The Weed War

  It was intoxicating, and by the time he came down the stairs my head was spinning with endorphins. I'm not sure what came over me, but I threw up my arms to hug him, reached in and kissed him, not a little peck but the full-fledged tongue. He kissed me and the whole world disappeared. In that moment I forgot where we were, and despite being surrounded by people it felt intimate and special. Suddenly, all at once my eyes began to burn and gun shots rang out.

  "Tear gas," he whispered into my ear. "Keep your eyes closed." He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. His grip was so tight it was painful, but people started to go crazy and I knew he would protect me. I bounced off people and tried to open my eyes, but the gas was too thick. I don't know how he could see, but somehow he was able to get us out of the park and into an alleyway.

  "Here, duck down." He put his hand on my head and pushed down gently. "You should be able to open your eyes here now."

  I opened them and looked up into his hazel eyes that were surrounded by bright red tears.

  "My God, your eyes!"

  "I'm fine. Just duck down."

  I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked over my shoulder.

  "What are you doing there?" a squeaky voice asked from behind me.

  Matthew looked up over my shoulder and answered the soldiers. "My girlfriend and I are just..."

  He didn't get a chance to finish. The butt of a rifle came over me hitting him in the forehead, and his limp body crumbled into my lap.

  "What do we have here?"

  Two soldiers approached me. One of them ran his fingers through my hair while the other one grabbed me by my arm and pulled me up. Matthew's unconscious body slumped down onto the ground.

  "Turn around,” the short one said in an angry voice. "Put your hands on the dumpster."

  I gulped, "I don't have any weapons."

  "Weapons," the tall one laughed as he stuck his tongue into my ear. "We’re not looking for weapons."

  He ran his hand up my thigh and into my private area. It sent shivers down my spine and I froze, couldn't move or talk. He reached around and ripped my dress off, exposing my underwear, which he promptly ripped off and said to me, "You’re going to love this."

  I closed my eyes and prepared for the unthinkable, before two gunshots rang out, nearly bursting my ear drums. I opened my eyes and Matthew handed me my dress, saying, "Get dressed, hurry."

  I looked down and saw a small .38 special in his hand and both soldiers lying at his feet with gunshots to the head.

  "Holy crap, you killed them," I said as I stepped over them and began to run down the alley after him.

  "They were going to kill you after they raped you, I had no choice."

  I didn't care; in fact, it made me like him even more, knowing that he would do anything to protect me. As we left the alleyway we didn't even notice the camera that captured the whole event. It wasn’t until we got back to his apartment and turned on the TV that we realized how much trouble we were in. An edited version of the tape was played on Hound News, over and over again, followed by Matthew's speech he had given only minutes earlier. Somehow, in a matter of hours we had transitioned from college students to America’s most wanted terrorists. They painted a picture with the edited video that we had lured the soldiers in and ambushed them.

  Had I not been there, I would have believed the story the news stations ran. It doesn’t bother me that people fall for these kinds of stories, but it irritates me that news organizations can get away with such blatant lies. I remember my dad trying to explain to me as a child how the German people could allow such monstrous acts to take place. His mother was Jewish and lived through the Nazi era. It was particularly painful for him to see propaganda being used in the US that he often said mirrored that of Germany pre-World War II.

  Matthew was prepared for this kind of problem. He grabbed a bag he had packed from under his bed and we quickly moved to my dorm. I grabbed everything I thought I might need, but to tell you the truth, I had no Idea what I would need. I packed a couple of outfits, a toiletry bag, and a jacket. My heart began to race faster, and droplets of sweat ran down my forehead.

  Matthew stepped in and grabbed my hand. "Renee," he dipped his head down and tried to look me in the eyes, "Look at me."

  Tears began to well up on my bottom eyelid. He told me, "It's going to be OK." He reached up with his hand, placed his fingers on my chin, and pulled it toward him. My eyes met his and my fears melted away. He leaned in and kissed me slowly and softly on my lips.

  Sirens interrupted us and he ran over to the window. "Shit, they’re here," he exclaimed. He turned and ran over to my bag and snatched it up. "You got everything?"

  "Yeah."

  "Let's go, now." He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

  At the last second I pulled my hand back and said, "Hold on, I want to get my diary." I turned and ran to my mattress, reached under, and pulled out this diary.

  "Hurry up," he said.

  We walked out of the door and began to move toward the stairs at the far end of the hall. Suddenly the door at the end flew open and soldiers poured in. Matthew turned and walked into an open dorm room, I followed, and he shut the door behind us.

  "Hey, what you guys doing..." a student in his own room started to say.

  Matthew didn't give the poor kid a chance to finish his question. He picked him up and cupped his giant hand around the shorter blond boy’s mouth.

  "Quiet,” Matthew told him. He held the boy a foot off the ground. "We'll be out of here in a few minutes."

  We could hear commotion up and down the hall. I peered out of the crack in the drapes and could see my stuff being tossed out onto the courtyard below.

  Matthew tied up our new host, stuffed a pair of socks in his mouth, and then picked up the phone to dial out. "Hello, Scott, it's me, I know I need a safe place, OK... I know the spot... it could be a while." He hung up the phone, walked over and joined me, looking out the crack in the window. "Renee, I'm sorry I got you into this. You don't have to come with me. You could say I forced..."

  I cut him off, saying, "I have no intention of staying. You saw that news story. I’m viewed as a terrorist. Do you know what that means?" I didn't give him a chance to answer. "It means we have no rights. They can just lock me up indefinitely, no trial, no bail, and not innocent till proven guilty, so we’ll wait this out and together we can move forward."

  He smiled and gave me a little chuckle.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Oh, it's just…I never expected you would be so... so tough."

  Chapter 11

  Mr. Borinski was standing in line at the food window to pick up his allotment for the week. Stores with food no longer operate outside of the black market and each person is given pre-made meals that will complete their nutritional needs for the week. He leans his head out of line, looks both ways and returns to his upright stance, shaking his head.

  A short round woman standing right behind him says, "They all look the same."

  Mr. Borinski looks down at his suit, glances over at hers and up and down the line. "Yeah, not much variety."

  "Variety... huh.I wish someone would teach that to the nutrition experts," the man in front of Mr. Borinski interjects.

  After the weed war, the corporations who controlled the patent on GMO foods pushed hard for control of the world’s food supply. Only twenty years later, or roughly 2035, it became illegal to plant any seed that hadn't been created by one of three companies. In a hundred year span since the first hemp seed became illegal, countries around the world conditioned the human race to accept government and corporate control over what one grows, and ultimately what one does with his or her own body.

  In 1937, the Marijuana Tax Act was passed, and the United States of America became one of the first countries to make it illegal to grow or use a natural plant that had been used for most of human history. The
marijuana laws paved the way for a complete departure from individual liberty.

  By 2100, The GMO takeover was complete and the world’s population could no longer choose what they eat or grow. A host of fear-based campaigns helped solidify popular opinion and new laws were passed to save the world from obesity and disease.

  "Next," the woman said from the window, startling Mr. Borinski from his day dream. He steps up onto a scale in front of the pickup window. "It says here you gained four pounds this past week," she runs her fingers over the words hovering on her projection. “From the look of your activity log you haven’t changed any of your normal behaviors."

  "That’s right," he said, smiling.

  She shakes her head and tells him, "Your calories are going to be reduced by 200 a day this week. You may feel a little hungry, but that’s normal."

  "I understand."

  She hands him a box filled with his pre-made meals and drink powders. "Next."

  He steps out of line with his box in hand and walks away. A sea of people try to avoid him as he walks against the flow of traffic on his way back to the maglev train stop. Apple was once called San Francisco and is now five layers high. The maglev train snakes through all five layers. If he makes the stop it will save him an hour of foot time.

  He brushes past a hot dog stand and heads up a flight of stairs. He tries not to look down, but the temptation is too great, and his eyes are drawn three levels down, to ground level. A battalion of RAM guards are in the midst of a skirmish. Gunshots ring out and a young man falls to the ground. Mr. Borinski nearly drops his box and mouths, "No!" but no sound comes out. He looks up to see if anyone saw his reaction, but no one even notices him or the skirmish down below.

  He begins to make faces at people walking by, still no one notices, so he increases his attacks. An unsuspecting couple approaches and he starts to dance, twirling around like a ballerina, then he stops face to face with the large alpha male of the couple.

  "Excuse me," the man says, not even making eye contact.

  Mr. Borinski's face turns red and he begins to shout. "What is wrong with all of you? Someone was just killed down there.” He dramatically points down, but no one pays attention. Mr. Borinski looks over the railing and sees the young man being carted off in a body bag. Tears welling up in his eyes, he shakes his head and says to himself, "What kind of world do we live in?”

  Chapter 12

  The students enter the class and see a question on the board: "How did institutions like private corporations profit from the prohibition of marijuana?" Mr. Borinski moseys into the class late, his hands full. He fumbles and nearly spills his coffee. "Please take out a piece of paper and answer the question."

  Mark blurts out a question, "Is it a quiz?"

  "Yes, it is."

  Zack raises his hand and Mr. Borinski calls on him. "The entry we read last night had nothing to do with the question."

  "You’re right, Zack, I would like you guys to infer, or use what we have read so far to help you answer the question."

  The class goes silent; no one can find the answer. Waiting patiently, Mr. Borinski slowly puts away his supplies and ever so slightly peers over his glasses every few minutes to see if anyone has stumbled upon an answer. Six excruciatingly slow minutes later Olga raises her hand and Mr. Borinski nods for her to speak.

  "Mr. Borinski, sir, I think by looking around, that the question has us all stumped.”

  "I see that, but I think you can handle this one."

  Zack interjects, "Sir, it's not just that, it's…" he pauses, looks around and whispers, "It's illegal to speak negatively about corporations."

  Mr. Borinski gasps, and jolts up out of his seat causing it to fly back and crash against the ground. He throws his hands up and looks at the students very intently, "Huh, I'm just not sure how this question warrants negative comments about corporations." He gives them a crooked smile."OK, I tell you what, rip up the papers in front of you."

  Mr. Borinski walks over, pulls Zack’s paper off his desk, and rips it to shreds. "Come on, do it. Let this represent the negative comments you have."

  The class goes berserk, and like a rock concert, small pieces of paper fly everywhere. Each person lets out their wildest cries for freedom through one simple, silent act of ripping a blank sheet of paper. Olga begins to cry as tears of joy flow down her face. Mr. Borinski stands in the middle with his arms out, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as he spins slowly around. If someone would have walked in at that moment, they would have caught a glimpse of silent chaos, and the whole class would have been arrested. No one cared. In that sixty seconds they let go of constraints, and just existed. Each was lost in his or her own personal perception, without the lens of mankind. Beauty… and just as fast as it started, it was over. Mr. Borinski puts down his hands as the last piece of paper drifts down under his desk and he announces, "We must clean up this mess."

  Zack and Mark hurry over to the cabinet in the back and grab two brooms. "We’re on it,” Zack orders.

  Mr. Borinski walks up to the white board, and begins to erase the question. Olga interrupts him, "Private corporations built their empire off of the prohibition of two substances in the 20th century."

  Harley adds, "They used the influence they gained off of it to earn a seat on the UCW."

  Mark interjects, "Treason is the talk you speak of, and you must stop."

  Olga fires back, "Why? My words are going to cripple the mighty United Corporations of the World. I don’t think so."

  Zack looks at Mr. Borinski for back up. "Mr. Borinski, you know I'm right. You’re supposed to have our backs, man."

  Mr. Borinski had already made the point he was trying to make so he concedes. "OK, let's focus your energy elsewhere." When the bell rang, Mr. Borinski said, "Ah, saved by the bell! It's Friday, so please read the next three entries and I'll see you Monday."

  Chapter 13

  The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

  Entry 5

  Today Matthew took me to the projects, where a girl he used to date lives there with her four children. He insisted that it was the best place to hide because no cops cared what goes on in the projects. As we walked up the stairs I had to step over a dirty diaper, two fresh puke puddles, and a passed out old wino. My stomach did somersaults and my mouth watered. I felt sick until Mellissa opened the door. The sweet smell of fresh baked chocolate cookies wafted out, overpowering the stench of the stairwell just long enough for her to hurry us in. She shut the door behind and locked it five different ways.

  "I saw the news. Are you OK?" She ran her pudgy fingers through his hair.

  "We’re fine," Matthew said, smiling and threw his arm around her. "I am hungry though. Can I have one of your famous cookies after I wash myself up in the bathroom?"

  "No problem sweetie." She winked at him and patted him on the butt as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  There was an awkward moment of silence before Mellissa introduced herself, "Hola, como estas?"

  "Bien y tu?"

  "You speak Spanish. I assumed from your bio on the news that you were just some white girl from the suburbs.”

  I smiled, but didn't respond verbally to her statement. Having grown up in Denver and attending a high school that was predominantly Hispanic and riddled with gangs, I learned to never bite on the race card. Instead, I changed the subject. "How do you know Matthew?"

  "We use to be friends with benefits." She smiled, winked and handed me a cookie as Matthew walked out of the bathroom.

  "You think we can hole up here for a couple of days?" Matthew asked.

  "The kids are all with their fathers this weekend so there’s plenty of room, but I have a date planned tonight."

  “We have a meeting to attend tonight and when we return we'll stay in the room out of sight."

  "Meeting, are you sure you should be out? There’s bound t
o be a price placed on your capture," Mellissa said.

  Matthew turned the bar stool in front of him around and sat down, leaned in, and said intently, "They are trying to shut me up, but it won’t work. This Movement is about so much more than me. I have to go," he said, then reaching out he put his hand on my shoulder, "but you don't."

  I fired back. "The news story about us, put me in the same boat as you, and I'm not one to back down from a little adversity."

  He smiled and turned to Melissa, "We’ll both be gone most of the night."

  "OK, fine."

  Four hours later we walked into an unmarked door in the industrial area just north of Coors Field. One light bulb at the bottom of a stairwell lit the way. With each step down my heart beat a little faster. Matthew explained to me how the heads of the Movement would all be in attendance, and how it would be the first time that had ever happened. When I walked in I was blown away to see Woody Harrelson, and Willy Nelson both on stage laughing and entertaining. Everyone in the private bar turned, looked at us, promptly stood up, and began to applaud. Apparently, Matthew's speech had gone viral and the leaders of the Movement were thrilled with the result. A circle in the middle of the room had two open chairs.

  "Your seats are waiting. Can I get you your regular?" the waitress asked.

  "Yes, and one for my friend here as well," Matthew responded.

  We made our way to the seats. When I looked around the room, I didn’t recognize anyone and was shocked to find that Matthew, at the age of 23, was by far the youngest leader in the circle.

  A small attractive woman approached us, leaned in, and kissed Matthew on the cheek, "I got your message and my contact at the news station is trying to get the footage."

  "I knew I could count on you," Matthew told her.

  She turned red and walked away.

  "What was that about?" I asked.

  “She has a contact at Hound News. I'm hoping to find the tape that they doctored to help us fight the terrorist charge."

  "You find that tape, and we’ll have some pretty powerful leverage."