Memoirs of a Pothead

"Bring Me Down"

 

Mondays at school are tricky days. There are two very different types of Mondays and you never know what you’re gonna get. If the days of the week were to be personified using cliché character profiles from an even more cliché teen high-school drama TV show, then Monday would be the bipolar girl that everyone is afraid to trust.

One week Monday can be amazing. She’ll be like the sun, bathing you in light and warmth that you didn’t even know you had been missing during your dreary disappointing weekend. Somehow she’ll be so interesting that you forget that you’re back to a week of forced education and for a while you may even  find yourself yearning to once again enter those four walls, because the happiness Monday brought is still fresh in your mind.

As I woke up at 5:00, arriving back into the world before the sun, I was sure that this Monday would be one of the other ones.

“Fuck Toad.” I muttered, my voice came out gravelly and groggy. I got out of bed, showered, and brushed my teeth, muttering obscenities the whole time. I got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a chess hoodie. It was too early for jeans. I glanced at my high-top black converse in the corner and shook my head. It was too early for tying shoes too.

My flip-flops smacked against the floor loudly as I raced down the stairs. It was 5:25, Toad wasn’t due for another five minutes, so that meant I definitely had time for a snack. I put a Pop-Tart in the microwave and stared at it, mentally willing it to heat faster. Just as I was sure that my hidden telekinetic powers were about to kick in, I felt a nip at my feet and looked down to see my dog staring up at me.

I shouldn’t even call it ‘my dog’, it was my mom’s dog. It followed her around everywhere, mimicking her every movement and completely disregarding everyone else in the house. When my mom wasn’t around it only came to me if it was starving or dying of thirst.

“What do you want Chipper?”

He walked over to the cabinet beneath the sink and began whimpering and scratching at it.

“Stop crying and tell me what you want.” I said, growing slightly annoyed at the dog’s high pitched whine. Then it dawned on me that he was trying to tell me what he wanted; that was the cabinet where we kept his snacks.

I apologized to Chipper and opened the cabinet, grabbing one of his treats. I looked at it and thought to myself how stupid it was that all the ‘bacon-flavored doggy bones’ were individually wrapped.  Then, my pop-tart popped up and my phone rang at the same time. I walked over and grabbed my phone, stuffing the dog-treat into my back pocket so my hand would be free to grab the pop-tart.

“Here I come.” I said into the speaker and then hung up.

“Sorry Chip, I promise I’ll give you one tomorrow morning. I gotta go.”

I stuffed the pop-tart into my mouth and bit down, holding it with my teeth. I used my free hands to grab my bookbag and sling it over my shoulder and then to lock the door behind me as I left. I got into the back seat of Toad’s mom’s SUV and saw three faces that were looking just as unhappy to be up as I was.

Toad was wearing a t-shirt and some gray sweatpants. He was clutching a cup of steaming coffee and every few seconds he would take a large drink from it like he would pass out if he didn’t get his dose of caffeine. Rock’s for was matted, more than usual, and he wore a black hoodie and black sweatpants. He seemed pretty energetic though as he played a quite impressive air guitar solo to the alternative rock song that was on. Eric had a gray hoodie on and a pair of pajamas displaying the Pillsbury Doughboy heavily. He was staring out the window intently.