Will Kruse

The 4/20 Nightmare

            As the plane took off into the seemingly dark and gloomy sky, I shut my eyes and put in my headphones. The only thing I could think to do at the time was to block the reality of the situation out of my panicked mind. The sad, melodic tune of Phantom Planet’s, “California” drifted through my ears and possessed my body, just as Berkeley disappeared under the clouds. The sad repetitive words of the song kept reminding me what I was leaving behind.

             Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours seemed like a blur, a depressing, ridiculous blur. This couldn’t be happening to me, not me. Of all the people in the world, all the freshmen attempting to navigate their way through their first year of high school, not me. Wait, maybe this isn’t happening to me. Maybe this is all a sick and twisted nightmare that I could wake up from any moment. As this thought crossed my mind, the smallest of smiles seemed to disrupt the frown that had been occupying my face for the twenty-four hours.

            The smile however, did not last long. Rudely interrupting my thoughts was the captain booming over the plane’s PA system, “Welcome aboard everyone. We should have a nice flight today. The weather looks good with clear skies and we should arrive on time in Maine. Our estimated flight time today is six hours and thirty minutes. Once again, sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”

            When the captain finished his announcement, I laughed. The only reaction I could muster to this wonderful news of a six and a half hour flight was a laugh. This is a joke right? I kept thinking it was a joke, but it wasn’t. I was completely and seriously on my way to Maine. I closed my eyes again, and tried to drift off to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. The only things in my head were the events of the last twenty-four hours. There was nothing I could do to fight these images that were forcing their way deeper and deeper into my head, so I gave in and let them replay just one more time.

            It was April 20^th, the stoner’s holiday. My first period of band class was no contest to getting high on this sacred day. After getting off the bus, I called my friend Jean, who had made plans with me the day before to smoke. We met up at the park across from Berkeley High, and shortly afterwards were joined by our friend Bobby. He bounded up to us, and slapping my hand, said enthusiastically, “Happy 420!” The exuberant greeting put a large smile on my face. With that I took out the thing that had been occupying my mind all morning, my bong. I had bought it at a flea market several weeks before, and was still in the process of breaking it in. We packed a bowl and I took out my lighter. Several seconds later, the refreshing taste of marijuana was invading my lungs as I sucked in the smoke.

            A familiar tingling sensation soon spread through my body, and after the bong was passed around a few times, I was higher than the sky. School seemed quite distant now, and there didn’t seem to be a care in the world. I love this, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I was smoking to avoid my problems. It was just plain fun.

            My carefree bliss did not last long however. We were sitting in the park staring off into absolutely nothing, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a rather large, scary looking man crossing the street. His gold “D” chain swung back and forth across his chest, and he had a look of complete business on his face. My stomach twisted into knots as he approached us quickly. I could hear my mind screaming at me, RUN, RUN. But my body was frozen in fear and confusion. This can’t be good I thought to myself.

            “Where you kids suppose to be right now?” Diesel, Berkeley High’s security guard, questioned us. The three of us stood in silence for what seemed like a decade, until I had the courage to force the words out.

“Class,” was the only thing that was able to tumble awkwardly out of my mouth.

“Class, huh? Y’all are coming with me to OCI (detention at Berkeley High). Come on, this way.” And with that my day turned to absolute hell.

            Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. That one word kept running through my head like a broken record. I didn’t know how to react as the three of us followed in a line behind Diesel, down the street towards OCI and imminent trouble. I tried to comfort myself. Maybe they’ll just take our names, give us a warning, and put us back in class. Maybe they’ll just make us sit in that stuffy room for an hour. Maybe they’ll just call our parents and that will be it. A strong scent of marijuana trailed us down the street quickly and brought me crashing back to reality. I’m fucked I thought. I wanted to scream out, to even cry maybe, I wanted to react somehow. I needed to. A sideways glance at Diesel confirmed my worst thoughts. His long strides and constant jabbering into his radio continued the constant swirl of fear, as we approached OCI.  

            The hot, stuffy, six and a half hour plane ride to Maine allowed for nothing but thought. Just thinking. Oh, well sleeping too, but mostly thinking. I thought about everything that had happened in the last day, and everything leading up to it. I thought about my friends, my family that I might be leaving soon, my lifestyle, and everything I held dear. The thought of leaving to go to some boarding school as far on the other side of the country as possible, made me sick. With a nauseating stomach pain, I drifted back into the dream like recollection of the day before.

            Diesel opened the door to OCI and pushed us in. “We got some more of ‘em,” he announced to no one in particular. My eyes swept across the room, taking in the scene. Desks lined the room, arranged neatly in front of the whiteboard. Sprawled across the whiteboard were scribbled notes on, “how to be a good citizen.” Splayed out on the desks were several kids, who like ourselves had been detained in OCI. With the sound of the door opening, they glanced over towards us but quickly lost interest and went back to staring off into space.

            The main man at the front desk gave us the once over with his intense glare, before thanking Diesel and excusing him from his duties there. As Diesel turned and left there was a slight moment of silence before the man behind the desk addressed us. “You three sit in the chairs up against the wall there, we’ll deal with you shortly.” With these words, my stomach dropped even farther, seemingly crashing through the cold tiled floor. We’ll deal with you shortly? I thought to myself. Those words could mean nothing good. Again, my thoughts were interrupted as all three of Berkeley High’s security guards came crashing through the door. They were talking amongst themselves, an excited tone resonated from the remnants of their conversation, “Oh ya, it is Four Twenty today huh? We’re gonna be busy as hell.” They fell silent as they looked at the three stoned teens, with their glossy bloodshot eyes staring off into space.

            One by one, they brought us into the policeman’s office to search us. First it was Jean, than Bobby, and finally my turn. By the time the two of them had come out of the office, I was scared as hell. I kept closing my eyes, and trying to think of something positive, something happy. But all I could think of was the shitstorm I had just dived headfirst into.

            I awoke with a jolt. The bumpy landing of our plane brought me back to reality. I turned to my parents and asked, “So what happens now?”

“Well, we’re going to go pick up our bags and our rental car, and then I thought we could go get an authentic Maine Lobster,” my mom responded without missing a beat. This was incredible, after all the bad shit that’s happened, she can still think about eating.

“You know that Maine is famous for their lobster Will?” This time it was my dad. Then I realized what they were doing. They were trying to put a “normal” positive spin on this trip. But it wasn’t going to happen. No way is this going to be enjoyable for anyone, I thought to myself. Less than twenty-four hours ago, if we had been told that tomorrow we would be eating real Maine lobster in a restaurant in the middle of no where, we would have called you crazy. But here we are, and off we went.

            This was all their crazy idea. Berkeley High School suspends me for smoking a little weed and cutting a class, and my parent’s reaction was as if I had murdered a family member. I kept thinking to myself over and over again, I’m just a teenager, I’m learning how to be an adult, and I’m learning from my mistakes. But these thoughts fixed nothing. Tomorrow, after we had a nice comfortable sleep at the local Marriot, we would go to the Hyde School in Bath, Maine. We would meet with the principal, meet the kids, and tour the grounds, and I finally I would kiss everything that I hold dear goodbye forever.

            That night as I drifted off into a very uncomfortable sleep, the final moments leading up to this miserable trip to Maine drifted back into my head. I remember thinking, as I was brought into the policeman’s office to be searched, that my life was over, that nothing would ever be the same. As the security guard went through my bag, my heart continued to sink lower and lower.
“Let’s see what we got here. Papers. Lighter. A pipe. No weed? You’re a lucky, kid.” And with that he handed back my bag. It was over much quicker than I had anticipated, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the back of the room, left to wallow in my self-despair.

            The gravity of the situation continued to creep up on me as I sat at the desk and stared at the dull whiteboard. My stoned mind kept fucking with me. A bewildering combination of colors and blurriness polluted everything I saw, spinning it in all different directions. Every single word, every single movement seemed as if it were part of a sick and twisted horror film. A sense of fear and anxiety of what was to happen next kept taking over my brain, leaving me shaking uncontrollably. The only way to stop myself from freaking out was to close my eyes and try to fall asleep. I tried. I tried for about a good hour, until the very core of my fears and anxiety stepped through the door. 

            As my mom pushed her way into OCI, the look she gave me could have pierced an armored car. She didn’t say anything to me. Her complete disregard of any relation to me hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. Before I knew what was happening, she disappeared into the vice principal’s office. The wait felt like hours, and there was nothing I could do help myself calm down while I waited. When she finally emerged, tears were streaming down her face, which was contorted with sadness, disappointment, and anger. Obviously heart-broken, she said nothing to me as she motioned for me to follow. As I left the school, I could feel the stares of all the other kids drilling holes in the back of my head. They must all be thinking, “What the hell did this kid do to turn his mom into a living waterfall?” I was gripped with shame, and barely found enough energy to put one foot in front of the other as we marched silently out of the door.

            A phone rang. It was my wake up call from the front desk. Half asleep, I fumbled for it on the bedside table. “Good morning, sir. It’s seven o’clock, have a good day,” said a cheery voice. I groaned as I flung the phone back on its hook, and rolled out of bed. Per my parents’ request, I put on some nice looking clothes, and met them in the lobby.

“Are you ready for this Will?” my parents questioned me. That must be a joke, but I didn’t dare show any dissent. I had realized that I would only survive this surreal situation if I played along, if I just humored them.

“OK, sure. Let’s go.”

            After a scenic five-minute ride, we pulled up to the impressive gates of the Hyde School, a “character building” boarding school for troubled teens and their hopeless parents. But I could see past their bullshit from the very start. This was a place for parents who have given up, a place where the bad kids disappear to and never come back. My parents had given up. That’s how I saw it. They claimed they didn’t know what to do, and so here we were. They cared for me, they loved me, but anger is a very powerful emotion, and it brainwashed me. The dark cloud of anger enveloped me, and I couldn’t see in any way, shape, or form that they only wanted the best for me.

            As we entered the main building of the Hyde School I immediately surveyed my surroundings. The walls were all some kind of dark wood. The carpets seemed dark too. Nothing about this place suggested happiness. Across from the front desk, a long curved staircase spiraled up into more darkness. A woman slouched behind the front desk welcomed my parents and me, “Good morning, how can I help you?”

“We have an appointment with your principal,” my dad answered with what appeared to be his best fake smile.

“Great, please take a seat and we will call you as soon as he’s ready to see you.” With that, the woman went back to her computer and left us standing awkwardly in the main hall. After glancing around the building one more time, my eyes fell on my parents. They were standing together whispering. My dad it appeared was doing his best to keep the calm and collective cool of which he is famous for. The events of the past day and a half had done much more damage to my mom however. Her gaze was distant and sad. It was clear that neither of them wanted to be here, and for the first time, I realized that this must be hard on them too. No parents, not even mine, would want to send their kids across the country to a “character building” boarding school. My heart got a little lighter at this thought as I continued to eye my parents.

            After we stood around for ten minutes, the woman behind the desk spoke again, “Mr. and Mrs. Kruse, the principal is ready to see you guys. Just go through these doors to my left.” I followed my parents into the principal’s office, every step filled with increased dread for the imminent interview.

            The interview was not what I expected. We talked causally for fifteen minutes about my background, what happened that led to us being here, and what they would want out of my experience at the Hyde School. The principal sat with one leg crossed over the other one the whole time, creating a relaxed atmosphere. As we chatted, he scribbled notes on a yellow pad of paper, eying me occasionally. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but of course he was. 47,000 dollars was the price of admission, and he had my parents hooked with his smiles and promises. I just couldn’t imagine going to school in Maine, thousands of miles away from home and my friends, not knowing anyone.

            After the interview was done, the principal thanked us for our time as we filed out of his office. The same, now familiar voice behind the desk echoed in the hallway once more, “Will, now it’s time for your tour of the grounds. This is John, he’ll be your tour guide for this afternoon.” I looked around and my eyes fell upon a boy leaning against the large dark staircase. He was dressed in khakis, a button-up shirt, and fancy dress shoes. He wore a mischievous smile across his face, and as I approached him he stuck out his hand, “Hey, I’m John. Nice to meet ya.”

“I’m Will, nice to meet you too,” was all I could mumble. I did not want to be here, meeting some kid named John, at a boarding school in Maine. He read me like a book and sarcastically said, “You really want to be here right now. Huh?” I laughed at this. If this kid is as sarcastic as me, I just might survive this tour.

“Damn, how’d you know?” He smiled back and began to walk out the door. As I followed him out into the sunlight, I got the first glimpse of the school grounds. Rolling green grassy areas were littered with paths. Stone and brown-shingled buildings, athletic fields, and dormitories gave the impression of a college campus.

            After John and I walked for several minutes in silence, he turned to me and asked why I was here. As he did so, he looked me up and down as if he was sizing me up for a fight. I shrugged the look off, dismissing it as something that all the kids here do. I began to tell him the story of what happened, and in pretty good detail. As we strolled along, he would occasionally point out some important buildings, or say some important fact. For the most part though, I told him what I had done. As I relieved it once again, I remembered it in more and more detail. Suddenly, he interrupted me, “You’re here ‘cause you smoked some weed and cut class? No way, that’s insane.”

            In no way responding to his interruption, I continued on with my story. As I did so we found ourselves lazily wandering through the grounds. As I talked though, I found my mind somewhere it had not ventured to before. For the first time it started to hit me. Maybe my parents weren’t completely crazy after all. Well, their reaction to my incident did seem a little unnecessary, but it could have only been out of love. This whole time I thought they were giving up, hopeless and defeated. But this might not be the case after all. Then, it hit me with a suddenness that nearly knocked me off my feet: I had done this; I had brought all this upon myself. If it hadn’t had been for my actions, I would not be here. My heart sunk like a rock. These were all new feelings for me. Guilt, shame, and sadness blindsided me all at once, and the only thing that kept me from screaming out was the stranger walking beside me.

            I guess I had finished my story, and I glanced over at John who still had that sheepish grin on his face. “Well, aren’t you gonna ask me what I did?” His tone was eager, and it was obvious he was proud of whatever it was he wanted to tell me. Another realization slapped me across the face. I wasn’t proud at all of what I did. In fact I was ashamed and disappointed in myself. I don’t belong here I thought to myself. I don’t belong here with these kids. Sighing, I turned to John and decided just for fun I would humor him.
“What did you do John?” I asked with a subtle hint of sarcasm.

“Oh man it was crazy. Well I was dealing a shit load of coke. Damn you should have seen how much money I had. Ya and then I stole this car, but I was so fucked up I crashed it and got arrested. So here I am. You and me bro.” A deadly silence filled the air. I didn’t know how to respond. I had never dealt with coke dealing, car stealing kids before.

“Cool.”

            The rest of the tour I walked silently, deep in thought. It was clear to me now that this must be just a big mistake. I’m not one of these kids. I’m not a crazy psychopath. I’m Will Kruse, just an easy going, carefree kid from Berkeley who had got caught up in a large, urban public school after attending a small sheltered private school for the first nine years of my life. I wasn’t going to be one of these kids, not if I could do anything to stop it. They say it’s a slippery slope, and I was not about to slip any farther.

            As we came to the end of the tour, I met my parents with a newfound sense of empowerment. My parents could tell something had happened on the tour, as they eyed me suspiciously. I thanked John for the tour and shook his hand. As my parents and I turned away and started to walk back towards the car, I turned to them.

“I’m so sorry,” I said with a hint of distress. “I’ve realized that I’ve really messed up. We shouldn’t be here right now. We’re a good family, a strong family, and none of you deserve this. I know you guys don’t really want to be here, and I don’t want to either, but maybe this was all for the best. Seeing these kids, stuck here in the middle of nowhere, has taught me something that nothing else could have. I don’t want to end up here, like them. We can work this out. I know we can. Please, let’s work this out.”

            As it happened, my parents experience with their tour consisted of the same realization of, “we don’t belong here,” and finally my dad answered, “We love you so much Will. We’ve just been really worried about you.”

            Then it was my mom who broke her stupor, “We don’t have to send you here, and we just want you to be okay. We love you too much to let you slip through the cracks. You have to promise us you’ll really try. No bullshit. You’re right, we are a strong family, and we can get through this. But everyone has to try. You, me, dad, we all have to try. I love you so much Will.” For the first time since my ordeal began, my family came together. After our brief embrace in the Hyde School parking lot, we piled into the rental car and drove down the gravel road, with a newfound sense of optimism and contentment with the world.

            I wish I could say that after we drove down that road and away from the Hyde School, everything was smooth sailing and that everyone lived happily ever after. But this isn’t the case. Adolescence is not a fairytale with happy endings. In reality it is a time to make mistakes, a chance to learn from them, and an opportunity to try on what the future looks like from some pretty challenging angles. My high school years were all of these, and the 4/20 nightmare a life-shaping event I will never forget.