Different colored minds

The double edged sword

STEVEN POV

I sit on the edge of my bed, breathing in the Monday air. my hand reaches under the pillow to extract my pen. My calloused fingers slide over the smooth surface as my mouth slips around the lip. I slowly inhale, letting the smoke trail out of my nostrils. I can feel the sense of peace wash over me and the motivation that follows. And then, I stand up. Looking around at my room, my eyes fix on my closet. Now What should I wear?

The classrooms are too cold so I'll need something warm. Maybe a sweatshirt but I don't know. Girls dig it when I look good so it's whatever they approve of. I open up the doors to my closet and peer inside.

"Steven!" I hear my dad from downstairs. Quickly, I grab a pair of white washed pants, a long white shirt and my roomy leather tan jacket.

"Coming," I head down the stairs into the living room. My dad is waiting in the living room with his arms crossed.

"You didn't go to church yesterday," I look over towards my dad, his arms are crossed.

"I had a late night at Joe's on Saturday night," I mutter.

"What does that have to do with church on Sunday?"

"Mom said I could sleep in," I mutter.

"Margret!" My dad's voice rolls over the air in the room. I hear feet running on the cold wooden floor.

"Did you say he could miss church yesterday?"

"I did honey, he has a game this week and then he has to do scholarship letters, so he wasn't going to see his friends for a bit."

"Next time he goes to church. it's fine if he hangs out with his friends on other days But please, in the future, don't let him miss church," I can see my father is clearly still steaming.

"Okay Marvin," my mom sounds disappointed in herself.

I hate it when this happens. I genuinely believe that both of my parents are decent human beings just trying to get through the day. I understand why my dad feels that way. I guess that's why life has been feeling too hard lately—

It's not like I can tell my parents I smoke weed or they'll think I'm sinning, but if I don't tell them, then I am lying and that definitely is a sin. This is the double edged sword without an escape for me. All I can see is the disappointment that's coming. God said he has a plan.

The worst part is that I don't think weed is bad. I just think that people are abusing something that has medicinal value when used appropriately. But they won't listen; and I can't concentrate without it. I know that my body is a temple and i shouldn't smoke and destroy it but I don't know another way out of my head. Maybe I could do edibles. But edibles never feel the same as smoking a cartridge.

Some People told me Jesus would make my problems go away. It must mean I'm not a good enough Christian. I should focus harder. Get faster at learning. Be better. Do thing faster and longer. Don't be lazy, don't be messy, don't be this, don't be that. But it's not like my dad believes in mental illness. Even if he does, he'd ship me off to some hospital to get reprogrammed if I ever gave him wind of how bad this all was for me.

The words he's said one million times ring in my ears. The same words.
"You're a man," my dad would say.
"Grow up," my dad would say.
"Men don't cry," my dad would say.

"Do you understand Steven?" My father's voice careens through my train of thought.

"Yes sir," I spew confidently.

"get going, I don't want you to start missing school too," he jabs while pawing through a newspaper. While he is distracted I scramble into the kitchen for breakfast.

The drive to school with Joe is painful. He denies all of who he used to be now. It's like trying to figure out how to befriend a whole new person in an old set of bones.

The school day drags on too, my eyes on the clock to measure how warped my sense of time is. I try and always be sober for gym class and anything I can where I don't need to be able to concentrate. today is no exception. The teams are selected. I pair up with Todd, a sophomore on the football team. We high five as my eyes flit towards the dwindling group of people. I've watched this happen since kindergarten. No one wants Maverick.
I can see the line getting smaller and smaller. He looks around like he's trying not to care. And then finally the decision comes to a head and once again Maverick is left as the last choice.

The game drags on, leaving me pelting balls at anyone I can hit; because of my sheer size, I've had to train myself to dodge any oncoming force. It's kind of annoying how much they're aiming for me though, it's starting to irritate me.

A ball hits me, and I'm sent to the jail. Standing there in that little box I look out at my teammates waiting for a ball to get lobbed my way. But before that can happen I hear a thump as a ball resounds off of Maverick's head. He's in a daze tumbling onto the floor. And that's why no one wants Maverick on their team.

He's clumsy. What's the point in having a team mate who can't contribute. I can already hear the jeers from here. The snickers. The boy can't tell his left foot from his right. It's sad really. I can't afford to have him on my team though, I mean he's a standing wrecking ball.

I sigh while sitting on the sidelines. I know why I'm so hard on him. He's just like me. No one wants him. He's not going anywhere fast. And he can't get anyone to be his friend. Don't get me wrong, I've got plenty of acquaintances. But they're not my friends. They don't know me. And maybe no one ever will.

The thought runs Ice cold down my spine. What's the point in living, if there's no one to live for? And that's when it hits me.

Love the lord your god with all of your heart, your soul, and your mind.

A rush of anger bubbles up to the surface of my mind. And where has that ever gotten me?