Sorry for falling off the wagon.
That being said, the new house is amazing.
Anywho:
The couch has ribbed fabric. It's really soft. I like the way it feels on my legs. I have one arm resting on the arm rest and my fingers are fiddling with the texture. I'm trying to not look nervous, but I'm at the mercy of Andrew, my friend, who kind of settled me on the couch and went to the bathroom. My folded cane is in my right fist. I let my head fall onto the back of the couch. The cushioning is aged, but overall I'd buy it. Right now I might prefer to be deaf. The music is really slow, but the base is turned up and it feels like I'm a rock on the coast being smashed by waves of bad sounds, or bad feelings. My friend is back and sits next to me on the couch. He keeps telling me how high he is. I hate dub step, but this house is the only place around to get good weed. Maybe that's why the couch feels so good. I pop the cane into its straightened position and stand up. I've been here 6 or 7 times, and I'm pretty sure I can make it to the downstairs half bath.
I didn't take into account the people. There's only 8 people here, but people don't pay much attention to where I am until I'm poking them with my cane. And then they are incredbibly apologetic.... though if they would speak to me, I wouldn't have to poke them. Having a dog is way more effective. People want to pet the dog. People want to talk about how smart the dog is. The dog is a conversation catalyst. I didn't bring him because the first time there was a strobe light and it freaked him out.
Lee is here. She is fantastic. She plays volleyball and smells like dirt. Maybe dirt wasn't what I meant, but she smells earthy; not made up, not fake. I ran into her (poked her) on the way to the bathroom. We are both pre-med so we have pretty much the same schedule. I like her because she is such a deviation from the norm. She likes Jump Little Children and always sings in open mic nights; changing top 40's hits into jazzy moaning. I'm pretty sure she likes me.
Trevor is my dealer, and the guy who lives here. I hear him say my name. He's in the kitchen when I walk back through to the living room and I hear wet bristly sounds. I walk over to the sink and he tells me to come with him. We go outside on the porch and he tells me he's painting the sunset. We got to his house after 9 pm, so I don't know what he's using as a reference, but he asks me what I think. He's also high, so I don't know if I should remind him I can't see, or if I should play along, or if I should laugh like he's made a joke. I wait for a moment, and he pats my shoulder and says, "yeah, me too buddy."
The best thing about hanging out with people that smoke pot is that you never hear retching. I hate frat parties or typical house parties where people drink too much and end up lying in their own vomit for hours. The sound of vomit hitting the concrete from one story up is haunting. The stories you hear of mistakes made while blackout drunk aren't much better. Our 'parties' are just playing video games, painting, and talking. New people are always passing through. It feels more intellectual. I imagine that in 15 years or so we'll be doing the same thing but drinking wine. My parents like wine. I don't. I don't like alcohol.
I walk back inside to the couch, and sit on the other end. Someone is sitting next to me that I don't know, and on the furthest end, where was sitting earlier, is Lee. She sighs loudly and asks the person between us if she's met me. The girl moves around in her seat and then I hear a raspy voice introduce herself. I stick my hand out to shake her hand. After a few seconds she puts her hand in mine and gives me a little jerk. She definitely isn't high. She starts asking me questions a mile a minute. After what feels like an eternity, a guy asks her if she wants to play scrabble. She accepts, and then dismisses herself.
Andrew comes up and asks if I'm ready to leave. I stand up and pop out my cane, and walk towards the door. I poked 3 people along the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment