It's right about the time, now, after finishing two CD's, the last three stories in Dylan Thomas' "Portrait of an Artist as a Young Dog", that I realize something: I'm fucked.
I'm sitting in a school office staring at a floor that appears to be rocking. Rocking like a lake's surface on a windless day.

"I hope you realize my first concern is for the well-being of the students."
He's just had a party thrown for him in honor of his wife who gave birth to, by all accounts, a beautiful baby. Balloons and streamers are all around me.
"I may seem like a hardass, but I really do care."
I sip from the generic can of cola in the generic office surrounded by bright colored confetti; it almost feels like he's celebrating my departure.
"You may not be expelled if you tell the truth."
I sip. Not expelled from a zero-tolerance school? Not likely.
"Do you have anything to say?"
I would be a real smartass to this Vice Principal, but alas he's got this bulge in his shirt pocket. One that resembles a tape recorder.
He never mentioned this meeting would be taped.

Now the carpert looks like it's fleckled with fleas. The irony? I'm not even high. It's just my lovely, drug-tampered, eyesight.
Wellbutrin- a medicine perscribed for depression. Little know fact: it becomes a hallucinagenic when I take 15. Fact: Wellbutrin is known to cause seizures. Fact: some how, it messes with your eyes and heart.

"You alright?"
The man's so big, man, his girth flows over the edges of the seat he drives from. When this man drives his bus, you can't see past him onto the road.
Chances are, we wouldn't know until after the fact if we were about to crash.
"Are you on something?" His face a mass of lard and concern.
I tell him that I'm tired, that I just need a little rest. The bus driver nods, then radios for an ambulance. The bus springs upwards when he gets off to stand outside the door, effectively trapping me in this muted green hell.
Fact: this bus driver knows something's not right. Fact: he's fucking right.

Nancy's asking me something. Later she would ask me if I was getting on the right bus. Instead it came out like a record playing backwards, just missing the satanic undertones.
Wobble back, take my seat. Blackness.
Now he's say something. Later he would inform me that he was telling me it was my stop. Instead it comes out like the school band tuning up.
Tell him to 'fuck off'. Lay my head down. Blackness.
Now Matt is saying something. He's saying I missed my stop. For a second I think the bus is crowded, filled with noise. I blink.
Nothing.
Matt gets off the bus and tells the driver I missed my stop.

"Who'd you get it from?"
"How much did you pay for it?"
"What did it look like?"
Fuck you Mr. Vice Principal. Fuck you in the ear.

Now it's the fat man asking the questions again.
"What's your last name?"
I have to think about this.
"What's your phone number?"
My answer is a hybrid of my mom's house and my dad's house.
"Are you on something?"
I think for a second that he's already asked that. However, I soon realize the bus is still moving-this must be the first time he's asked that. "No," I say, "I'm just tired." Or at least I tried to.
I'm sure it came out more like: "I'm a worthless Junkie. Beat me. Abuse me. Call the cops, paramedics, and my parents. Tell them you think I'm on shrooms. Ruin my future, life, and anything else you can get your hands on. Go ahead, do it, it's not that hard."
Because he did.

Blackness.
The bus is off. Outside a big man is guarding the door. My hands are shaking or spasming.
Blackness.
Fact: Gabitril causes extreme drowsiness. Fact: when mixed with marijuanna the effect is intensified. Fact: one is the average dosage. Fact: I took eight.

The principal is glaring at me, and for some reason I remember those crazy elves making cookies. Oh yea, her last name is Keebler.

"Are you on something?"
Why do they keep asking that?
He's shining a light in my eyes. I can't remember my last name anymore. So I pretend I'm Sickboy.
"Are you on something?"
They really seem to want an answer, so I say 'sure'.
"Are you on Shrooms?"
Sure.
"Are you depressed?"
Sure.
"Are those scratches and scars on your arm self-inflicted?"
Sure.
"Do you know what's happening?"
Sure.
"What's your name?"
Sure, sure, sure.

Matt comes into the office. He asks the secretary if they'll lend him a dollar. They won't. He ask me if I'll lend him one, and that he'll pay me back tomorrow.
It dawns on me I won't be here tomorrow. Fact: on a zero-tolerance policy holding campus, you don't get a chance. Fact: on a second offence you really don't have chance. Fact: Whatever.

All that I can think of is that old show, Dukes of Hazard. I've only seen it once, when I was 7, but for some reason I start to think I'm in that show.
"Open your eyes."
At first I think back to a story I once wrote. Around then latex-clad hands pry my eyes open. A blue light is swinging back and forwarth.
There's an angel there too.
No, nevermind that. A paramedic with a halo caused by the ambulances overhead lights.
Oh well, I can pretend it's an angel.

"Drink this."
Fuck you.
A bitter liquid with the texture of bubblegum-flavored cough syrup is poured into my mouth.
Liquid charcoal.
I spit it out, thinking it's cough syrup. Warm memories.
"Drink this."
Fuck you.
This time I gag and it comes out my nose. Tomorrow it'll be in my teeth and on my face, but now, it's everywhere.
Someone is taking my shirt off.
Chains off.
Necklaces off.
Blacknes, like charcoal.

It's been four hours now since the Vice Principal called me into his cave/lair/labryinth/whatever. My legs tingle and I've gone through another two CD's.
Sickboy and Ryan have been called into the office, I haven't mentioned them before now for reasons.
Don't worry, the outcome is the same.
Along with them is the girl who asked if I was on the right bus. Did I mention I really have a thing for her?

Nancy and I are sitting in Music Appreciation. 6th period. The teacher is trying to teach us rythm by having us clap to the notes we can't read.
Problem is, we're white rednecks.
Nancy and I are laughing and talking, both of us high on Gabitril. Apparently she painted one of my nails silver during this.
She tells me drugs are fun after I start playing with her leg.
People keep staring.
One of them, a kid who plays great drums asks me if I'm on something.
I tell him to die.

Black vomit is always disheartening. It's on the walls. It's on the hospital blanket. It's on my face, and when I go to wipe it off, its on my hand.
"That's right, it's helpful."
A nurse is rubbing my spine trying to coax the blackness out of my stomach.
"It'll be alright..." Such a lovely whisper.

Ashlea, a girl I've known for too long, comes into the office. She's turning in the Rally schedule her and the rest of the student council came up with. She sees me and giggles.
"Why are you here?"
I tell her I'm getting expelled; again.
She slaps my leg hard enough to hurt, then accuses me of being retarded.
I wish I was on something.

My mom's here now. Asking me questions I can't understand. I can't even focus my eyes though.
Sure I say, sure, sure, sure.

Now there's a cop. He's big and he's asking me questions. Again, I can't understand a single word.
He askes me if I agree with the statement.
Sure.
A pen is place in my hand, the wrong one, and he asks me to sign something.
Problem is, I can't see the paper, he's point to line I can't seem to focus on.
So with my left hand I draw a line across the paper. The officer nods and leaves.
Blackness.

Sam, my girlfriend at the time, comes into office. She starts to say something but is interrupted by the office aid yelling at her.
I think she was trying to break up with me.
Fact: she didn't know too much about my drug use.

At 6:30 I wake up, and for the first time since lunch, I'm clear minded.
Fact: I thought it was all a dream. Fact: it wasn't.
The lights are off and my heart monitor beeps spastically in protest. I try to sit, but a automatic blood pressure measure-er tightens on my arm and I lay back.
Outside, by the nurses station there's a clock with birds on it. A line from a Palahnuik novel comes to mind.
I start laughing.

"15 years old took a bunch of his friends antidepressants."
Fact: the doctor's have no clue what I'm on. At the moment they think I'm on combination of shrooms, Welbutrin, and muscle relaxants.
Is it my fault they have that impression?
Sure.
"The kids on a seizure watch till 11:30, then a 51/50."
All the nurses who were talking about me underneath the bird clock turn and glare.
That happens way too much around me.

Sickboy, Ghost, and Nancy sneak into the office. The aid akses them if they have a pass to be there. Nancy responds with: "We just want to say hi to Bob."
The aid shrugs then turns away. I'm starting to wonder if she's bipolar.
Nancy hands me the rest of her Cheetos and Coke. This is the only food I've seen all day.
There's small tlak that's interrupted by the aid lady.
Ghost gives me a hug and tells me not to go to jail and become somebody's bitch.
Sickboy gives me a hug and tells me to stay tight.
Nancy laughs and shakes her hand in my hair.
They leave and I'm gone.

My dad's next to me. Telling me I need to tell him whoever sold me the drugs, then leaves.
My mom comes in and asks me if I'm depressed and suicidal. I laugh; she leaves.
My stepmom comes in and tells me that I really screwed up. I tell her it couble be worse, I could get my arm caught in a grain thresher. Her eyes widen and she asks if I'm hallucinating. I laugh; she leaves.
My mom's newest boyfriend comes in and we talk about music for a while until he's told to leave.

Her name is Alex and she's from the county board of health. She's here to determine if I'm suicidal.
I explain I'm fine, I was just getting high.
She asks if I'm worth more then that.
I refrain from calling her a dumbass.
She signs a paper and it's determined that I'm not suicidal. I can leave the hospital.
I get home and brush as much of the black from my teeth that I can, blow my nose to get the black out, then retreat to my bed.
The next morning I get up and eat some cheese.
My mom's waiting there and she asks if I agree to stop this all.
Sure.

It's 2:15, Febuary 10th, I finished writing my statment 10 minutes ago, and now it's just a matter of passing time till school is out and I can leave the office.
At 2:28 I walk out and head towards the busses. I stop Nancy and give her the candy I stole from the principals office, and she smiles.
She's been crying.
We hug, depart, and I get on my bus; the right one this time.
My neighbor asks if I'm getting expelled.
Yes.
Probation?
Probably.
Want to get messed up one last time?
Sure.
Fact: I'm worthless.