Shan was always in a fit-full sleep, lately. He just couldn't stand it. Perhaps, it was because he was up to no good, like Uncle Rowdy pinned him on. But of course, Shan denied it. Fish took up for him, like a good husband would, and it was all going to be all right.
Or was it? See, he did have a little business on side. It started out with this old fart... who came to the theater. The one who Shan always thought looked like Willie Nelson in a ganja leaf Tee with a yellow bandanna headband. He said he'd been in a heavy metal band once. Before, Shan could ignore the old man, he was pointing his finger and wincing one eye that wasn't exactly a wink.
"I know you're kind, sonny."
Well, Shan guessed that was where it started. The old hippie did have a small clientele who needed marijuana. The old guy didn't sale it to any kids. These were people who were on medication. And Shan swore he would never ever smoke pot, again. So Shan ended up being Morty's delivery boy.
He'd kept his word. And yeah, the money was nice, and he was helping out an old veteran. So it was nothing. Absolutely, nothing to share with Fish. It was best if Fish didn't know.
And then Henry found him.
"Please, I gotta have it. I just gotta." Henry was really strange. Shan thought back on their encounter right before Prom. Of course, Shan almost thought he might pass out when Henry found Shan waiting at the rest area on the interstate next to the billboard JESUS SAVED YOU.
"How in the hell did you even get here?" Shan looked around wondering if the cops followed him.
"I can drive a car, you know." Henry was in a huff with crossed arms as if Henry didn't like this anymore than Shan did.
"How? How did you know? It was me?" Shan was serious, thinking it was a picnic day. He didn't need to be out here in the sunshine and the breeze swaying, making his hair all the more wild that just couldn't seem to settle.
"I didn't." Henry was peeved.
"You know, you don't need it." The pot was in the pocket of Shan's wind breaker.
"I do need it." Henry swelled up as if Shan hadn't changed at all. This was definitely not the Henry that Shan liked.
"Why?" Shan wanted to know, as if he might take the baggie out of his pocket and let the mess fly into the wind, but he didn't.
"I saw that documentary, a month or so ago. You know, the one on the local news. About Colorado and the Nebraska border. That one. And..and..there was this kid, he needed it... for his seizures. It helped him with his seizures."
"Yeah... I saw it too, Henry." Shan said ever so bitterly. "That kid had to wear a helmet for his seizures and had the mind of a two year old. That stuff isn't exactly making him a genius, you know."
"Look, I've got the money." Henry persisted.
Shan shook his head, no. It was a bad idea, but Henry stuffed the money into Shan's windbreaker, slipped out the plastic bag and stuffed it down his jeans.
Now Shan was awake with worry in the middle of the night. What had he done? Was he going to get in trouble for this? But there had been no accidents to report of, of a teenager being in an accident on Prom night. Shan really wondered if the pot helped.
He never ever wanted to speak to Henry, again.