the pocket of a fur wrap, grinning triumphantly. From her
fist dangles a clear glass bottle with blue lettering.
She motions me over and
pulls me down beside her. We sit on the carpet with our legs tucked
under us. I try to read the label on the bottle but Taylor uncaps
and upends it before I can make out anything beyond the word vodka . She takes a quick
swig, grins, and holds it out for me. I take it, trying to seem
sure, like I’ve done this a million times.
Taylor busies herself with the contents
of her purse. She sets items aside, keeping hold of a small
handheld mirror and a bill of paper money. She continues to fish
around, muttering, “It’s here somewhere, I know it.” I don’t bother
to ask what she’s looking for. I’m sure I’ll find out soon
enough.
I wrap my lips around the bottle’s
opening and tip it back. The moment the liquid hits my mouth, it
burns. I wrench the bottle away and squeeze my eyes shut to block
out the fire ripping a trail down my insides. I swallow and then
cough hard enough to rack my shoulders.
Taylor laughs. “Damn, Rav. Did hitting
your head affect your ability to hold your liquor?”
I grunt something that isn’t really an
answer. She grabs the bottle and takes another swig. All too soon
it is my turn again. Like before, I cough and sputter as the liquid
cuts a molten path down my esophagus.
“ Finally!” Taylor exclaims.
She withdraws a small, clear bag from her purse and holds it aloft.
“You down for a line or two?” she asks.
“ A line?” I ask, watching
blankly as she dumps the powdery contents of the bag onto the
mirror. She sifts and straightens it using a plastic card and then
rolls the money into a tight funnel.
“ Yeah, a line.” She laughs
but otherwise doesn’t react to my lack of knowledge. Maybe the
liquor’s made her slower. “You know, coke.” Without waiting for my
answer, she leans down and snorts a row of powder into her nose.
She tips her head back and sniffles a few more times before eyeing
me again. She hands me the paper bill. I don’t move to take
it.
“ I do that?” I
ask.
“ You do that,” she confirms
with a laugh. “Along with many other things.”
I ignore that and eye the powder. The
only thing we’re taught about street drugs is they’re harmful to
the body. I don’t know the direct effects of the strange white
substance but the alcohol alone is already burning a slow hole
through me. “Maybe I’ll skip it this time,” I say.
I brace myself for Taylor’s protests.
Or worse, suspicion. But she just rolls her eyes and leans down for
another line. “Suit yourself. More for me.” I watch as she sucks
another line of powder into her nasal cavity and
shudder.
“ God, it burns,” she says,
pinching her nose a few times as she sniffles. I’m just about to
ask if that’s good or bad when she grins at me and adds, “That’s
how you know it’s the good shit.”
I wonder what it means if it’s bad
shit.
“ This totally reminds me of
the Rafferty party last month,” she says. “I forgot to tell you
what happened. So, remember how we were doing lines in the
bathroom? Oh, right, you probably don’t. Well, we were, and Caine
and Daniel walked in on us. I was so sure they were going to
third-degree us because you know how Daniel feels about street
drugs. Whatever.” She pauses to roll her eyes.
“ Anyway, so I shoved
everything under the sink and then you guys slipped out but Caine
stayed. I had to distract him somehow. So I pretended I was on my
knees for a different reason.” Even though we’re alone, she lowers
her voice and goes on, “I didn’t even ask his permission. I just
unbuttoned his pants right there and gave him the best blow job of
his life. He didn’t even know what hit him.”
I giggle with her, pretending I have
some clue what a blow job is. Before I am tempted to ask, I take
another swig of the vodka.
By the next swallow, the burning
lessens and I feel … looser. Taylor is laughing,
fist dangles a clear glass bottle with blue lettering.
She motions me over and
pulls me down beside her. We sit on the carpet with our legs tucked
under us. I try to read the label on the bottle but Taylor uncaps
and upends it before I can make out anything beyond the word vodka . She takes a quick
swig, grins, and holds it out for me. I take it, trying to seem
sure, like I’ve done this a million times.
Taylor busies herself with the contents
of her purse. She sets items aside, keeping hold of a small
handheld mirror and a bill of paper money. She continues to fish
around, muttering, “It’s here somewhere, I know it.” I don’t bother
to ask what she’s looking for. I’m sure I’ll find out soon
enough.
I wrap my lips around the bottle’s
opening and tip it back. The moment the liquid hits my mouth, it
burns. I wrench the bottle away and squeeze my eyes shut to block
out the fire ripping a trail down my insides. I swallow and then
cough hard enough to rack my shoulders.
Taylor laughs. “Damn, Rav. Did hitting
your head affect your ability to hold your liquor?”
I grunt something that isn’t really an
answer. She grabs the bottle and takes another swig. All too soon
it is my turn again. Like before, I cough and sputter as the liquid
cuts a molten path down my esophagus.
“ Finally!” Taylor exclaims.
She withdraws a small, clear bag from her purse and holds it aloft.
“You down for a line or two?” she asks.
“ A line?” I ask, watching
blankly as she dumps the powdery contents of the bag onto the
mirror. She sifts and straightens it using a plastic card and then
rolls the money into a tight funnel.
“ Yeah, a line.” She laughs
but otherwise doesn’t react to my lack of knowledge. Maybe the
liquor’s made her slower. “You know, coke.” Without waiting for my
answer, she leans down and snorts a row of powder into her nose.
She tips her head back and sniffles a few more times before eyeing
me again. She hands me the paper bill. I don’t move to take
it.
“ I do that?” I
ask.
“ You do that,” she confirms
with a laugh. “Along with many other things.”
I ignore that and eye the powder. The
only thing we’re taught about street drugs is they’re harmful to
the body. I don’t know the direct effects of the strange white
substance but the alcohol alone is already burning a slow hole
through me. “Maybe I’ll skip it this time,” I say.
I brace myself for Taylor’s protests.
Or worse, suspicion. But she just rolls her eyes and leans down for
another line. “Suit yourself. More for me.” I watch as she sucks
another line of powder into her nasal cavity and
shudder.
“ God, it burns,” she says,
pinching her nose a few times as she sniffles. I’m just about to
ask if that’s good or bad when she grins at me and adds, “That’s
how you know it’s the good shit.”
I wonder what it means if it’s bad
shit.
“ This totally reminds me of
the Rafferty party last month,” she says. “I forgot to tell you
what happened. So, remember how we were doing lines in the
bathroom? Oh, right, you probably don’t. Well, we were, and Caine
and Daniel walked in on us. I was so sure they were going to
third-degree us because you know how Daniel feels about street
drugs. Whatever.” She pauses to roll her eyes.
“ Anyway, so I shoved
everything under the sink and then you guys slipped out but Caine
stayed. I had to distract him somehow. So I pretended I was on my
knees for a different reason.” Even though we’re alone, she lowers
her voice and goes on, “I didn’t even ask his permission. I just
unbuttoned his pants right there and gave him the best blow job of
his life. He didn’t even know what hit him.”
I giggle with her, pretending I have
some clue what a blow job is. Before I am tempted to ask, I take
another swig of the vodka.
By the next swallow, the burning
lessens and I feel … looser. Taylor is laughing,
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