The Art of Fading

I can’t even remember when Isaac and I became friends. Somewhere between Brittney’s Oops I Did it Again and In the Zone—I think. I only remember that because I sat on my sister’s CD and ended up having to go out and buy her a new one, and that was how we met. At a CD store.

Only I looked like a doofus in front of him holding a Brittney CD while he was looking through bands like White Stripes and Led Zeppelin. I didn’t even know what a led zeppelin was but he made it sounds so awesome that I just had to pretend and nod my head. Isaac was just one of those kids that everyone gravitated too; they loved him. Ate him up and were constantly hungry for more. There wasn’t anything extraordinarily fantastic about him, nothing that I could think of or write a list about. Just funny—always joking. Had all the teachers giving him extension on due dates and letting him talk during class because he was undeniably the most well-liked kid.

And somehow—we clicked. Ended up in the same high school.

I sort of didn’t have a father that I worshipped or anything; Dad was just a dad who worked an eight-to-five job and occasionally played poker in the garage with his buddies from the office. So when Isaac, this super-being, would bust up during class and point at me and say something like, “you are so funny!” Felt like I was on cloud nine. Because—obviously, the guy was a fucking genius. An idol of sorts to everyone around him.

I’d lived in the same town all my life. Gone to school with the same group of kids since pre-school and his freshman year he had more friends than I did—doubled, by the time the second semester rolled around.

I remember In the Zone because it had been playing on the speakers at this party Isaac had invited me to. By then he was going by Ike, because apparently he was just that cool that no one really thought he sounded like a douchebomb when he shortened it like that. We ended up in this back room where all the lights were turned off and only a select group of people were invited. Kimberly (the host) had scored or whatever—so everyone was toking up and after a minute or so I’d taken a few hits and was feeling mellow. Content, free of that itching feeling that nagged me constantly.

Kim was laughing at something Isaac had said—and I vaguely noticed at that point that Isaac was sitting in front of me. He had that sort of thick, scruffy hair, and it had trapped the scent of chlorine from an earlier swim. Never before had weed had such an affect on me, but for some odd reason the music sounded really, really good. And everyone looked good too. Like gods. Then Isaac, with his back to me, leaned and rested against my legs, blowing smoke up between us. Suddenly, I had this thought—this one big thought that just tiptoed through my mind.

I thought, Weed doesn’t normally affect me like this I’ve smoked pot before but this is so different the room feels so hot and the people sound so happy the music is amazing...

And then all I could focus on was the itchy cotton of Isaac’s shirt rubbing against my leg and the start of something growing on my thigh—and then this other thought popped into my head while I was watching my best friend hog the joint.

I thought, I wish he loved me, and that maybe… just maybe, I could get a bag of Doritos to go with that angst.