Green Shield
By Drew Alexander Ross
(Originally published by Drunk Monkeys)
“Fuck! We’re gonna have to pick up!”
Kyle searched in the box on the coffee table while I looked through Rob’s room. The sun blazed through the window as if it was mad at me for being inside. I ignored its admonishments and sifted through Rob’s closet and his bedside table. There were a few scraps in the drawer but mostly empty baggies along with a few old colones. I found his medical card under a block of surf wax and pocketed it before navigating around a heap of dirty clothes on my way to see how Kyle was getting along.
“Any luck?”
“Nope.”
Kyle threw himself on the couch as I entered the room and shielded his eyes from a patch of light coming through the bay windows. The sun was mad at him too.
“Fuck…”
I joined him on the couch. As I flopped down, the medical card dug into my backside. I pulled it out and tossed it on the table. Kyle’s eyes followed.
“What’s that?”
“Rob’s med card. Not like it does us any good, though. We can’t walk into a dispensary and pretend we’re him… You sure no one in town can hook us up?”
Kyle sat up and ignored me. He stared at the card. It had Rob’s name, an issuing doctor, and an identification number.
Kyle leaped up from the couch with purpose and a quickened step.
“Hello?”
I put my feet up on a rare space on the table, and a few moments later, Kyle came back with his laptop in hand. He pushed empty beer bottles out of the way and moved the empty weed box to have space to put his laptop down.
“You sure there’s no one in town we can call?” I repeated.
“It’s spring break,” Kyle snapped. “Everyone’s gone. Give me a sec.”
I leaned back on the couch we picked up off the street shortly after we moved in. My eyes were drawn to the only piece of art decorating the living room wall. A bar mirror with the image of Captain Morgan watched over the room above our TV. He seemed to be smirking down at us. I looked around the room and thought that besides the beer bottles and a few Chinese food cartons, the place wasn’t too dirty. Then I remembered I hadn’t been in the kitchen yet.
“Green Shield!” Kyle exclaimed.
“What?”
“The weed delivery service. I saw an ad somewhere for it. This will work.”
I looked into his wide optimistic blue eyes. With his shaggy blonde hair and handsome smile, I almost believed him. My dark and brooding features must have betrayed how I felt because he threw the final card down.
“What do we have to lose?”
I couldn’t argue with that. I wasn’t sure how I ended up being the one who had to call, though — something about how I looked more like Rob. I didn’t think that should have mattered since we were calling it in. Plus, no one would have mistaken me for Rob. But I found myself on the phone anyway.
“Green Shield. Protecting your right for medicinal marijuana since 1996. This is Tyler speaking. How may I help you?”
I pictured Tyler sitting at a receptionist’s desk in a commercial for a Hawaiian vacation. I could see his toothy smile and friendly demeanor. Everybody was welcome. I looked up at Captain Morgan, and his smirk now looked like the approving grin of a fellow pirate.
“Hi, Tyler. My name is Rob. I’m a new patient, and I’m looking to place an order.”
“I can help you with that! I just need your medical ID number and another form of photo identification. Your driver’s license will do.”
I looked at Kyle. The first twitch of uncertainty crossed his face. He took out his phone.
“I have my medical ID right here. I can give that to you, but I’ll need a moment to send over my driver’s license.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take your medical info now, and you can call back after you send over your driver’s license.”
I rifled off the ID number, put the med card back in my pocket, said a pleasant goodbye, and stared at Kyle.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“It will!” Kyle fired back. “I already texted Rob. He’s gonna send me a photo of his license.”
“They’re going to know I’m not Rob.”
“With Tyler helping us! Are you kidding?” Kyle put on the exact smile I pictured on the receptionist.
After a few minutes executing the details of getting the photo of Rob’s license over, I was back on the phone waiting for Tyler to greet me like an old friend.
“Green Shield. This is Pedro speaking. How may I help you?”
I looked at Kyle. The twitch of uncertainty was more pronounced.
“Hello? Hablas Inglés?”
I cleared my throat.
“Uh… Hi… My name is Rob. I just sent over my info. I’m a new patient. I’d like to place an order.”
“What’s your name?” A cold reply.
“Rob.”
“Your last name, Rob.”
I looked over at Kyle again. His blue eyes were no longer wide with optimism. The captain was smirking down at me again too.
“Uh… Paniagua.”
There was silence on the other line. I looked at Kyle and was about to hang up when Pedro spoke.
“Roberto Augustin Paniagua?”
I gulped.
“Yeah…”
“One moment please,” Pedro said. “I have a note here. I need to talk to my supervisor.”
I put the phone on mute.
“Fuck!” I turned to Kyle. “What should I do?”
“Wait,” He said nervously. “You can always hang up if it gets too bad.”
This didn’t comfort me. My mind conjured up caller ID and identity theft scenarios, leading me to an interrogation room at the police station. I was picturing a dark cell and a big roommate called Pedro when my heart leaped with delight.
“Hi, Rob! This is Tyler speaking.”
“Hi, Tyler!”
“I just spoke with Pedro. Everything seems to be in order. Just give us your order, and we’ll have it delivered in the next hour.”
I exchanged a big bro-hug with Kyle when I got off the phone. We started to clean up the apartment like we were about to host two beautiful coeds instead of a quarter of elegant top-shelf bud.
I was cleaning my bong in the now empty kitchen sink, and Kyle was laying out papers and crutch on the spotless coffee table when the doorbell rang. I put down my bong and buzzed in the delivery guy.
A few moments later, I opened the door to a large Latino man holding a comically small paper bag.
“Are you Roberto Paniagua?”
“You can call me Rob,” My voice cracked.
The man looked me up and down.
“I’m Pedro. We spoke on the phone.”
I saw Kyle bouncing on his toes and baring his teeth in a silent yell out of the corner of my eye. I tried to keep a calm exterior, but my insides were churning like a duck’s feet underwater. Sweat started to bead on my back and catch on my shirt.
“Hi, Pedro.”
Pedro stared at me for another few moments.
“You’re Latino?”
“Half.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“No.”
“Where are you from?”
“My Dad’s Salvadorian. My Mom’s white. They separated when I was still a baby.”
I stared directly into his eyes, committing to my all-in bluff. I just prayed the sweat dripping down my back only betrayed the heat of the sun.
Pedro finally broke eye contact. He looked down at the bag and loosened his grip. I would have exhaled deeply if I could have. I planned to the moment he left. I planned to inhale deeply too. I almost let slip a smile at this.
“Okay. Let me just see your ID.”
My thoughts of happy celebrations were cut short. I scrambled.
“You didn’t see it when I sent it in?”
“No. My supervisor handled that. But we need proof of identity when we deliver.”
My throat tightened, and I felt like I could no longer breathe at all.
“Oh,” Is what I managed to finally say. “Can you give me a second? I took it out of my wallet when I sent over the picture. I’m not sure where I put it.”
“Show me something from your wallet with your name on it. That’ll be fine.”
There was a fresh glint in his eye as he said this.
I took a step back and felt something poke against my backside. My eyes widened. I quickly pulled out Rob’s med card from my back pocket and handed it over a little too eagerly. Pedro took it and glanced between the card and me. He gave it back after a minute and handed me the bag.
“Have your ID next time.”
Pedro walked away.
I closed the door and ran over to Kyle. We started to jump and giggle like sorority sisters passing pledge week. We proceeded to light up courtesy of ground bud from a complementary grinder.
Hours later, I was chewing on a free edible gummy. Kyle and I were watching Point Break wishing Rob well in Hawaii. I looked down at our quarter, which was now looking like less than an eighth.
“Fuck…”
Kyle turned his bloodshot, barely opened eyes toward me. He lifted his eyelids, maybe a centimeter, and cocked an eyebrow.
“What?”
“We’re gonna have to pick up again.”
