very, very real. On the wall were stuffed moose heads but, what really tied the room together, was the upstanding mountain lion frozen in full attack pounce in the corner near the far end of the table. If you listened closely, I bet you could have heard these things in their last moments of life. I didn’t even know Vin’s dad was a hunter…or, for that matter, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he bought all these on trips or vacations. Money makes people bored. There was the white fur rug in the living room, and the big, ornate rifle with etched tree roots on the barrel, framed above the doorway. This was all offset by dark wood walls and flooring. The house looked like it belonged to the bad guy from Ace Ventura 2: When Nature Calls . Beth, after closely examining some of the specimens, perhaps seeing them for the first time, was understandably freaked out. I took to wondering how neither of us was quite prepared for this eccentricity in the Thomas’ home. There was a certain horror evident on both our faces.
Beth finished her beer and I followed her out of the pet cemetery and into the kitchen, where the bottle she tossed away clinked and bounced around at the bottom of a plastic recycling can. I pulled the one-hitter and the baggie of pot from my hoodie pocket. The sour scent from the open bag pervaded the kitchen as a couple in the doorway casually looked over to see if the smell was, in fact, drugs. There were no dead skunks stuffed up on these walls. Previous knowledge of Vin, and this crowd’s taste in cinema, had led me to remove the contraband and paraphernalia from my car, stow it away in my pocket, and bring it into the hipster freak-fest.
“Will you look at this backsplash,” Beth said while examining the ornate tile pattern behind the kitchen faucet. She ran her hands over it while I concentrated on how my high was shifting into big-head mode. I was starting to feel the weights hanging off my ears dragging my whole upper body down to the floor. With the baggie opened and costing much-needed freshness, I packed the incognito device and made a move towards the door attached to the kitchen. I had the glass cigarette braced between my fingers. It was still warm from my pocket. First I opened the massive wooden inner door, then the outer screen door. A wreath reading, “Home is Where I Stay. Love Is What I Give Away” bounced against the door violently.
I heard Beth muffling words through the doors but I was too focused on lighting the already-blackened end of my piece. I inhaled nothing close to smooth and, as I held the burning smoke back in my lungs, I looked through the kitchen window at this weird hanging lamp. It was one of those expensive, optical illusion lamps that appear to float above the countertop when, in reality, they are held in place by thin wire. Between the modern art and the animal mausoleum, I could see why Vin spent his time working on one endless screenplay for one endless movie with an endless supply of cigarettes. I saw Beth’s head criss-cross back and forth past the window, each time obscuring my view of the lamp. She was pacing back and forth looking down at what could have only been her cell phone. Just as the screen door handle pressed in and the springs began to tighten as the door swung open, I let the smoke out into the air. Pot mixed up with the oxygen and the nitrogen, then swirled up into the night sky.
Beth never did drugs and she rarely drank. It was a truly personal choice of hers, as she never judged James and I, no matter how far from sober we were. The whole time we were dating, I could count on one hand how many times I saw her drunk. We’d be at a party in town, and I’d lose her for a half hour, and when I saw her again, she’d be wearing this sly smile. She’d try to lock her fingers in my belt loops and pull me in for makeout sessions in front of everyone. It was uninhibited, dangerous, and it made me feel like I was on some reality TV show. I’m not sure what
Beth finished her beer and I followed her out of the pet cemetery and into the kitchen, where the bottle she tossed away clinked and bounced around at the bottom of a plastic recycling can. I pulled the one-hitter and the baggie of pot from my hoodie pocket. The sour scent from the open bag pervaded the kitchen as a couple in the doorway casually looked over to see if the smell was, in fact, drugs. There were no dead skunks stuffed up on these walls. Previous knowledge of Vin, and this crowd’s taste in cinema, had led me to remove the contraband and paraphernalia from my car, stow it away in my pocket, and bring it into the hipster freak-fest.
“Will you look at this backsplash,” Beth said while examining the ornate tile pattern behind the kitchen faucet. She ran her hands over it while I concentrated on how my high was shifting into big-head mode. I was starting to feel the weights hanging off my ears dragging my whole upper body down to the floor. With the baggie opened and costing much-needed freshness, I packed the incognito device and made a move towards the door attached to the kitchen. I had the glass cigarette braced between my fingers. It was still warm from my pocket. First I opened the massive wooden inner door, then the outer screen door. A wreath reading, “Home is Where I Stay. Love Is What I Give Away” bounced against the door violently.
I heard Beth muffling words through the doors but I was too focused on lighting the already-blackened end of my piece. I inhaled nothing close to smooth and, as I held the burning smoke back in my lungs, I looked through the kitchen window at this weird hanging lamp. It was one of those expensive, optical illusion lamps that appear to float above the countertop when, in reality, they are held in place by thin wire. Between the modern art and the animal mausoleum, I could see why Vin spent his time working on one endless screenplay for one endless movie with an endless supply of cigarettes. I saw Beth’s head criss-cross back and forth past the window, each time obscuring my view of the lamp. She was pacing back and forth looking down at what could have only been her cell phone. Just as the screen door handle pressed in and the springs began to tighten as the door swung open, I let the smoke out into the air. Pot mixed up with the oxygen and the nitrogen, then swirled up into the night sky.
Beth never did drugs and she rarely drank. It was a truly personal choice of hers, as she never judged James and I, no matter how far from sober we were. The whole time we were dating, I could count on one hand how many times I saw her drunk. We’d be at a party in town, and I’d lose her for a half hour, and when I saw her again, she’d be wearing this sly smile. She’d try to lock her fingers in my belt loops and pull me in for makeout sessions in front of everyone. It was uninhibited, dangerous, and it made me feel like I was on some reality TV show. I’m not sure what
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