Betty's (Little Basement) Garden (10 page)

There was barely enough moonlight to navigate the well kept brick path to the front door, but Betty managed, her heart racing exponentially with each step. The fog of Bourbon and the arousal of resentment carried her this far, and she wasn't about to turn back. She knocked with purpose on the door. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. The elderly gentleman Betty saw with Peyton at Peggy's bedside stood there. He wore a plaid shirt and vest that had both seen better days. A pair of wool slacks and an odd camouflage ball cap completed the ensemble. In his hand, he held a stack of thick plastic bags. He regarded Betty with silence and confusion.

“Hello. My name is Betty Craven.” She extended her hand but gramps didn't move an inch. “We met informally at Peggy's…” She was about to say “deathbed” but figured that wasn't tactful. “Is your grandson here?”

“Yeah,” he stated, still not moving.

Betty's nerves were prickling. “Could I could please speak to him?”

“You his girlfriend?”

“Good God, no! I'm just a friend…well, an acquaintance…is he home?”

Gramps moved slowly to a door just off the living room and opened it. “Peyton! Some woman is here to see you. What do you want me to tell her?”

Betty took a short step into the house. “Betty. My name's
Betty
!”

A loud thump emanated from downstairs, followed by rushed footsteps up the stairs. Peyton emerged. In one hand, he held a pair of small, razor sharp scissors. A lamp adorned his forehead, shining a peculiar green glow from the light. “Betty!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Is it like really you or did the
Indica
just kick in?”

“Yes.
Like
it is. I need to speak to you.” She glanced at his grandfather. “Privately?”

Peyton turned to his grandfather. “Hey, Pops, how's it goin' on the shrink wrapping?”

“Goin' good.”

“Awesome!” Peyton patted him gently on his back. “Keep up the good work, dude!”

His grandfather moseyed back into the kitchen as Peyton approached the door. “Come on in, Betty.”

“I'd rather speak outside, if you don't mind.” A loud
whirr
erupted from the kitchen. “What in the hell is that?”

“I bought a vacuum sealer to suck the air out of bags of cannabis for my patients. He's fallen in love with it and even figured out ways to improve it. Pops can suck the air out of anything now.”

“Really? My late husband had that same talent when he walked into a room.”

Peyton stepped outside, pulling the front door ajar. “Pops was a world class inventor in his day. Real simple stuff but really useful. He's got like three patents. But he's worried about people stealing his ideas. That's why I bought him that camo ball cap. I told him if he wore it when he was coming up with ideas, nobody could see what he was thinking and steal his thoughts. It's taken his anxiety level way down!”

Betty couldn't believe how on some peculiar level that made sense. “I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here –”

He turned off his green headlamp. “You changed your mind. Dude, that's why you're here!”

Betty turned away, a wave of apprehension gripping her. “I don't know that I've changed my mind completely. I just…I just…” She let out a hard sigh. “I've had an illuminating day and a strange early evening and between the two, I'm standing here with you and making no sense.”

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It's okay, Betty. We'll take it slow.”

“Oh, dear. That sounds really odd, coming from you to me.” She glanced down at his drooping jeans. “Pull up your pants, would you?”

“Huh?”

She tactfully pointed to his trousers. “Your
pants
? It's not a good look.”

“That's the way they're supposed to fit.”

She leaned forward, attempting to be discreet even though no one was in earshot. “It's not a professional way to present yourself to your patients. Trust me on this one.”

Peyton shrugged his shoulders and obliged, hiking up his jeans and tightening the belt around his waist.

Betty took a gander around the area. “Look, before I change my mind and run screaming into the night, here's my proposal. I purchase from you some….material, shall we say. And I make a batch of chocolates using my own method, and we'll see how it goes. If I fail miserably, then no harm, no foul –”

“
Fail
? You're not gonna fail.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“No way. I can feel it. You were meant to do this. You're gonna help a whole lot of people, Betty.”

An unexpected wave of sadness came over her. “I tried to help someone once I cared a great deal for. It didn't do any good. He still died.”

“Just ‘cause your son died, doesn't mean you failed.”

“I didn't say it was my –”

“Oh, come on, Betty. It wasn't your next-door neighbor in Texas, Mary Jane Blunt.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “Hell, we never know the impact we have on someone. Even the smallest influence can make a huge difference. Like the way your chocolates and my cannabis came together to help my aunt. She still died, but she died with dignity. You were part of that. Shit, we're all gonna die. That's the destination but life's the journey, dude. I'm like totally more into the journey.”

Betty pressed the skin between her eyebrows. “
Please
stop peppering your vocabulary with ‘like.'” She reached into her purse. “I have the cash you gave me, and I want to keep this above board and buy –”

“Betty, I'm tapped out, and I don't have another harvest for two months –”

She shot him a dismayed look. “How in the hell was I supposed to do any of this?”

“Well, like –” he caught himself and started again. “You grow your own and until you get your own harvest, I can hook you up with a guy who grows medical cannabis organically –”

“
Hook me up
? Oh, my God! What?!
What
?! Are you nuts?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Betty, chill. Take a breath. Louie is totally cool.”

“
Louie
? What's the rest of his name? The Exterminator?”

“No. Parodi. He owns the automotive shop over on Sheldon Street. You know? Louie's Lube ‘n' Tube? The big neon wheel with the fat, goofy face in the center? That's Louie's place. You'll want an ounce of ‘sweet leaf shake' and an ounce of ‘popcorn' buds mainly from an
Indica
strain.” He thought for a second. “Blueberry! That's the strain you need from him. There are different Blueberry strains, and Louie's got the Centennial Blueberry strain that was bred to grow great in the high altitude of the Rockies. Man, does it have dank little greasy nuggets.”

“Hang on, what's ‘sweet leaf shake' and ‘popcorn?'”

“'Sweet leaf shake' is the sticky, sugary trim from right around the bud and ‘popcorn' buds are what grows on the bottom of the plant. When you combine those two for edibles, you get a nice pain-killing effect. I'll give Louie a call and set the whole thing up for you.” He brought out his cell phone and started to dial.

“Wait! Right now?”

“Wasn't your objective coming over here to leave with something?”

Betty felt her throat tightening. “Yes.”

Peyton dialed the number. As it rung, he turned to Betty. “I got a lot of my cannabis clones from Louie when I started up. He knows his shit. He was one of first people in Colorado to get his medical cannabis card.” Louie answered and the arrangements were made. If Betty could drive over there within the next twenty minutes, Louie would have the bags waiting. And as a sign of wanting to help a future medical cannabis caregiver, Louie agreed to give Betty the “family price” which came to one hundred and fifty for the ounce of Centennial Blueberry popcorn buds, and seventy for the ounce of premium Centennial shake.

Betty arrived under the big neon wheel fifteen minutes later. She'd been told to walk around the back of the business, down a short walkway and then knock on the steel door with the gold wheel decal. Louie must have been standing right there waiting, because the door opened before Betty finished knocking.

“Hey! Come on in!” Louie said with a welcoming tenor. He was still removing grease from his huge, fat hands with a pink soap that smelled slightly toxic with a grapefruit top note.

Betty walked in, closing the door behind her. The bourbons had worn off completely, and it was as if she'd awakened into a reality she wasn't prepared to occupy. Doubt began to inch its way into her mind. She looked around the modest but well-kept garage. The floors were swept clean and all the tools were lined up neatly on brackets against the walls. There was no sense of anything shady or corrupt going on in this place. As for Louie, he didn't put off the vibe to Betty of anyone who would be involved in growing marijuana. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. His round, cherubic face and mass of tousled black hair, along with the half undone blue work shirt with his name embroidered in red, made him look like your standard grease monkey. Louie washed off the last of the pink soap and dried his hands.

“I…” Betty felt a catch in her throat. “I've never done this before,” she whispered.

He smiled. “There's nobody else here. You don't have to whisper.” He turned. “I'll go grab your stuff.”

Betty stood still, clutching her purse and doing everything to stand as straight as she could, so as to appear confident. Looking around the immediate area, she spotted a pegboard filled with photos featuring Louie and his wife and three children. There were photos of them skiing, hiking, and hanging out at home. A small TV played in the background on low volume. It was the early Denver news broadcast, and Betty heard the male anchor mention marijuana. Her ears perked up as she strained to hear the segment. There was a crowd of people standing outside the State Capitol with banners proclaiming “D.A.R.E. to Keep Children Safe!” and “Ever Wonder Why They Call It Dope?” Front and center was the inimitable Reverend Bobby Lynch, who had driven up from Colorado Springs for the news event. Standing in front of a crowd of over two hundred, die-hard anti-marijuana supporters who waved handmade signs and chanted, “Don't let our town go to pot!,” Lynch took center stage as he spoke to the crowd.

“I'm not going to mince words!” Lynch yelled into the microphone. “This is not about medicine! They tell us that it's part of our state constitution and that the people want it! Well, I'm here to tell you there are plenty of people in this great Rocky Mountain state who are outright offended by this mockery against
real
medicine! Medicine that has been approved and used for decades by our physicians and trained pharmacists! This is just a convenient ploy to make marijuana acceptable in our neighborhoods. And when that happens, my friends, the family-centered community we love and have nurtured as a safe place to raise our children suddenly transforms into a gang-infested, rotting hole of sewage. Colorado citizens send a negative message to the rest of this great country when they allow and support the drug dens, the grow operations and the manufacturing facilities that process and distribute this dangerous plant! Do not let your towns go to pot!” The crowd erupted in applause and loud chants of “Say no to pot!”

Louie returned with a paper bag and turned off the TV. “Fucking idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. Then he quickly looked up at Betty. “Excuse my language.”

“Not to worry.”

“I get pissed off when people just parrot whatever they hear without researching the facts. I mean, pot's only been used as a medicine for thousands of years and aspirin is, what…one hundred and twenty years on record? Don't get me started. I wonder how many pharmaceutical drugs Lynch is on and how many of those have side effects that include stupidity.” He handed Betty the bag.

Betty glanced toward the pegboard of photos. “Your children are beautiful”

“Thank you. My oldest one just turned eleven. She's got a school pageant tomorrow, and I've got to pick up her costume tonight. So I can't linger here too long.”

Betty didn't move. Her heart raced and her mouth went dry. “Yes, of course. Listen, I mean no disrespect given the reason why I'm here, but is this transaction legal?”

“Peyton said you don't have your card yet, so technically, no,” he said forthrightly. “And I'm only doing it because I know Peyton, and he said you really needed some help. I don't turn down people in need.”

Betty observed him. His face might have been caricatured on a big neon wheel out front, but there was nothing but honesty and a genuineness issuing forth at that moment. “That's very kind of you.”

“Here you go,” he handed the brown bag to her.

She took it and handed him a folded stack of cash. “That's two hundred and twenty dollars. I appreciate the 'family price.' Please count it.”

Louie stuffed the money in his greasy pants pocket. “I trust you.”

Betty stood frozen. A surge of emotion overwhelmed her and she started to cry. Turning away, she did everything possible to halt the waterworks, but it was useless.

“What did I say?” Louie asked, concern etching his chubby face.

“It's not you. It's me,” she whispered, desperately trying to get hold of herself. “I'm shaking like a virgin at a prison rodeo.”

Louie grinned. “Hey, I haven't heard that one in a long time. You from Texas?”

His relaxed demeanor calmed Betty, allowing the tears to slow. “Yes. You?”

“My uncle lives in Dallas.”

Betty turned back to the photos of his children. “How do you…how do you do this,” she motioned to the paper bag, “with children around? Aren't you concerned?”

“I don't grow it in our house. They've never seen the plants.”