I haven’t bought in weeks. Hasn’t been on my mind. “High on life, bro,” I reply. “New girlfriend.”
He slaps me on the back with one hand and simultaneously takes the fiddy and shoves the Ziploc in my hoodie pocket with the other. “Ass trumps my product? You old dog.” Then he punches me in the shoulder, way harder than necessary.
“Whoa,” I say, bristling as I rub the point of impact. Not sure if I’m saltier about the assault on my bod or on Simone’s character. I haven’t laid a hand on her yet because I’m waiting for the right moment.
I say, “She’s a really nice girl, it’s not like that.”
He takes a step back from me, transaction complete. Smirking, he replies, “Figures you can’t close the deal. Flaccid-Foley-Feinstein, you’re a triple threat.”
Sorta of hate Jasper sometimes.
Sucks that he’s a necessary evil, so I have to be cool. I take out the baggie and pack my pipe and then I grab my lighter. I offer the full bowl to him first. “You in?” I ask.
He refuses. “I don’t get high on my own supply.”
“Please, Biggie Smalls, you get high on your own supply all the time,” I reply. We used to play lacrosse together and trust me, Jasper was Captain Pre-Game.
He shrugs. “Then I guess I’m a hypocrite. Taking off. See you later, Folsturbater.” He sprints back up the embankment, so sure of himself that he travels up the practically vertical face with his paws in his pockets. He won’t need his hands free to catch himself if he falls because the Jasper Gateses of this world never fall. This kid lives such a charmed life. He’s, like, the luckiest dude in North Shore.
When he’s out of sight, I light my pipe, careful to not ignite all the contents at once. Trick is to leave some green. You blaze up the whole thing and that’s a one-way ticket to a scorched esophagus and a coughing fit. Rookie mistake. I place my finger over the carb (air intake hole) and inhale, long and steady.
I hold the smoke in my lungs for a solid ten count, and then I blow out a slow stream. A feeling of peace and tranquility washes over me and the universe turns Technicolor, like when Dorothy finally lands in Oz.
The birds’ songs are suddenly almost too sweet to bear and the woods around me smell of damp earth, teeming with life. The scene is so moving that I have to swallow down the lump in my throat.
How could anyone be unhappy on a day like this? How could I be unhappy? The air tastes like baked apples and the forest looks like someone dumped out a bowl of Froot Loops, with equal parts of green, red, orange, and yellow leaves.
Another hit and I’m cool with my parents again. They do their best. They’re trying, right? A for effort, if not execution. My mom did come in late last night and kiss me on the cheek when she thought I was asleep. I liked that. And my pops said something about this being the year we finally make it to the Sundance Film Festival. Maybe that’ll happen, maybe it won’t, but I’m stoked he offered. I’m going to hug him when he gets home tonight. He’s a righteous dude.
I am filled with love.
I love my family.
I love being outside.
I love the combination of pineapple and tomato sauce and ricotta and ham. Sounds sick and wrong and definitely not kashrut, but it’s everything.
I love dogs. We should get a dog because I would really, really love him. Like a pug or a Pekinese or a pit bull. Something with a P, for sure.
I love Robert DeNiro in Godfather II.
I repack the bowl and take another hit.
I love this time of year and I can’t wait to show Simone boss old horror movies like The Omen and The Exorcist. I love that they might scare her and she’ll have to climb into my lap.
I could love Simone.
Obviously not yet because I’m building a friendship first. Haven’t laid a finger on her. But I could see it happening at some point in the not-too-distant future, though. Maybe Wednesday?
No.
Today.
I’m absolutely gonna kiss her when I see her. Screw my whole waiting-for-the-perfect-cinematographic-moment plan. I’m done waiting. Don’t care. It’s time. At this point, she might not even realize I like her that way, so I plan to show her. Girl, you are exiting the friend zone in three...two...one...
I take a fourth hit. This is way more than I usually smoke, but I’m celebrating. All my thoughts turn to Simone. She’s been awesome these past few weeks, like interesting and deep and we don’t talk about nonsense like clothing or video games. We connect.
Last night Simone’s folks took her, Kent, and me out for frozen yogurt after my movie and we spent a ton of time debating about renewable energy sources. Windmills for the win!
Forgot how much I liked Kent. We had some good times at astronomy camp together before seventh grade. A bunch of us from Cherokee Elementary ended up there together. Kent and I were bunk-mates, which was nice. He’d been there the summer before, so he knew everyone. He was supposed to room with Stephen Cho, but Cho’s grandfather had gotten sick and he couldn’t come.
Kent and I would sit there in the darkened planetarium, clicking our laser pointers, pretending we were shooting Imperial Star Destroyers, his Luke to my Han. Then we came home and Stephen was his shadow. Don’t know why, but I just didn’t dig Stephen’s energy. Too negative or too hyper or too something. Always made me feel off-kilter. Ever since then I’ve lumped Kent and Stephen together. Didn’t occur to me that I could hang with one without the other.
Anyway, we got into this epic discussion last night about whether free will is a thing and Kent started throwing out stuff about quantum mechanics and how Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle proves its existence and I went home with my mind utterly blown. (Kinda wish I’d gone to physics camp now.) So, while I thought the evening was going to be a bad scene after Mom and Dad were no-shows, it ended up pretty good.
Especially the being around Simone part.
Simone knows I smoke sometimes and she’s fine with that. She did say she’s not interested in joining me because she just can’t eat that much sodium. Didn’t know what that meant, but I nodded like I did.
Wait...
Is she really fine?
Or is the sodium thing a red herring?
Is that why we haven’t moved out of the friend zone?
What if her being okay with my smoking is just one of those things you say in the beginning of a relationship, because it’s not a deal-breaker, but it’s not something you condone? Kind of, no, it’s fine if you leave your empty Starbucks cups in my car, when you actually mean, I don’t mind having to pick up after you all the time, you goddamned littering litterbug, as you currently possess just enough redeeming qualities that this isn’t the hill I want to die on. Like that.
Does weed make her mad?
Would she be pissed to know what I’m doing right now?
I feel like she might be mad.
Shit.
She’s gonna be mad.
She’s gonna be real mad and she’s gonna dump me before we ever even achieve Simowen status.