Warrior Poets, Episode 5
by Scott Walker

THE LIGHTER WAR

I hadn't realized that it was so late until I got back into my car and checked my voice mail. I would have kept a closer watch on the time had I been anywhere else but Shorty's, but there was just something about her that made time fly by when she was around. A day would pass in a second and a weekend passed in an hour. That's why the cell phone was in the car. I didn't allow anything to break the euphoric feeling I felt when I was at Shorty's. But, when I got to the car, I saw that it was four in the morning and I was late for war.

The war had been a continuous affair that had gone on for almost two years. The war was fought against yours truly and my down low spot partner, Pretty Boy. 

Just as his name stated, Pretty Boy was a pretty boy. He got his hair cut every week to make sure that his fade blended in with his side burns. He had dark hair, which served to make his crystal blue eyes stand out as much as possible. His eyes were so blue that it was impossible not to stare. Along with his eyes, Pretty was tall, strong and had perfect white teeth. I could do the typical guy thing right now, and explain that I am not gay, but after the writing I have done regarding my female problems, I think that it is safe to assume that it is understood that I am heterosexual. But, I'm not gay!

Aside from how Pretty looked, he had every character trait of a full-blown weed head. I mean, here I was at four in the morning, on the way to his house to smoke and I never questioned that he would be down to get high.

As I pulled into a spot across the street from Pretty's apartment, I remembered that I still needed to go to Soft's college so he could re-up on product. The college kids are fiends for the sticky greens and I wanted to make sure that Soft was fully stocked for the weekend.

I decide that it would be best if I went straight to the college at six this morning. Figuring that it was a two-hour drive, I would get there for eight a.m.. This left me over an hour to continue the war. 

The war was never violent. There was never any injuries, or tension afterward, and I sometimes wondered if Pretty even knew that he was fighting in a war. The war we were fighting was a lighter war.

Let me explain. When I involve myself in a cipher, I usually smoke a blunt. It is easier to smoke a blunt in a car, and, unlike glassware, there is virtually no chance that I will destroy a blunt if I drop it. But, when I go to Pretty's crib, we only smoke out of a glass bowl. It is a really nice piece, too. The bowl changes color when you light it. The other postive aspect of the bowl is that you definitely smoke a hell of a lot less when using a bowl. Usually we only need to pack the bowl once to get the desired effect. Also, with a bowl, the idea of only toking a little bit of the bowl is fine. With a blunt or a joint, you need to finish the whole thing after starting it. A roach never has the same flavor as the original. Anyway, when I smoke with Pretty, we use a bowl. And, obviously, we use a lighter. The lighter is where the war began.

The thing to remember is that the lighter we use isn't the kind of cheap lighter that doesn't allow for any modifications. We use the expensive lighters, meaning that they cost over a dollar, that allow the user to adjust the flame as high or low as you prefer. These options of choices, are what originally caused the rift between myself and Pretty. I liked to have the large flame to bring it close to the corner of the bowl. This allowed for the greens to stay green. I couldn't stand the large black spot that became of the greens after they had been scorched. The large flame is how I liked to keep the lighter. 

On the total opposite side is Pretty. He liked to turn the lighter way down so that the flame was barely over the lighter. Pretty always said that this allowed for the weed to not get scorched, and the flame could get under the weed and warm the bottom of the bowl.

I personally did not agree with Pretty's method, but I respected his belief. The problem is, for almost two years, Pretty and I have had this secret conflict where we each adjust the lighter to the flame size that we desire. We also make sure to leave the flame at that height instead of putting back to the way it was passed. Honestly, this isn't a big issue. But what makes it ridiculous is that neither of us has ever talked about the war. Every time the lighter was passed, the flame size would change. In the beginning, one of us would forget about the others preference and not plan accordingly to the flame. Once, Pretty burnt his nose on the tip when he forgot the flame size and held the lighter close to his face. He cursed, rubbed his nose vigorously and jumped up and down until he finally stopped, to take a hit. Another time, I thought I was losing my mind because I kept on taking hits, but wasn't getting any smoke. I figured out that, because of the minuscule flame, I needed to hold the lighter much closer to the bowl.

The original issue was in the past. The lighter war, however, was our present and future. 

On this particular occasion, I arrived at Pretty's room at quarter to five in the morning and needed to wake him up. Pretty had apparently called me at two in the morning, hoping I could stop by within the hour for the cipher. But, we both agreed that later was better than never. 

He was asleep on the bed when I entered the room and went directly to the radio. For as long as the cipher had been arranged, we had listened to the newest hip-hop selection that I had purchased. Pretty didn't really know anything about hip-hop, but he said he liked to hear me describe what was good about a particular artist or song.

On this occasion, I was playing the newest Eminem song. As soon as the music came on, Pretty woke up and climbed out of bed. He walked over to the chair that sat adjacent to mine, and immediately began to rub his eyes with his palms. He still hadn't spoken, but I knew he was happy that I had stopped by to visit.

I passed the bowl to him and he immediately turned the flame down to the lowest degree. He didn't look at me, he just inhaled deeply and exhaled the smoke. He passed me the lighter and the bowl. 

I turned the flame to the maximum and took my hit. As I exhaled my cloud, Pretty asked me what we were listening to?

I told Pretty that it was the newest Eminem song and he should play close attention to the rhyme scheme because Em was quite possibly the best wordsmith in all of hip-hop. As the song played and we nodded our heads to the beat, Pretty took the bowl and the lighter. He turned the flame down and took a hit. 

The process repeated several more times until the cipher ended, and then it was time for other things to take form. The conclusion of the cipher usually led to phase two of the lighter war. 

Phase two was a far more common war that I am sure numerous people fight all across the world. This phase was a lot less complicated. Phase two tried to answer to one very important question, " Who would steal the lighter?"

I gather that this may sound a little funny so I will try to explain it as best as I can. The most common problem for a weed head isn't the police. The most common problem is finding a lighter that works when everything else had come together. I know it probably sounds stupid, as if the original lighter war wasn't stupid enough, but believe me, there is nothing worse than rolling a fresh blunt or packing a fresh bowl and realizing that there isn't a lighter. It is probably similar to engaging in foreplay, only to realize that you don't have any condoms.

Now, ever since I'd started smoking with Pretty, I would notice that he would try to steal the lighter. I didn't get mad at this because I tried to do the same thing. While there is nothing worse than not having a lighter to smoke, there is nothing better than being the reason why other people can't find a lighter. On this occasion, Pretty had supplied the lighter, and I needed to get it.

I took the last hit of the cipher and stood up to retrieve the c.d. As I stood, I secretly tried to stash the lighter in my pocket. I think it is fairly accurate to say that Pretty saw this, because as soon as I reached to give him dap, he asked for a lighter so he could light a candle. 

I begrudgingly said that I must have grabbed it by mistake, and handed it back to him. Pretty thanked me and gave an ovation as I left the room.

The war was at a stalemate.

Poser's Dictionary

DOWN LOW SPOT PARTNER- the home of a friend that keeps a low profile
WEED HEAD- someone who smokes a lot of marijuana
DOWN- to be willing, to want to do something

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