The Sometimes Nonsensical Musings of a Dreamer

Brendon had never smoked pot; he was only doing it now because Ryan had asked him to. He had only taken one hit, with Ryan’s guiding hands over his as he did it, but that had ended in a fit of coughs that made him feel as though he were drowning. After that, whenever the bong came to him, he waved it along. He watched Ryan and other boys from the University. They made it seem so easy.

“You sure you don’t want anymore, Brandon?” one of them asked, holding the bong out to him.

Brendon cringed and he could feel his cheeks grow hot when not even Ryan corrected him.

“No, thank you,” he muttered. He could feel Ryan watching him as he played with his hands.

Suddenly, Ryan stood, pulling Brendon up with him. “We’re gonna go.”

The other boys shook hands with Ryan as he passed them, nodding uneasily to Brendon as he went. The boy whose dorm they were in followed them to the door.

“Could I just grab some more?” Ryan asked. “I’ve got ten bucks on me.”

“Yeah, of course, dude.” The boy stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a baggie.

Brendon didn’t know how much pot ten dollars was worth, but as the boy broke the pieces apart almost unconsciously, Brendon wondered if he should.

“Thanks, man,” Ryan mumbled as he stepped through the door, expecting Brendon to follow him. They went downstairs and stopped at the bus stop. Brendon glanced at his watch before putting his hands back in his pockets.

The bus ride back to Summerlin was spent mostly in silence, broken by small talk, like when Ryan asked what time Brendon’s mother needed him home by in the morning. Ryan’s house was dark when they walked up the driveway. Ryan’s father was already in bed, though they probably wouldn’t have spoken anyway.

“Meet me in my room,” Ryan mumbled as they went up the stairs. Brendon glanced over his shoulder as Ryan turned to go back into the dark living room. He sat himself down on Ryan’s bed and waited, listening for what the boy might be doing downstairs.

Ryan entered the room with a glass of water and handed it to Brendon before sitting next to him on the bed. He studied him for a moment. Brendon felt his stomach churn uneasily.

“You could have told me you’d never done it before,” he said.

Brendon looked down at his hands and shrugged in response.

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I didn’t want to look like an asshole.” Brendon wondered if Ryan still wouldn’t care if he ever
told him he was still a virgin.

“You wouldn’t have looked like an asshole. It’s only me, Bren.”

“Still…” Brendon mumbled.

He could feel Ryan’s eyes piercing through his skin for what felt like hours.

“Anyway,” Ryan said, pushing himself onto his feet. “I bought some more if you want to try again. I know that it’s kinda intimidating with a bunch of stoners.” Brendon scoffed. “Okay, really intimidating,” Ryan corrected.

Brendon took a sip of his water and made a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat. Ryan laughed and sat back down, the baggie he had been given in his hand. Brendon looked at it uneasily and then up to Ryan.

“We don’t have to, but if you do want to try it again, we can. And it’ll just be you and me, that’s easier, right?”

Brendon chewed on his cheek and could feel himself inwardly squirming. He had never thought that he would use drugs or drink, or play rock and roll, but he had slowly become that boy when he defied his parents and began hanging out with Ryan. He just needed one more way to prove to (as he told himself, though he was truly trying to prove something to himself) Ryan that he belonged with him and his friends and smoking pot had been that way, inevitably, for a long time.

“Okay…” Brendon murmured.

Ryan moved closer to Brendon and looked at him with uncertainty. When Brendon didn’t speak, a small smile spread across his lips. He nodded and got up. On his dresser was a small box that he brought back with him. He opened it and pulled out a pipe, its glass stained in psychedelic patterns of blue and orange. Brendon cleared his throat awkwardly and watched Ryan pack the marijuana into the pipe.

“Okay,” Ryan said, and turned to face Brendon. “Do you want to go first or me?”

“You can go.”

Ryan nodded and brought the pipe to his mouth, setting fire to the weed. Brendon watched intently. Everything seemed to flow so easily. He could feel his hands grow sweaty as he imagined how awkward he would make something look that Ryan seemed to make appear so beautifully. Ryan smiled when he was done, blowing any excess smoke from his mouth into the room.

“Ready?” he asked.

Brendon nodded and took the pipe from Ryan’s hands and held it to his lips, just like Ryan had before. Ryan closed his hand around Brendon’s, holding the pipe in place. He ignited his lighter and Brendon watched the green plant turn ember red.

“In,” Ryan encouraged and Brendon inhaled for as long as he could before Ryan pulled the pipes from his lips. Ryan was smiling. Brendon held his breath for a moment before exhaling, smoke floating out through his nostrils, tickling him as it went.

Ryan took another hit before shoving more weed into the pipe.

“Again?” he asked.

They passed the pipe back and forth one more time before Ryan carefully put everything away. As he put his ‘pot box’, as he called it, back onto his dresser, he opened his window before he sat next to Brendon, closer than he had before.

“Was that better?” Ryan asked. His voice sounded like a song.

Brendon simply nodded, his eyes closed, begging for sleep.

“Would you do it again?”

“With you? Yeah.”

Ryan laughed and put his head on Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon could hear him thinking. It was only a matter of time before he would speak.

The wind howled through the window, like laughter, which reminded Brendon that he wasn’t giggling. There was clearly a lot he needed to learn about marijuana. The cars outside honked their horns at each other and the voices of passers-by could be heard as they shouted obscenities at one another, but Brendon hardly heard them, it felt as though it was just he and Ryan, the way he had wanted it to be for a long time. Brendon could get used to this.

“You know,” Ryan finally said. He paused for a long time. “I’ve been thinking about getting famous a long time.”

Brendon mumbled something possibly incoherent.

“I’ve never told anyone that. I always thought they’d think I was being a cunt.”

“I used to think about looking good in the eyes of God.” Ryan looked up, a mixture of uncertainty and amusement laced through his eyes. “Now I just think about getting fucked.”

Ryan laughed and put his head back on Brendon’s shoulder. He sighed and the room fell back into silence, a heavy, lethargic silence, like a blanket. Brendon could feel himself drifting to sleep.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to live in California, or New York?” Ryan asked.

“I think about going on vacation there.”

“You don’t think about getting out of Vegas?”

“No.” Brendon craned his neck to look down at Ryan. His jaw was set in a serious expression and Brendon suddenly wished he wasn’t high so he could give Ryan his utmost attention.

“Oh…” Ryan mumbled.

“But it’s not weird that you do, you know? I’m sure tons of people think about stuff like that. I just don’t ‘cause I don’t know where else I could be.”

“On tour somewhere.” Ryan smiled. “With me,” he added.

“Hopefully.”

“Definitely,” Ryan corrected.

Brendon smiled down at him. It was far-fetched and arrogant, but Brendon believed him.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, drenched in silence, but some time later, Ryan liad down, pulling Brendon down with him. They were very close on the small bed; Brendon could even feel Ryan’s breath on the back of his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to sleep, but his muscles ached for it and his eyes kept falling shut. Brendon hoped he would remember this as vividly in the morning.