“Have you ever smoked marihuana?” she asks me.
“Oh, a few times when I lived in Berkeley and once in Colombia. That one really packed a punch.”
Three of us – me, a recently-widowed friend whose country house we’re in, and her sister-in-law – are in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch outside under a welcome early spring sun.
“We’ve always wanted to try it. “
“Maybe it’ll help with arthritis pain.”
“I can’t even cut an apple with my right wrist.”
“It’s my left wrist that hurts.”
“I’ve often thought that I’d like to try pot again,” I say. “It’s on my bucket list.”
“What’s it like?”
“It can enhance your senses, makes colors and shapes jump out at you, like a 3-D movie. It also makes you laugh.”
“Just what we want! Let’s do it, out here in the country, just the three of us when no one else is around.”
“But where would we get it?” I ask. “Can you imagine asking one of our kids to locate some for us?” We burst out laughing.
“Time goes so fast – after 60. What makes a person “old?” asks one.
“I think it’s when nothing surprises you anymore.”
“I think it’s when you stop being curious,” I say.
“Exercise is so important now to keep us active. My husband was exhausted yesterday after watering our seventeen potted plants.”
“Yeah, they have no idea of all that we do.”
We gorge on brownies I’ve brought. “I could make us brownies with pot for a start,” I offer.
“At this age, I doubt it could cause any brain damage.”
“Besides, we could die at any time,” says my widowed friend.
“I’ve done a few things recently that were on my list of things to do before I die” I say. “I went river rafting and kayaking and even rode tandem on a motorcycle.”
“We can’t wait until it’s too late.”
“Yeah, there are the things I’ve never done and now never will, like wearing a strapless dress.”
“We really don’t need pot to start us laughing.”
The moon is shining brightly when we hug goodnight in the doorway. “Now don’t forget. You’ve included me in your marihuana group!” I say.
A voice calls from the dark, “Does anyone know how to roll cigarettes?”