Page 137 of Pick-Up
“A guy with what credentials?”
“I don’t know,” she says, as if my questions are beside the point.“I only messaged with him online using some special app. Then he delivered the medicine.”
“An encrypted app?”
“Maybe?” She shrugs, her gray bob brushing her shoulders.
I stare at her in disbelief. Then I begin to read the labels. There are two capsules and a tincture.
“Mom,” I say. “Do you know that this is cannabis?”
She waves me off. “It’s only CBD.”
“It literally says THC right here!”
“What’s THC?”
“Mom! It’s pot.”
“Right,” she agrees. “But it’s the marijuana with no psychotropic effects. It doesn’t mess with your head.”
I beg to differ.
“Mom,” I say, with a patience that should earn me a Nobel Peace Prize nomination. “THC absolutely affects your mental state.”
Her brow crinkles. “Are you sure? That’s not what Carol said. Or Carol’s guy.”
“Well, Carol’s guy is literally a drug dealer, so.”
She looks at me in surprise, then begins to slowly nod.
“Huh. He did deliver the medication on his bike. But how convenient! Truly, you can get anything delivered in New York.”
We are getting sidetracked. “Mom, how much of this are you taking a day?”
“Two capsules in the morning and two in the afternoon. And then some of the tincture at bedtime.”
My eyes are popping out of my head. My hands are in fists. “Mom! You’re taking twenty milligrams of THC twice a day, plus whatever this tincture is.”
“Is that a lot?” she asks, stuffing chocolate squares in her mouth.
I cover my eyes with my palms, then look back up at her. “Mom. You’re not losing your memory! You’re high as a fucking kite!”
“High?” she says. She shakes her head. Purses her lips. “I don’t think so.”
“Mom, you’re stoned! Doped up. FullPineapple Express. Look! You literally have the munchies.”
“No.” She shakes her head. Stops. Looks down at the chocolate and Tic Tacs in her hand. At her elastic waistband. She sets the chocolate down. “Oh.”
“Well, this explains the sweatpants. I thought you were falling into a depression!”
“No! Not at all. Just none of my other pants fit me!”
At once, my mom and I both look down at her waistband then up into each other’s faces and dissolve into giggles. Full tears stream down my face.
I am so relieved. My mother is the third member of Cheech & Chong! Hallelujah!
It’s as if an anvil has been lifted off my shoulders and I am now floating in the air, a helium balloon set free. (But not in a way that’s bad for the planet.) My mother is not losing it. We get to keep her!
