420
4.21.6
Yesterday was April 20th.
Somehow that date has become synonymous with marijuana over the past couple of decades. It's now an international holiday of sorts for stoners around the world. They spend the day smoking pot, protesting about pot legislation, and smoking more pot. They even came up with a special, incredibly uncreative name for it:
420
420? They might as well have called it "April 20th Day."
Anyway...sometime before April 20th Day, I received a call from an old friend named Ace. I've known Ace for at least 6 years...probably more. He used to be one of my best friends; a great guy to be around. As the years passed, though, he turned into quite the stoner. Like most situations of this nature, the friendship became less and less satisfying the more he smoked.
Over the past year, communication between us had been to a minimum. The only time I usually heard from him was when he was having problems with his girlfriend or when he needed something. For example: About a month ago, he called me and told me that his car was stuck in the snow outside my apartment. He wanted me to come out and help him free it. Assuming that he was here to visit me, I put on my shoes and jacket and prepared to head out into the cold to assist him. Before I walked out my front door, though, he informed me that he had finally done it himself.
"So, you're heading up now, then?"
"Nah...I got somewhere to be. I was just in the area to meet someone," he replied. ("Meeting someone" obviously being stoner code for "drug deal.")
Then there's the matter of the phone call. He wanted to know what my plans were for April 20th Day. When I told him I didn't have any plans, he asked me if I was interested in protesting for the legalization of marijuana with him. He wanted me to help "support his cause."
I was a bit surprised at the question. Just about everyone I know is aware of my feelings on this subject. For years, I've been rather vocal about my disapproval of the drug. I declined (informing him that I'd prefer to protest against legalization) and we said goodbye.
He couldn't have believed I was going to go with him, right? After knowing me all these years, he must have realized! I almost think he asked me just to rile me up a bit. I suppose old friends can really be a pain in the ass sometimes...
In recent weeks, though, he actually does seem to have been trying (for the most part). He has called me a few times just wanting to hang out, but I haven't really been up to it. I know that I should give him another chance...I'm just having some trouble getting the taste of the bad times out of my mouth.
Of course, "420" is not just about drug use. Yesterday was also the 7th anniversary of the incident at Columbine High School.
Right now, donations are being accepted to help build the official Columbine Memorial. At an expected cost of 2 million dollars, there will finally be a permanent memorial for those that died that day.
Frankly, the whole thing seems pompous and unnecessary to me. Sure, 13 people died. While that's a real shame and all, I just don't see how it justifies this type of reaction. What about the students who have been murdered in less affluent, urban schools? How come nobody has thought to raise millions for their memorials? Is it only sad when rich kids die? I guess I probably shouldn't get into the politics of that, though.
It's interesting to me: Those idiots really thought they were doing something important. They really believed that. Now, just seven years later, their entire lives can be boiled down to a quick mention in a journal, and a blurry photo found in a Google image search.
I remember where I was that day, though. Like many people, I had decided not to go to school. While many of the kids I knew were sitting on a roof somewhere smoking pot...I was driving around with a select group of sober friends. I happened to stumble upon one of the talk radio stations. They were talking about the shootings already in progress, and it took us awhile to piece together what was happening.
When we finally did, we decided to take a short trip to where this was occurring. I can't recall exactly why we thought this was a good idea, but I do remember that we hadn't the slightest idea of where to go. We drove around for hours, but I don't think we even got close.
Meanwhile, my stepdad (being one of the members of the SWAT team at the time) had been called to the scene. By the time his group was entering one side of the school, the gunmen were committing suicide on the other end. The police followed the path of destruction until they found their corpses.
He never really got into full detail about what he saw there, but one thing I will always remember is him telling us with a tearful grimace, "When we found their bodies, I swear to God...they were smiling."
