I'm sitting here playing with a poison ring my mom gave me last summer. It's old. "When mom was growing up" old. It's cheap and it's ugly. It's almost entirely blackened with age. And I'm thinking about the story she told me when she gave it to me, about how it used to belong to a college friend of hers, and how her friend used to keep her drugs in it. One day, high on coke, the girl thought she could fly and jumped out a window into an empty pool. When she gave it to me, I mocked her playfully about looting her dead junky friend's ring. "What did you do, climb down into the pool and chop her finger off?" We went back and forth, with her ending in the now slightly infamous (jokingly shouted) "I used to love you, but now I hate you."
What I didn't mock her about is the fact that she's used that same story about 4 or 5 times now. Each time for a different drug, a different situation. But for every drug that existed when she was growing up, there has been an attempting to fly into an empty pool story. I have no way of knowing if she ever did know someone who died that way, if she saw it on tv, if she just thought it would make a good warning story and made it up. In a way, it's funny. One of those things I joke about with certain friends.
In a way, it's very depressing.