Betty's (Little Basement) Garden by Laurel Dewey Page A

I could sit with your aunt while she was stoned on them? Is this really happening? Wake me up from this nightmare!”
    â€œBetty, Betty, Betty. Save the drama for the important stuff.” He looked quizzical. “I don’t get it. I’m pretty good at reading people. When I was watching you with Aunt Peggy, I didn’t see the person I’m seeing right now. I saw your…” He stopped.
    â€œSaw my what?”
    â€œYour true essence. You know? In here?” He pointed to his heart. “And I’m tellin’ you, it was not this hysterical, uptight woman I’m seeing right now.”
    â€œYou obviously made a mistake in your assessment.”
    He looked at her for what seemed like an eternity. “No. My heart never lies to me. Maybe this essence I’m seeing is buried so deeply in you that –”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Peyton. You’re just making this up as you go along –”
    He moved closer to her. “Why are you fighting your true nature? Why does it scare you so much? You’ve got a lot of power, Betty. Why are you suffocating it?”
    Her head swam. That familiar tension began building in her neck. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” The minute she said those words, they sounded like a lie. “You’re trying to manipulate me, and it’s not going to work.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not manipulating you. I’m speaking to you from my heart to yours. Open your mind to the possibility that cannabis is not the evil monster you’ve been told to be afraid of. Hey, how about this? Henry Ford saw the value in the hemp plant. He even built an entire car out of it.”
    â€œIs that so? When he put the key in the ignition, did he have a hard time firing it up due to the car’s lack of motivation?”
    â€œYeah, yeah. Again, you’re just parroting what you’ve heard. Look, an Indica strain will mellow you out, but a buzzy Sativa will get you so motivated you’ll clean the house, mow the lawn and do five loads of laundry before sundown.”
    Betty looked at him aghast. “I cannot believe I am participating in this conversation right now.”
    Peyton walked over to the “Rx” bag and dumped the orange prescription bottles on the dining room table.
    â€œWhat in the hell are you doing?”
    â€œLet’s see, you got your muscle relaxant….oh, a little anti-anxiety drug…and Valium. Guess what? Certain strains of cannabis are antispasmodic, reduce anxiety and help you sleep. One strain can fit all three of these!” He held up the bottles. “And if you use it in the right way at the right time, it won’t fuck you up like you are right now.”
    Betty’s back went up. “And you know this how?”
    â€œBecause I’ve been using cannabis for almost nine years, every single day. I wake and vape, Betty. I am one with the THC and CBD and they are one with me.”
    â€œOh, Christ. You’re high right now?”
    â€œâ€™High’ is such a subjective word. It’s in my system at this moment, yeah. But I’m able to function. I’m not into getting toasted. And I’m not out there ripping off car stereos. Don’t be harshin’ my mellow and call me a stoner, Betty. They exist, but I ain’t one of them and I never will be. There’s a huge difference between the typical stoner dude and the person who’s using this herb strictly for medical reasons. A stoner dude blazes as much weed as he can until he hits the Sky Box, totally blotto, goonin’, bent and stuck on stupid. But a medical cannabis dude takes the smallest amount possible to kill his pain and still be able to function. Can you tell which of those dudes I am?” He moved closer to her. “And here’s another pet peeve. I actually hate it when medical cannabis patients call the herb ‘medicine’ or say they’re