Orange Is Not Her Best Colour

You never know where life will take you.

Growing up, Leigh Ferguson pictured herself one day becoming the ultimate P.T.A. mom…bake sales, lunch lady, school play costume designer, field trip supervisor…she’d do the whole works.  Imagine her surprise then – well, everyone’s surprise really, when she was arrested for possession with intent to traffic.

She blames Norman Reedus for her downfall.  Not the Norman Reedus, of course, star of The Walking Dead, but her boyfriend Randy whom she nicknamed Norman Reedus because that’s who he reminded her of so much.  You know the type – to look at him you wouldn’t necessarily think that there was anything special about him, but then you find yourself in a room with him and you’re instantly drawn to his raw magnetism.  There’s a boyish naughtiness to him, too;  a naughtiness that you’re sure you can reign in.  All he needs is the love of a good woman and in no time he’ll be building sets for the upcoming school play.  Only what he wants is a partner in crime.  At least, that’s what Randy wanted from Leigh.

“We should grow our own marijuana and sell it to our friends,” Randy suggested one day.

“We can’t do that!” she protested.  “It’s illegal!”

“We’ll do it for medicinal purposes,” he countered.  “We’d be doing them a service.”

In a way, Randy had a point.  Leigh had seen plenty of news stories on how marijuana had helped ease the pain for those with PTSD and terminal diseases.  She had witnessed the horrible death her own mother went through with cancer and sort of wished that marijuana had been available to her.

“I guess a few plants won’t hurt anybody,” she said.

After a year, Randy was ready to move on to selling Oxycontin and Percocets.

“Are you crazy?!” Leigh balked.

“No, I’m compassionate. Doctors don’t realize the lingering effects that come with whiplash.  Or what about those poor people who have had limbs amputated?  Ever heard of phantom limb pain?  Think about someone other than yourself for a change, Leigh.”

Leigh relented, and soon thereafter she relented even further when Randy suggested that they start manufacturing crystal meth.

“That’s where the real money is,” he told her.

Now, you can probably get away with having a few marijuana plants in your house, maybe even a complete grow up.  It could take the cops awhile to figure out who the new pill pusher in town is as well.  But when your entire garage gets blown to bits, people are going to ask questions.

Questions lead to answers.  Answers lead to search warrants.  Search warrants lead to arrests.  Arrests lead to stiff jail terms, or in Leigh’s case a reduced sentence in exchange for ratting out Randy.

You just never know where life will take you.  Today, it has lead Leigh to the prison laundry room where she’s washing orange jumpsuit after orange jumpsuit.

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