our friendship!”
We drink the watery soup, stopping every once in a while to chew the mushroom bits. When we are done, we slam our mugs down on the table and stare at each other. I can hardly hold back the excitement. But nothing happens. We wait another half hour and, still, nothing happens.
“We got ripped off,” I announce angrily, pulling back my chair.
“No we didn’t,” Carla says. “My own fuckin’ brother wouldn’t rip me off.”
“Whatever,” I say, thoroughly pissed. “What a waste of cash.”
We move into the living room and turn on the TV. We are not talking to each other. Every once in a while I mutter how much of a waste this was and Carla tells me to shut up. But then, after about two hours, I’m watching the TV and I see people’s faces start drooping and bulging, and rainbows trail behind their moving bodies like rustling flags.
I look over to Carla, who is staring glaze-faced at the television. “You see that?” I ask, and though she doesn’t respond, I think she must, because she starts laughing uncontrollably.
Time becomes liquid. I pick up my mug and stare down a hole a thousand feet deep. I want more. My upper lip detaches from my mouth, creeping over the rim like a wet slug. I watch it inch slowly to the bottom of the mug, sucking the last drops of cold liquid with its pulsating mouth. Butterfly wings miraculously sprout from its side and then my winged lip floats out into the room, my hands wildly trying to capture it in flight. I call for Carla to help, but she just sits there, laughing and pointing at my nose, trying to say something that only comes out as incomprehensible giggles. We move out to the apartment courtyard, where wet grass licks our bare feet with a thousand hungry tongues. Our sore stomachs ache from laughter as we take turns watching light drip like honey through a plastic water bottle balanced on our foreheads.
When things become ugly and real once more, we lie in the dark, back on the couch, eating chips and watching MuchMusic. I am in a bad mood, disappointed I can’t stay in that magic world, pissed at Carla for not bringing more. I scan the room with disappointed eyes, no longer able to see the beauty in the ugliness around me. And then the phone rings. It’s Mark. He’s mad that I did ’shrooms, tells me he doesn’t want me getting into that stuff. I tell him it was just this once and then I lie and say it was awful.
“It’s that Carla bitch,” he says. “She drags you into this crap.”
“Shut up!” I want to say more, but I can’t, because Carla is staring at me as I talk. “I can make my own decisions.”
For some reason, Mark backs down. He tells me to come over, he wants to see me. When I tell him I’m staying with Carla, he gets all sweet and starts saying how much he misses me in his bed. His voice sounds so good, I consider going but I look to Carla, who knows what’s going on, and she shoots me an evil look. She gestures for me to hang up.
“I can’t come,” I say firmly. But then Marks gets all mad, telling me I can’t always be the one who gets to choose when I come over. That sometimes he should get a choice. He tells me Carla is jealous that I have a boyfriend and that I shouldn’t let her tell me what to do. He keeps going on about it, getting more and more mad, until finally I tell him I’ll be over in an hour and hang up the phone.
“It’s just easier if I go,” I explain to Carla, who’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head at me. “You can stay in my room. Elsie won’t care.”
“As if,” she says angrily. “Why’s he such an asshole?”
“You don’t know him,” I say defensively. “He’s not like that.” And I can’t explain because no one understands him the way I do.
Mark treats everyone like shit and people can’t understand how we’ve lasted so long. No one crosses Mark because they know he doesn’t care, doesn’t care whether you’re a friend or a stranger; he’ll turn on you
We drink the watery soup, stopping every once in a while to chew the mushroom bits. When we are done, we slam our mugs down on the table and stare at each other. I can hardly hold back the excitement. But nothing happens. We wait another half hour and, still, nothing happens.
“We got ripped off,” I announce angrily, pulling back my chair.
“No we didn’t,” Carla says. “My own fuckin’ brother wouldn’t rip me off.”
“Whatever,” I say, thoroughly pissed. “What a waste of cash.”
We move into the living room and turn on the TV. We are not talking to each other. Every once in a while I mutter how much of a waste this was and Carla tells me to shut up. But then, after about two hours, I’m watching the TV and I see people’s faces start drooping and bulging, and rainbows trail behind their moving bodies like rustling flags.
I look over to Carla, who is staring glaze-faced at the television. “You see that?” I ask, and though she doesn’t respond, I think she must, because she starts laughing uncontrollably.
Time becomes liquid. I pick up my mug and stare down a hole a thousand feet deep. I want more. My upper lip detaches from my mouth, creeping over the rim like a wet slug. I watch it inch slowly to the bottom of the mug, sucking the last drops of cold liquid with its pulsating mouth. Butterfly wings miraculously sprout from its side and then my winged lip floats out into the room, my hands wildly trying to capture it in flight. I call for Carla to help, but she just sits there, laughing and pointing at my nose, trying to say something that only comes out as incomprehensible giggles. We move out to the apartment courtyard, where wet grass licks our bare feet with a thousand hungry tongues. Our sore stomachs ache from laughter as we take turns watching light drip like honey through a plastic water bottle balanced on our foreheads.
When things become ugly and real once more, we lie in the dark, back on the couch, eating chips and watching MuchMusic. I am in a bad mood, disappointed I can’t stay in that magic world, pissed at Carla for not bringing more. I scan the room with disappointed eyes, no longer able to see the beauty in the ugliness around me. And then the phone rings. It’s Mark. He’s mad that I did ’shrooms, tells me he doesn’t want me getting into that stuff. I tell him it was just this once and then I lie and say it was awful.
“It’s that Carla bitch,” he says. “She drags you into this crap.”
“Shut up!” I want to say more, but I can’t, because Carla is staring at me as I talk. “I can make my own decisions.”
For some reason, Mark backs down. He tells me to come over, he wants to see me. When I tell him I’m staying with Carla, he gets all sweet and starts saying how much he misses me in his bed. His voice sounds so good, I consider going but I look to Carla, who knows what’s going on, and she shoots me an evil look. She gestures for me to hang up.
“I can’t come,” I say firmly. But then Marks gets all mad, telling me I can’t always be the one who gets to choose when I come over. That sometimes he should get a choice. He tells me Carla is jealous that I have a boyfriend and that I shouldn’t let her tell me what to do. He keeps going on about it, getting more and more mad, until finally I tell him I’ll be over in an hour and hang up the phone.
“It’s just easier if I go,” I explain to Carla, who’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head at me. “You can stay in my room. Elsie won’t care.”
“As if,” she says angrily. “Why’s he such an asshole?”
“You don’t know him,” I say defensively. “He’s not like that.” And I can’t explain because no one understands him the way I do.
Mark treats everyone like shit and people can’t understand how we’ve lasted so long. No one crosses Mark because they know he doesn’t care, doesn’t care whether you’re a friend or a stranger; he’ll turn on you
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