I was riding in the back seat of a car. My old buddy from early college, Ramey, was driving the car, while a black man sat in the front passenger seat. Both Ramey and the black man were probably in their late 20s. It was night and we were in a rural Scioto County, Ohio. In my lap I had a brown bag filled with marijuana. I had paid $360 for the marijuana, which weighed just under a pound, probably about 14 ounces.

I handed the bag to the black fellow and told him to roll a joint. I hadn't yet smoked any of the marijuana and I was anxious to try it. I was planning to sell the marijuana to the black fellow, and as he rolled the joint, I pondered how much I would charge him for it. I finally decided I would probably just take out an ounce for myself and charge him $360. I liked the black fellow and I didn't want to charge him too much.

I realized that having the marijuana in the car with us like that wasn't smart, especially if we were smoking it. I told Ramey that if a police car pulled up behind us that he (Ramey) shouldn't stop, but should keep going until we passed a curve out of sight of the policeman so we could throw out the marijuana without its being seen. Then we could come back for it later. I knew that such a plan would be dangerous, because the police might have figured out what had happened and set up a trap. We would have to be careful.

At the moment, however, my principal concern was smoking the marijuana, and I impatiently waited for the black fellow to light up the joint.

***

The following morning I awoke in a bed at a nice large house where my mother was living. She was sitting on the side of the bed when I awoke. She looked thin and tall, as if she were only about 40 years old. She immediately began talking to me about a problem which I had which she said I refused to admit. She used an unusual name to describe the problem, and I asked her if she were trying to say that I was "depressed." She said that was it.

Although I protested to her that I wasn't depressed, to myself I realized there was some truth in what she was saying. I couldn't exactly describe the feeling that I was having, but I realized I wasn't feeling well, and the word "depressed" seemed to describe the feeling as well as anything. However I didn't admit that to my mother.

Instead I arose from the bed and told my mother I was in a hurry to leave. I recalled that the previous evening I had told the black fellow to come by my father's house the next morning to pick me up. I now realized that the fellow might already be at my father's house and that I needed to hurry over there. I knew my father would think it strange if he saw that I was hanging around with a black fellow, and I didn't want to have to explain that to my father.

I recalled that the previous evening, Ramey, the black fellow and I had discussed going to Mexico for a few days to party. I wasn't sure we were actually going to go, but it sounded as if it would be fun if we did, so I didn't want to miss the black fellow.

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