1ch aP t e r 4
I
nstead of driving to my yoga class twice a week, since it was
only partway across town, I would usually bike there on my one-
speed cruiser. My mountain bike had been stolen a few months
earlier while I was volunteering for a show at the WOW Hall, so a
friend had loaned me his spare clunker bike. It was white with flow-
ers painted sloppily all over it, and it had big, cumbersome handle-
bars that curved so far down they were practically useless. The chain
came off spontaneously, and every sixth pedal or so it missed a few
teeth on the front gear and skipped a pedal, threatening to throw me
on the pavement. But it got me around town pretty well, once I got
accustomed to its quirks.
A week following my abrupt introduction to Jeffrey, a friend from
yoga class, Mary, invited me to come over after class and see the
house that she had just moved into with her boyfriend. After class
we biked lazily across town towards her new place. When we got
there she invited me in, introduced me to her boyfriend, Scott, and
offered me a cup of tea. It was a great little house, very warm and
cozy, just the sort of place I would have picked. The three of us talk-
ed for a little while. Then Scott turned on the TV and grabbed a large
bong from beside the couch.
“You smoke?” he asked, filling the bowl with pot.
“Uh, sure...” I said, ignoring my inward hesitation, as he took a
toke, and then passed me the bong.
I hesitated to smoke right then because I have a strong reaction to
marijuana. Although I started smoking occasionally as a teenager, I
quit a year or so later when it started making me too self-conscious
and paranoid. I didn’t smoke again until a few years after that, shortly