What-if… and would “what-if” ever change what has come to pass?

Dear “What-if?” you are not much help to hear or think of because no “what if” ever helped, not me, not you, and not anyone who ever thought the words or tried them.

And indeed, not John.

The son, the friend, and the extension of the lost girl who left us too young and went on to the other life.

But why is John thinking of what-ifs?

Don’t we all do that, you would ask?

Yes, we do, but it was neither expected nor sought out in his case.

A happy-go-lucky child with the sunshine in his golden curls, and even at 5, he needed no motivation, nor did he need it when he aced those tests with flying colors when he was twelve.

But the boldness and motivation did not come alone; they came with curiosity and the speed of lightning to try everything. Nothing scared him, not a critter or a spider that he held with his bare hand as a toddler while other children screamed or ran away in disgust.

And the world is swamped with inventions that this curious soul wanted to explore.

A science gadget in the science lab, or making one himself, or that poor hapless harmonica that came apart into pieces and was put together again.

That is John.

Do you get the picture?

So, when the inventions at his fingertips had all been exhausted and those naughty teen years had arrived, the inquisitive fingers wanted to try a cigarette here and a burnt-off end there.

Are those innovations?

The world thinks so, and every day, there is something new in that department, and our kids are part of the world.

That is how dear John found himself trying one thing after another, and his curiosity was not quenched.

So, the next stage was trying a gadget that, oh wonder, did the work of cigarettes.

And from gadget to gadget, then it was just one wrong turn to the left, to the bad boys for more wonderous adventures; who knew better about adventures than the bad boys?

It was a turn from which there was no return.

There was no return because the day came when the gadget de jour was filled with a substance that was better than anything he had tried previously; the explanations and cajoling went on and on.

“Try it!”

They urged him, and he did.

The trial came with assurances that it was just some fun, with no harm whatsoever.

But then, assurances were part of the package, weren’t they?

And try he did, not once or twice but more. Every time, that whiff took him into places and feelings that were hitherto unknown, and the pink cloud that he floated in was irresistible.

And the inventions that went into these gadgets were endless.

Until the day when the trying went beyond expectations into the synthetic world and the pink cloud that went on for hours.

Of course, the assurances that it is a safe substance and that scientists invented it without any side effects were always there to push him on.

One time, too many, and the pink became a norm and something to be sought out, an attraction and a comfort zone.

And then it became a habit.

The quick brain that was John, went searching for facts, but it was too late.

He was deeply mired in the mud.

Did the facts help?

No, but they told him what he had never thought to hear: " You are too far gone, and that substance is a habit-forming substance, and you, my dear John, are over your ears, and you won't be able to stop.”

And the tightrope he had been walking for years, thinking that he had a handle on the adventures alongside the studies and that he was unconquerable, flipped.

And he fell.

He fell captive to a few leaf-like pieces of the synthetic substance that he got used to and could not stop.

The bright boy was gone, as were the studies, the upbringing, and the bright future.

School became a thing of the past, along with everything else that had filled the mind and life of a child who could have had a bright future.

And though he came clean, confessed, and pulled himself out of the pit of addiction alone, it took him years.

And now, standing in front of the mirror, he sees an old, dilapidated man, way beyond his twenty-five years. His beard is long and unkempt, his head balding, his stance bent, and his face slack and wrinkly.

Wrinkles at twenty-five?

Well, twenty-five is the number on the birth certificate but actually the effort it took him to pull out of the dark pit made him and old man way beyond imagination.

He looks like he is in his late forties, but when he goes out of the house, he is like a child of just barely twelve or fourteen.

That is the chunk of life he lost.

The chunk he would never get back.

The life that he lost to the little leaf-like pieces he had tried one too many times until they robbed him of his life, his self-control, and took his self-esteem and slashed it all over the sidewalk.

And the question would be, why did he not take up where he stopped?

Can a twenty-five-year-old join seventeen-year-olds and sit once more in the classroom, and can a person who hasn’t held a pen in ten years dedicate himself to pen, paper, and lectures?

Yes, it can be done, but it seems the motivation was sucked out of him along with those wisps of leaves that he burned and sucked out of the little Bafra papers.

Yet, it was the dedication and zeal of a motivated scientist who invented the things our children fall prey to.

And the mother sighs sadly for the life robbed out of her little boy, and she wonders what-if those inventions had not come to be?

He is not so little anymore and can say no to those things, comes the ready answer. And the reply would be, but when the little ones fall prey to these things, they are too young to say no or know what is good for them.

By the time they realize what they are in, it is too late, and only the strongest can create a new life out of the one they had burned off to the accompaniment of the wisps of leaves that are not really leaves but are marketed as little harmless leaves and what's so bad about having just a little bit of fun.

And how many Johns and what-ifs, lost lives, sad mothers, and boys or girls aged beyond their years do we have across the globe?

And for what?

An invention that should never have been.

Can we even count how many of those inventions we have?

And the world would have been a much better place without any of them, wouldn’t it?