Going Spec-Ops When Shit Hits the Fan (long as shit)

The night started off different from most, we actually had to wait this time for it to be time to re-up, a game I'm not used to playing - but at these prices, you can't say no. Half our 4-man crew went to grab the Oz while Craig and I stayed at Craig's place, a quite suburban house on the corner of a "No Outlet" Neighborhood. The back door led to a porch-gone-gazebo with full furnishings and screening lining the outside.

We were just finishing our pre-smoke preparations; grabbing the water and the piece, prepping the grinder and snagging a paper. Mike and Junior walked in the door with 28 grams. Ya know, it's hard to describe that moment; when you have a fat sack of weed to yourself, a couple of friends, a back porch to yourself and a 2 foot bong with some EZ Wider 1 1/2's, some people don't take that moment for what it's worth, they don't appreciate it the way I do. But all I know is that we have a fat sack of buds, and the means to smoke it and everything is going to be chill...... right?

We began our sesh with a skinny joint, one of those joints that work when you want to smoke now, but it was nothing too impressive. Mike rolled it pretty quickly, but before I could say "Pack a Bowl," the joint is ashed and we're splitting greens out the bong reminding eachother to corner.

The watering of the double-perc bong drowned out most noise outside of normal conversation, however, the combined personal histories of the stoners in this circle are constantly being pulled from the deepest concious memories of our minds and are reminding us of the hidden dangers of blazing at night.

When the old man next door walked out his house to walk the dog, all conversation fell dead, we killed the lights and even the roaring monster we called a piece took a quick breather as we all sat on edge in perfect silence and perfect darkness.

It only took us a few seconds for our natural stoner instinct to kick in when the car pulled into Craig's driveway.

"Shit! My parents!"
"They're not supposed to be home until 11:00, I thought you said."
"Could be cops...."

Fuck.

I don't remember the way I prioritized the grab back that was the stoner paraphernalia on the table when we left; but we were in and out quicker than a Viagra junkie with "confidence" issues.

The only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the screen door leading into the backyard. Mike, Junior, and myself were crouchwalking, hands open, swiftly making our way through Craig's backyard on padded footsteps. We wrapped around the left side of the house, sticking to the shadows of the treeline seperating the two yards. We stopped moving, and rendezvoused in the bushes outlining the side of Craig's house.

This is when I handed Junior his bong. He bagan to place it into the bag he keeps all his shit in.

"There's still water in there."
Junior pulled the bong out, pulled out the whole downstem and poured the water into the shrubbery.
"Good?"
"Good."
We were going to move forward, but the car in the driveway was paused, with headlights on. It was the spotlight, the only way for any of us to be seen in this darkness. It's surprising how incredibly well the shadows will conceal a person, if you know what you're doing.

Mike is eyeing up his car...
"I can make it, If I can lock the Oz in the glovebox, we can get out fine."
"Hell, if we can all make it, we can drive down the cul-de-sac quietly and pull back around, we can't be recognized, or it's Craig's ass."

Plan had to be put into action, it was time to move, if we're seen, we're toast. Grabbed my toes and stretched my foot behind my back, we'd have to move quickly and silently, you can only do that crouching.

My mind drifted back to a previous time I sold to a kid by sneaking through his backyard and silently manipulating the shadows to keep myself concealed until I could grab his attention and make the deal. Nighttime shadows are your friend when breaking laws, if you can use it to your advantage, there is no way for the untrained eye to --

"I'm going."

Mike was the biggest of us, if he got spotted, Junior and I could still make it. Peering through the tallest trees in the side of Craig's yard, we could see shadowy figures moving in front of the high beams. The yard was temporarilly enshrouded in darkness. Footsteps. Silence. Movement. Whispers. The shadowed figure moved out of the car's headlights, Illuminating the front yard. Mike's car door closed, he was safe. I searched for Junior, he was moving across the yard next door, silently scouting his way around a big dogwood.

I kept my eyes on the figure that was still in the driveway. Between the 2 foot gaps seperating tall, thin shrubs, I could lean out and keep a forward view on the figure in the driveway. A branch snapped behind me. "Shit."

The figure in the driveway walked my way, their legs filled with purpose, they were looking for someone. I quickly reared my back out of the view of the figure, behind the one of three tall pillars of plantlife in this tiny 10x10 foot area of dark patches in the yard. I slowly lowered myself into a crouch while the figure was moving in on my position. The cobblestone walkway only put more emphasis on the footsteps moving my way, I could count the paces I had left until the person would see me.

6...5...
Still crouched, my tall, slender body hunched over my legs which normally would keep me at a solid 6'1" height; I put all the weight on the tips of my toes. My hands were open, as though I was on the prowl, ready to embrace complete darkness.

4.... 3.... 2...
In one quick, silent motion, I whipped my right shoulder across my body and moved from the shrub furthest on the right, to the area in between the other two shrubs. My timing was perfect. The shadowed figure stood less than 5 feet from me, when he peeked his head into the dim light of the front porch. I could peak through the shrubs and see individual hairs on his chin in the dim lights on the porch. He was inspecting the area I was standing just a half-second before. I heard the last cobblestone step before hearing two silent footsteps, both padded by the same patch of grass I was standing on.

4 seconds passed, it felt like 4 years. The dog inside the house started barking and the man shrugged off his suspicions and finally walked into the house. I exhaled the breath I was holding since Junior snapped the branch.

Eyeing up the perimeter of the compound, I realized I was in the clear and silently dashed my way through the yard, crouched, palms open. I met Junior and Mike in Mike's car and we pulled out of the parking spot we used 2 yards down from Craig's house.

We were in the clear...... right?



30 minutes passed after we dropped off Junior when we got the phonecall.
"Dude, I left the downstem in Craig's yard when I dumped out the water from my bong."
Well, Shit. Looks like we're going back.

I called Craig.
"Junior left the downstem in your backyard when we were leaving."
"I know, I left it behind the Lacross net in the backyard."

The Lacross net? If we don't have perfect darkness, we'll be caught in the perfectly open field by the 3 people sitting in the very spots we were smoking at about an hour before.

"We'll be in your backyard in 10."

This time, we played it smart, we parked a street down and snuck through a backyard to get in the back left corner of Craig's lot. Luckily, a shed seperated us from the conversation and eyeshot of the 3 people on the porch. Mike and I lowered into crouches and silently placed one foot far in front of the other in quick bounds to cover more distance in quieter bursts of speed.

The partial darkness of the yard provided us just the opportunity to move up to the Lacross net and scan the base of it for glass. Mike eventually found it, and silently caught my attention.

Target Acquired, Returning to HQ. Fuck being spotted, we moved quicker than the wind could move the trees and scatter the shadows. We manipulated the darkness into concealing our bodies until we were on the side of the road; just two people running for a jog to their car late at night, we were home free.

Nothing felt better that day than the joint we used to hotbox Mike's car after returning the downstem to Junior. Not too bad for a Sunday night.

-Stalageth

 

It was Craig's father, this all happened at his place. They didn't actually have a searchlight, I used the high-beams as a metaphor to describe how we were essentially sneaking out of a compound, like some Spec-Ops shit.