I loved high school. I had it all. I was popular, had a cute boyfriend and was a cheerleader. I enjoyed going to school so I could see my friends and be seen. Then came the summer between my junior and senior year when I went off to cheerleading camp.
Even though I was popular at my school, at cheerleading camp there seemed to be an entirely new set of rules. In every situation there has to be those at the top and the bottom of the totem pole and for some reason I was towards the bottom. I was not used to that and it affected my self esteem and thus my performance. As the coaches called me out, I felt the heat of being embarrassed in my cheeks.
On Friday evening of our second week we were given some free time and went into town. I went with a couple of other girls who were meeting up with a boy who worked at the camp and his friends. That was the night I got high for the first time. It was the first time in nearly two weeks that I had relaxed. I was beginning to understand how the less popular girls at school felt and I did not like it. I couldn’t wait to get back to my own town and my own status in school.
The next night we went out again and this time my new friends talked me into some cocaine. Knowing I would never be in this position again, I decided to try it. What harm could it do? We spent the next couple of hours getting stoned and before we knew it, we were getting ready to rush back to camp before curfew.
I do not really remember how the accident happened. I know we were driving along getting close to camp when the boy who was driving us back sped up at our urging. As we rounded a curve, he lost control of the wheel as a deer ran across the road. It stopped, startled by our headlights. All I remember after that was screaming then blackness.
One of the two girls with us died. The rest of us had minor injuries. I ended up with a broken collarbone as I fell out of the back of the pickup truck.
That summer fifteen years ago changed things for me. I resigned my position as cheerleader at school and concentrated on my books instead. I was nicer to the less popular girls even though the tables were turned on me as I was the one whispered about. In small towns, gossip spreads like wildfire and everyone knew what had happened even before school started.
To this day I have not done drugs. I do not associate them with being cool. I associate them with the night a girl died. Getting high at cheerleading camp changed everything.
I remember the day I found it. I was driving across the country, making a fresh start. Breaking up with the man I was suppose to marry in just a week wasn’t the reason for my move. I could have handled living in the same town. The fact that his new girlfriend was my cousin? That hurt. After driving for hours, I checked in to a cheap motel to get some sleep. I was planning to move to Florida. My best friend lived there. She was married to a military guy and he was set to go on temporary duty for three months. She said I could stay with her while looking for a job and an apartment.
I recognized the white powder for what it was: cocaine. I knew because that was what my cousin’s brother had died from, a cocaine overdose. Did that give her an excuse every time she went after something she wanted? I didn’t think so. She used it, though, even telling me I could find someone else because Mark understood her and everything she had been through.
What to do, though, about the powder I found. Do I turn it in at the front desk? Do I call the police? Do I get involved? I had slept for a few hours but arguing in the room next to mine woke me up about 4 in the morning. Thirsty, I had grabbed one of the plastic cups, accidentally knocking the small ice bucket off the counter. The powder was underneath it.
My cousin was a few years older than me. He had never really been into drugs. He was a great kid. But one night he partied with some friends after his team won the regional championship and he gave in to peer pressure. He drank some beer and when the cocaine was introduced to the party and passed around, he went for it. He died before morning from an accidental overdose.
Yes, my cousin had been through a lot. She lost her beloved brother. She saw her parents divorce and her mother slip into a depression. I looked at that white powder and quickly made the decision to flush it down the toilet. I know kids die every day from drugs. No one was going to die because of the powder I held in my hands.
I grabbed my things and checked out immediately. That afternoon, I arrived at my best friend’s house. My new life was just beginning.
This winter has been the craziest one snow wise that I can remember in 30 years. Still, it takes me back to being fifteen and stuck in a blizzard in Wyoming. Being from Texas, I was not used to such weather, our biggest weather enemy was a tornado, my county just weeks away from having the worst one in its history. Still, I remember that blizzard and being stranded in a hotel with my mom, aunt and younger brother. I remember the waitress at the restaurant in the hotel being so nice, not realizing back then that she must have been working for hours past her shift with the onset of a blizzard that allowed for no movable traffic.
I also remember the man that was going through asking people for money. The hotel was nice, not charging people for rooms that weren’t available and allowing everyone to have a dry, safe place to sleep even if it meant the lobbies were overflowing. Something about the young man had my mom and aunt being protective. When the young man asked me if I knew where to get some coke and I pointed to the vending machine, he got mad and called me retarded. My mama stepped in between us while my aunt went to the desk to ask for help.
Today, I know what he meant. He meant cocaine, something that was gaining in popularity at that time. Still, a country girl from Texas had not heard of it at that time. It was March, 1979, and what stands out most to this day now that I am a parent is that my mom and aunt were protective of me against a stranger.
Sometimes I wonder about that young man, like when I hear a story on the news or when I see my own children dealing with social issues with peers and every day life. I wonder if he had a mother as protective as mine was but somehow got hooked on cocaine anyway. I wonder if he had a rough childhood. I wonder if he is clean now, sometimes even if he is still alive.
I don’t know why that one short conversation stayed with me all these years. I only know that before that day I had no idea that coke was something other than a soft drink. I mark that as a moment in time where I lost a touch of innocence. To me, that was the day 
. It may not seem like a big deal to most people but I realize something. If that one question 30 years ago can stay with me, I have great empathy for someone who deals with peer pressure from close friends.
I loved high school. I had it all. I was popular, had a cute boyfriend and was a cheerleader. I enjoyed going to school so I could see my friends and be seen. Then came the summer between my junior and senior year when I went off to cheerleading camp. 
