I laugh but it’s interrupted by a pesky bandmate.
“Dude, I gotta head out,” Joe says as he stands up. Andrea, Monica, and Colleen stand up at the same time. “We’re gonna all group Uber it together.”
“Okay.” I wave. “Text me tomorrow about practice.”
“Where do you practice?” Bowen asks as Joe starts toward the door.
“Here,” I reply. “You should come next time. Jam with us a little more.”
I don’t wait for a response, I just walk over to the door to see my guests off and leave him there to think about it. Ten minutes later Bowen is in a club chair, across from where Grant and Becky are sitting on the couch, and I settle into the other club chair. “You guys serious about the band thing?”
“About you swinging by a practice?” Grant asks, and Bowen nods. “We may need you again. Our regular guy is a flake.”
“You had a good time, right?” I ask.
“I did.” Bowen nods. He pulls his leg up so his left ankle is resting on his right knee. “I’d be interested in checking out a practice but as for filling in… I can’t give up shifts at V and V because my family needs the extra cash right now, so I’m not exactly available either.”
“Well, lucky for you we don’t take the band too seriously,” Grant explains to him. “We all work full-time so we usually do one gig a month. Maybe two in summers when there’s festivals and stuff.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Sure thing,” I reply and Grant nods.
“What do you farm?” Grant wants to know and to be honest, I’m curious too. I have no idea. It could be anything. Although my mom’s side of the family has been in Vermont for several generations, not a one has ever been a farmer.
“Hemp.”
Grant blinks in surprise and I don’t blame him. We were both expecting apples or corn or even beef or dairy. Bowen has a small smile on that perfect mouth, like he was expecting that reaction. “That’s marijuana, right?”
“No.” Bowen shakes his head and then runs his fingers through his hair to settle it down. “Same species of plant but hemp contains less than point three percent THC which is tetrahydrocannabinol.”
“Ah… the good stuff,” I say and that makes the smile on his face grow.
“The good stuff.”
“So why grow hemp and not the good stuff.”
“Hemp’s a profitable crop that’s not hard to grow,” Bowen says. “We sell it to clothing manufacturers and to oil companies for example. With marijuana being legal, it’s also a great crop to grow and we would love to expand into that as well. But the paperwork and red tape is a bitch and unfortunately permits are few and far between. At the moment.”
I’m actually really interested in this — in him. He’s got a way of talking about it that makes it even more fascinating than it probably is. And the little caveat he ended on — at the moment — I find particularly intriguing. It’s like he knows something we don’t. “You can, however, keep four marijuana plants at home, for personal use only.”
“You can?” Grant is shocked. “Anyone can?”
“Anyone.” Bowen smiles and shifts on the couch, pulling a cigarette pack out of the pocket of his scruffy jeans. He flips the top and taps it against his palm and two perfectly rolled joints appear. “Even a hemp farmer.”
“Now there’s a nice way to end an evening.” Becky smiles.
“Also, I need to go find me four marijuana plants this weekend,” Grant grins. “For my flower box.”
I laugh. “You don’t have a flower box.”
“I will by the end of the weekend,” Grant quips. I feel Bowen staring at me, so I slide my eyes his way. He’s still got the cigarette pack on his knee. He looks down at it and back at me.
“Let’s move this party up to the roof,” I suggest. “If you’re willing to share.”
“Least I can do,” Bowen replies as we all stand up. “You guys gave me the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
He reaches for his coat, but as I walk by to lead the way to the roof deck, I put my hand on top of his and squeeze. “You don’t need a coat.”
