had rushed to
get to the hospital. A drunk driver had crashed into their car on the way.
My mom and dad had died instantly. My sister, Ruthie, had died while they
were on their way. I was left alone to grieve the loss of all three of
them. My best friend was away at college, and had only called once. I
didn’t want to rehash those memories right now. Between those memories and the
horrific events of the day, I could use a drink myself.
“Ya. Ok.” I said and reached my hand out for the bottle.
Boggs handed it to me and watched me drink. The light amber liquid burned
my throat, but I drank heavily wanting to numb the pain.
Gus’ hand gently took the bottle
from me. “Ok, darlin’ that’s enough. Gotta keep
our wits about us.”
“Gus, you’re not from around here
are you?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” he replied.
“You talk funny,” I said without
much enthusiasm.
Gus stretched, and then
answered. “I moved out here a couple years ago. I’m from South
Carolina. Long story, different life.”
It was pretty clear that Gus
didn’t want to talk about his past in any detail. I didn’t push for any
more information.
I heard Boggs strike a match and
watched as he held it to the clay pipe that Uncle Chuck had kindly left
behind. A puff of smoke went up in the air and just as quickly
disappeared as he took a drag, filling his lungs. He closed his eyes and
laid his head back against the bean bag, holding his breath as long as he
could. He finally let the sickly sweet smoke escape. The room
filled with the scent of skunk that pot can mimic, which mingled with the smell
of decay that still clung to our skin and noses. Boggs passed the pipe to
Gus, who followed the ritual then handed it to me. Boggs lay back again
and was watching me in a way I had never seen him do before. Gus watched
me and when he noticed me just staring at the pipe, clueless, he reached into
one of the shoeboxes and produced a pinch of dried weed.
“Hold it to your mouth and I’ll
light it. Just breathe it in and hold it until you can’t anymore.”
I did as instructed. The smoke began to fill my lungs, and they protested
loudly in a fit of hacking. Boggs sat up.
“Jesus, you guys. Gus, she’s
never done it before.”
Gus chuckled like a school
girl. “Ya, I could tell.”
Between coughing fits I asked,
“Can I try again?”
“No, you cannot,” asserted
Boggs. He took the pipe from my hand and relit it for himself.
After his toke, he relaxed into the bean bag again.
Gus took the pipe from the other
man. “Here, Zoe. Just breathe in when I blow it at you,” he
instructed. He lit it, sucked the smoke into his mouth and blew it
at my face. I inhaled it more easily this way, and held it in my lungs as my
brain numbed and the world around me spun refreshingly slow. He set the
pipe aside to rest on the shelf while the three of us laid back to enjoy the
warmth of the fire. I nestled in next to Boggs, my arm against his bare
chest, enjoying the warmth from his body as much as I enjoyed the heat from the
fire. My head was starting to spin from the alcohol and for the first
time in a long time I felt semi-content.
“You’re hot, Zoe,” mumbled Boggs.
“Uh, thanks?” I said sleepily.
“No, I mean you feel like you’re
feverish,” he clarified.
Gus crawled over to us and I felt
his cool hand touch my forehead. I slept after that.
Chapter
4
When I woke, the fire had died,
leaving the stone room cold and damp. The beginnings of morning light
filtered in through the two small openings beside the door. My bare legs
shivered and my head ached. My throat was scratchy and my eyes dry.
I lifted my head from Boggs’ chest, where it must have settled as I
slept. Boggs rolled away from me, forcing me to sit. The room spun.
“Morning,”
chirped Gus. “Hope you don’t mind
I grabbed some cans from the car and have breakfast ready.”
Food.
get to the hospital. A drunk driver had crashed into their car on the way.
My mom and dad had died instantly. My sister, Ruthie, had died while they
were on their way. I was left alone to grieve the loss of all three of
them. My best friend was away at college, and had only called once. I
didn’t want to rehash those memories right now. Between those memories and the
horrific events of the day, I could use a drink myself.
“Ya. Ok.” I said and reached my hand out for the bottle.
Boggs handed it to me and watched me drink. The light amber liquid burned
my throat, but I drank heavily wanting to numb the pain.
Gus’ hand gently took the bottle
from me. “Ok, darlin’ that’s enough. Gotta keep
our wits about us.”
“Gus, you’re not from around here
are you?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” he replied.
“You talk funny,” I said without
much enthusiasm.
Gus stretched, and then
answered. “I moved out here a couple years ago. I’m from South
Carolina. Long story, different life.”
It was pretty clear that Gus
didn’t want to talk about his past in any detail. I didn’t push for any
more information.
I heard Boggs strike a match and
watched as he held it to the clay pipe that Uncle Chuck had kindly left
behind. A puff of smoke went up in the air and just as quickly
disappeared as he took a drag, filling his lungs. He closed his eyes and
laid his head back against the bean bag, holding his breath as long as he
could. He finally let the sickly sweet smoke escape. The room
filled with the scent of skunk that pot can mimic, which mingled with the smell
of decay that still clung to our skin and noses. Boggs passed the pipe to
Gus, who followed the ritual then handed it to me. Boggs lay back again
and was watching me in a way I had never seen him do before. Gus watched
me and when he noticed me just staring at the pipe, clueless, he reached into
one of the shoeboxes and produced a pinch of dried weed.
“Hold it to your mouth and I’ll
light it. Just breathe it in and hold it until you can’t anymore.”
I did as instructed. The smoke began to fill my lungs, and they protested
loudly in a fit of hacking. Boggs sat up.
“Jesus, you guys. Gus, she’s
never done it before.”
Gus chuckled like a school
girl. “Ya, I could tell.”
Between coughing fits I asked,
“Can I try again?”
“No, you cannot,” asserted
Boggs. He took the pipe from my hand and relit it for himself.
After his toke, he relaxed into the bean bag again.
Gus took the pipe from the other
man. “Here, Zoe. Just breathe in when I blow it at you,” he
instructed. He lit it, sucked the smoke into his mouth and blew it
at my face. I inhaled it more easily this way, and held it in my lungs as my
brain numbed and the world around me spun refreshingly slow. He set the
pipe aside to rest on the shelf while the three of us laid back to enjoy the
warmth of the fire. I nestled in next to Boggs, my arm against his bare
chest, enjoying the warmth from his body as much as I enjoyed the heat from the
fire. My head was starting to spin from the alcohol and for the first
time in a long time I felt semi-content.
“You’re hot, Zoe,” mumbled Boggs.
“Uh, thanks?” I said sleepily.
“No, I mean you feel like you’re
feverish,” he clarified.
Gus crawled over to us and I felt
his cool hand touch my forehead. I slept after that.
Chapter
4
When I woke, the fire had died,
leaving the stone room cold and damp. The beginnings of morning light
filtered in through the two small openings beside the door. My bare legs
shivered and my head ached. My throat was scratchy and my eyes dry.
I lifted my head from Boggs’ chest, where it must have settled as I
slept. Boggs rolled away from me, forcing me to sit. The room spun.
“Morning,”
chirped Gus. “Hope you don’t mind
I grabbed some cans from the car and have breakfast ready.”
Food.
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