Geographic.
The plant burned up in minutes; Trent upended a
pail of water on the cinders, then sat down at the table,
wiping off his hands.
"I've done a lot of strange things in the army, but
that's the first time I've ever burned up a pot plant,"
'he said.
"I'm sure you were right," Loren added. "Some kid
dropped a seed a long time ago and it sprouted. It's
been growing there for years, and it's probably the only
one out here." Then he elbowed Nora.
"Yeah," Trent said. "Never knew what the big deal
was with pot anyway. I tried it a couple times when I
was a teenager. All it did was make me hungry and
stupid."
When Trent turned around toward Annabelle, Nora
elbowed Loren back, and silently mouthed the word
Bullshit.
"Isn't it legal for cancer patients, though?" Annabelle said.
Loren replied, citing the latest from the New England
Journal of Medicine. "It has been proven to drastically reduce intralobular pressure in the eye as well as negate
nausea symptoms in various antitumor therapies ..."
Nora let the rest of the conversation drown out.
What is wrong with me? she asked herself. She knew
she was a smart, perceptive person-an academician
and a credible scientist. Here, though, all of a sudden,
she felt as though she didn't fit in. Doesn't matter how
smart I am. That's not what the big picture's all about.
She bit a nail. I'm not PART of the big picture .. .
The environment enthralled her: This was her element, a tropical island rung with marine life. It's the
blonde, she knew.
Annabelle was just as professional as she, but also
vivacious, beautiful, socially magnetizing ...
Nora simmered in more envy, eyeing the photographer's pose near the table. Showing off her body, sure,
but also part of the crowd, engaging ...
Fitting in.
The curvy, limber body radiated vitality, not just sexual, but something deeper. She was a picture of health,
charisma, and moreover, acceptance.
And I'm not, Nora realized. I can spout my sour
grapes at her all I want but it doesn't change the truth.
I'm a virgin curmudgeon, a gawky nerd who's so socially disconnected it's a wonder anyone wants to be
around me at all, even Loren. She felt frumpish in the
baggy khaki shorts over the drab black one-piece swim
suit. I'll probably make a terrific old maid. Now all I
have to do is wait about thirty fucking more years-
"-not that I'm in favor of legalization, mind you,"
Loren was saying, still plugged in and animated in the
discussion, "but from the cold scientific standpoint, it's
hard to argue with a clinical physical addiction rate of
zero, even as opposed to the roughly fifteen percent for
alcohol."
"Yeah, but every long-term pot smoker I know,"
Annabelle offered, "is kind of . . . a moron."
"Plenty of statistics on that side of the fence too,"
Loren stated. "Pot smoking goes hand in hand with an
incontrovertible reduction in longand short-term
memory, thematic apperception. Plus, it remains the
leading cause of amotivational syndrome."
"What's that mean?" Trent said.
Nora finally snapped out of it and offered, "It makes
you a moron."
"See?" Loren laughed. "The professor speaks! I told
you she didn't slip into a coma when we weren't looking."
/eez, Nora thought. I really am the life of the party,
huh?
"What about you, Professor? Have you ever smoked
it?"
Nora blinked. The question had come from
Annabelle. "I ... uh . . ." Then she smirked. "No."
"I think it's a bunch of silly crap," Trent said. "Call
me a redneck, but I'll take a can of Bud any day."
"Still big money in it, though," Loren posed. "I'll bet
that plant you burned was worth hundreds of dollars
on the street."
Nora couldn't resist. She wanted to watch Trent's reaction. "Secluded island like this? Inaccessible?" She
feigned a laugh. "Shit, Lieutenant. You could start your
own little enterprise out here, and make ten times
more than Uncle Sam pays you."
"No, with my luck, it'd be ten times less," Trent
replied,
Similar Books
