~ a story ~
“So, how is he paying for this ride: cash, grass, or ass?”
“The second option, actually.”
I should not have been surprised. It was 4/20 after all. But it wasn’t until he answered my off-the-cuff question that I remembered the date and the preferred way many folks celebrated it.
Still, the next few moments shocked me. I watched as Zane opened the baggie of weed. There wasn’t much there, but he was only rolling one joint. York sat shot gun. I stayed quiet in the back.
As Zane packed the rolling paper, he and York were laughing and chatting. The ride back had been full of giggles from me, but now I was stunned silent.
When Zane finished, he used York’s lighter to spark up the joint. He puff-puff-passed. York took a hit, then pivoted his body back towards me.
“You want some?”
While they were smoking, I thought about how I would answer this question. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was going to say until I actually said it.
I had to remind myself the point was to inhale. I mentally encouraged my lungs to suck in the smoke. There was this almost perfect moment when I puffed, puffed, and then held the air in my lungs. When I let the smoke escape, feeling way too cool for school in the amount of smoke that came out, a small mellow came over me. This was not like the weed I’d had many years ago in my less than fruitful times. I didn’t giggle like mad or find everything hysterical. Instead I just sat, relaxed.
The weed came around two more times before the joint was done. The guys chatted. I sat back and just tried to remind myself they actually like me as a person, wanted me there in the car. Just be cool may have run through my mind a few times.
During my last taste of the weed, I puff-puff-relaxed. I looked at Zane. His eyes. His hair. His smile. I remembered the off-the-wall conversations we’d had. How I liked being around him. How whenever I saw him I smiled. How I wished I saw him more.
Hey, I like him. I think I want to fuck him. Maybe more than fuck him. Okay, high or not, don’t say that out loud.
The joint finished, we all disbursed.
Zane and I both immediately went home. As Zane drove, I saw that his driving had changed. Zane loved to speed, so when he was going way under the speed limit I worried. I texted him.
Yeah, I’m great.
While smoking, he mentioned how he can’t speed when he’s high. I proceeded to watch him in my rear view mirror. We were going in the same direction, so I made sure he was okay until my exit. I then texted him again, asking if he got home okay. He did.
Sitting in the back of Zane’s car, smoking a joint and shooting the shit, was the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time. I was mellow, mostly carefree. The stress of my days melted away in the haze of smoke surrounding us.
I’m not saying I’m going to turn into a pothead. I don’t have the money to afford it, nor do I have a hookup. But what I will say… Sometimes people just need to chill.
Categorised as: Gen Fiction
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