The Worst Day of My Life

 It was another hot a day in the summer of 1997. Danny, Bubba, Chris, and I were hanging out at Bubba's house in Oxford, resting, sobering up, and figuring out our plans for later that night. We had just got back from Devil's Den, where we had been drinking and swimming, among other things, for several hours. Back then I was known to sell drugs, so my pager was constantly going off. A number I didn't recognize kept blowing my pager up, I mean REALLY blowing it up. This is not too uncommon, for people who do drugs, to do this. I didn't think too much of it. I usually made them wait or never returned the call at all after they became annoying. They usually get the message and give up, but whoever was paging me from this number was VERY persistent. I eventually got pissed and called the number, fully ready to curse someone out for annoying the hell out of me. To my surprise it was her, Shannon Self, the woman who eventually ruined my life. I don't even know how she got my pager number. I don't remember ever giving it to her. Maybe she got it from Savanna, a mutual friend. Anyway, she says "Hey, its Shannon, I wanna buy some weed from you." So I reply, "Well, how much do you want?" She replies, "I don't know. I got money, so come pick me up later and we'll party." I knew what "we'll party" really meant, and as a teenage male, of course I was thinking with the wrong head. Thus begins the worst day of my life...