He gave me a paper bag, “Finish this.” I just looked at the bag and he looked over at me impatiently.
“What is it?” I asked, reluctantly taking the bag into my own hands.
“It’s already been crushed; just line it up on the dashboard and breathe in really fast through your nose. There’s not much left.”
“What?! No way am I doing pot!”
“Speed.”
“Whatever!” I crossed my arms.
“Lightweight,” he retorted.
“Yeah, well… Leave me alone…” I sunk down in my seat and pouted.
“Fine, know what?”
“What?”
“Either you dispose of it the way I told you or think of a better way.”
“You do it and I’ll drive,” I suggested right away.
“You’re not driving my car, Alan… You know how much I love this thing,” his eyes were deep and expressive. I wondered if he liked the car more than me.
“What if I just leave it somewhere?” I was thinking of throwing it away or just handing it off.
“We’ll either be spotted and reported or someone will pick it up and realize what it is. They’ll turn it in and the cops will have it tested for prints before you can say ‘peanut butter.’ So unless you like having to take a lot of sandpaper to your fingers on a daily basis, then I suggest you do as I said. I’m not moving the car until you do.”
I looked from the bag and then back to him. For a minute, I thought I hated him, but I really just couldn’t bear to turn down his request. I had to do this. I had to do it for his trust. I had to do it for his love.