. He takes usually over a minute to get a straw out of its wrapper. He trips over his own jokes and is betrayed by his own tongue. I can practically hold his waist in my two hands but his back is broad. Sometimes, when he looks at me the look on his face is the awe of a little boy. He is has blunt wrappers in his glove box. All the time he works dillegently bagging groceries. When he says he is sorry, he cries. He wants to be a history teacher someday. When it rains, he shakes his head like a dog. His socks go up to his knees. He is the sweetest, most determined, tallest most gorgeous pothead I have ever met.

These are just a few of the reason I love him.

This weekend we got together with our buddy Daniel. Daniel's great. He's like a little kid. Trusting. Naive. Dimples and curly hair. Honest and sincere and freindly to all.

When we swung by his house to pick him up, his mom was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, frowning uncertainly. I have never met her before.

Jacob and I were packaged like bad news on a Valentines day. Both of us tall and spidery, sporting long twine hair twisted in bandanas, postmarked with peace signs. There were burn holes in the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Basically, we scream, "STONER!"

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Thornhill.”
“Call me Peggy. Who are you?”
“I’m Jacob and this is my girlfriend Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“OK, bye mom.”
“Wait, turn out your pockets.”
“Mom…”
“Do it.”
“See? I don’t have anything.”
“Alright. You kids keep in touch.”
“Will do.”
"Whats your cell phone number?"
I told her.
“When should you be back?”
“I don’t know mom.”
“Well, remember to call me a few times this evening. Where are you going?”
“The mall.”
“OK, have a good time. Nice to meet the both of you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”

In the Car.
“Is you mom always like that?”
“Bitchy?”
“Yeah.”
“Amy’s real scared of her.”
“Everybody is.”
“Amy hasn’t even met her.”
“Hmmmm. Hey I got some bud you guys want to smoke it. And we can scrape the resin off the sides.”
“You got a pipe?”
“Yeah, its Gabby’s.”
“That’s cute.”
“Your mom made you turn out your pockets.”
“Don’t worry, I got it. I hid it someplace special.”
“Ewww.”
“Don’t worry, it didn’t touch my weenie.”
“Comforting.”
“Whats the deal with people being so disgusted about that anyways?”
“I don’t know man.”

We went to Castlewood and followed the rutted, trail to the view, scuffling through dry leaves and talking. It was just cold enough that you’d want to have your hands in your pockets.

At the view, there were a few other couples, perched on the edge of the breathtaking, sheer cliffs of sandy stone that over looked a river like the tail of the Cheshire cat and a sunset like spilt mercury. We joked around a while more and the two of them smoked.

If I could smoke, I don’t think I would. See, I get drug tested by my parents and in the past everything turned out fine. In other words, I have never failed before. But ever since “the incident” I have been playing things safe. Besides, there are plenty of ways besides weed to get high. As a matter of fact, who even needs drugs to get high? Get high on life man, thats what I say.

After Daniel and Jacob were done, we went to Andi’s house, with much instruction slurred over the phone to us by Amy. I don't really know Andi but thats OK. For those who want to know, anyone on drugs will let you in instantly if you bring food. The munchies are a terrible thing.

In the house, it was the same old story, moved to a new setting. Andi’s room was square and white decorated with rasta posters, centered by a footrest around which had congregated 3 bottles of liquor, some magazines and a Tupper where filled with ashes, cigarettes, and cupcake wrappers.

Amy introduced me with formality and usuallity like clockwork, “This is Rachel, she is awesome. This is her boyfriend Jacob. This is Bryce, Cassie, Andi, Darvin, Daneil and Amy,” she motioned towards herself.

I love hanging out with Jacob and his friends. Really, They are some of the most accepting people I can think of. I do. But sometimes, I find myself wondering if they are changing me somehow. All of my old freinds seem to think so. But I don't feel any different. My parents arent treating me any differently and they're pretty perceptive.

Besides, if I'm not smoking, they're not changing me. Right?