It's a nice afternoon, door is wide open, and Daniel just left. The name Paul came into my mind, then I raised my eyes upwards and had a chat with my long gone stepdad Paul.
He blew an opportunity to do well in the role of stepfather. In the end, I knew he regretted it.
One sunny afternoon, late seventies, I got a call from him, said he would like me to come over and get my mom stoned. Shocked, I said sure. I was living in the Oakland California hills, and they were in the suburbs. I was there in fifteen.
We sat at the kitchen table, Paul had a breathing thing pushing air down his lungs, and he could mix shit with it. I then introduced my mom to a bong pipe, filled with some fine homegrown out of Carmel Valley. I was commuting down there, and knew the growers.
My real dad was a Texas boy that fought in WW2 as a sailor. Married my Mom at the end of it, created my brother and I, then split back to Texas.
As Paul injected vodka into his contraption, and my Mom and I got stoned, I asked them where they first met, I didn't know!
It was a bar in Southern California, Mom was freshly divorced with two sons, and Paul saw an instant family to add to his truck driving ambitions. Mom saw a savior.
It was amazing to hear them tell this story, in such a liberated state!
Unfortunately, it was too late for Paul and me. I had already been raised by this man as his stepchild, it was what it was.
In the end, it was the first and last time I ever got stoned with my mom, and probably the last time I ever saw Paul again...