#everything changed when

You hear the rapid knocking at the heavy wooden door of room 465. You hardly even think twice as you call out "Just a minute!" People are always at your door, not specifically for your roommates, who while they are well liked, aren't particularly as well known, since they prefer to stay at home or with a close group of friends. You on the other hand are known throughout the whole dorm building, you're well liked on the floor, and why shouldn't you be? You're always down to have a good time, and you're best friends with all the best looking girls on the floor so naturally everyone knows you as the one "gay guy who hangs out with the three smoking hot girls who live on the fourth floor,"  When you see a pair of Resident Assistants their lime green housing shirts catching the light, you know there should have been warning bells. Something. You know that you're in violation of at least a dozen Housing Rules and Policies, but for some god forsaken reason you open your door.  They seem cheery enough and as they step inside, you take no notice to the female scenting around, obviously picking up on something while you converse with her partner, a male RA who is in charge of the fourth floor. They inquire briefly about your roommates whereabouts and you inform that they've packed up and left for Christmas vacation. Your own checkout is just a day or so later, since you've missed your ride with a friend from FIU. But they don't say anything, and you don't worry too much despite the 1/8 of marijuana that you have hidden in the top drawer of your dresser. You can't smell it, so why should they? Or at least that was your messed up thinking at the time. So you settle back down to bed in your admittedly dirty room, which is a notorious landmark of the fourth floor. But you've got a single, so it's not like your keeping anyone else's living space dirty but your own, and you help keep the common areas pristine. Just as you're getting ready to click the next episode on your Netflix que. Another knocking comes as they bellow out, "Housing!" And you scramble for your discarded basketball shorts. Standing at your door, is the female RA from earlier and her boss, the resident coordinator of two of the dorm buildings located on the housing quad. She's friendly enough that you invite her in, trying not to show your apprehension. Instantly you can tell she's troubled.

"Your room reeks," She says wrinkling her nose. 

You think that she means the apparent mess, you smile bashfully and apologize for the mess and inform that you will be cleaning up in time for your check-out date with your RA on the following day, but she interrupts you and says,  "No I mean your room reeks like weed buddy,"  

Instantly you're put on the defensive, and you try and play it off. She asks if you've been smoking weed, and you fervently deny it. That's the truth. You don't smoke in the dorm mostly because of the central AC that wafts strong odors throughout the entire floor, almost begging for an entire shakeup of the floor. So you've never smoked in your dorm room, or even on campus for that matter. Always at the edge of campus, in the woods behind the President of the University's manor house, or at the house of your dealer, who only dealt to you because of your association with one of your attractive friends he had met during the summer.

By now you're nervous. She acts you to show you the large handicapped bathroom and you do, there's nothing in there. She asks if you have any weed in your room. You nervously say, "No" but she senses the hesitation in your voice. She asks you again, warning you that lying will only get you in more trouble and that they have probable cause and could call the Campus Police and get a search dog to scent out my room. 

At this point you're very nervous, and shifting from foot to foot, unable to keep your calm. She asks you one more time, and you admit slowly that you do. At no time do you think to claim that it isn't yours. Because in truth it isn't. You're only holding it for a friend who didn't have anyone else to turn to. You did it because you pity the kid. Because you were stupid, and thought you wouldn't possibly get caught. How many times had you had a few nuggets for your personal use before. How many times had you given your prescription Adderall to students in exchange for a few bucks the week before exams? How could you just now be getting caught; you know at least a dozen people on the floor with much worse and harder drugs in their possession. 

But you've admitted that you have it. You're crying now. The tears running down your face as your calm composure melts and reveals you for the fragile, nervous wreck that you are. You feel like you can hardly breathe, as you walk to your dresser and shift under several pairs of underwear and reach for the plastic bag and bowl pipe that you keep at the very back of the drawer.  The Coordinator looks at her employee and looks back at you, the disappointment so apparent in her eyes, you're a well liked student in the housing and can often be found at the front security desk chatting with the RAs late night as they monitor the common lobby. She coached you on the Quidditch Pitch, helped you start your club from literally the ground up. She's disappointed with you on a personal level, you've talked to her about your family's impending financial crisis. She understands you fairly well but she can't understand why...why you've done this. 

And that's when the tears start to flow most bitterly, and you gasp for air as you hope that maybe just maybe she'll let it slide, you know that you will never bring weed back to a campus building ever agan! Hell, if she made you swear off the stuff you probably would.

Your stomach hitches, your breath catches in your throat and your sobs become more like strangled cries. Even the accompanying RA hesitates as she dials the Campus Police...know you're not just afraid of being removed from housing. You're terrified of being arrested. You could easily go to jail for that amount with a charge for paraphernalia as well. "Please don't let them send me to jail," You sob pathetically as you wait for them to come to your room. The wait feels like forever. The room is silent and more than once you think that you're going to be sick. The Coordinator asks you to remove the chair from your room and to sit in the common hall which isn't very big and only serves as a connector to the other rooms and the bathroom. You feel closed in, the two women looking somewhat sympathetically at you as you sob uncontrollably.  The time feels so much longer than it should, you can hardly feel time moving. Your entire world is crashing down, coming to an end. One breath. Another. Followed by several more ragged ones. The knock comes and you know who it is before they even identify themselves, and you open the door and try to invite them in with as much composure as you can manage. You know your eyes are puffy and red from crying, and you know that you already squeaky voice is shaking from the emotion and despair. You can hear your voice crack an octave and a half above its already excited pitch as you sit down. The Coordinator briefly explains that you were cooperative, if a little upset, and that you had willing forfeited the evidence. He admits in a half joking tone that he could smell it from down the hallway, but it does nothing to ease the tension in the room. He asks if you have any more, and you know that you don't. You've given him everything. You promise him. You swear. Your voice flooded with the most conviction since this entire ordeal started.  Time has fluctuated impossibly since this whole thing started. You can hardly even judge how long you've been sitting there. Your brow is beaded with a cold sweat as though you've been living in a nightmare--though you know you aren't since you pinched yourself in while waiting for the cop just to be sure--and you hardly even notice as he pushes a piece of paper in front of you. From what you gather from a brief scanning is that you are submitting and that a search was not necessary and that no arrest will be made. You blink back tears and gratefully sign the paper. Since it's campus police they didn't report it to the outside authorities. Perhaps your only break in this entire situation.  The next day you pack your stuff. Not to move back for a few weeks and enjoy Christmas break, but indefinitely. You've been suspended from campus housing for a year. You know that you'll never be able to afford off campus housing, and you're required to pay back $3,000 for the room that will not be used during the Spring Semester since you signed a one year lease. So even if someone isn't living in it, you'll still be paying for it. And you know that with that kind of debt, you know that they won't even let you get your transcript. So until you pay that debt....you life is over. 

Over because of one stupid, and totally avoidable mistake