Lonely Stoners

We sat in silence, our only contact was the bowl and lighter we past back and forth; our fingers touching for mere second in passing.

We sat in the passageway between two houses, the rumble of traffic could be heard coming from the main street, and the methodical bass of the house party we were in attendance of danced around us.

Some far off garage light let me make out his silhouette, but not much more. I blew out smoke and let it float up around us, it moved around him, fogging up his profile.

I glanced at him, waiting, waiting to see his face if only for a moment. It seemed like hours before he brought the bowl to his lips and flicked the lighter. The flickering light illuminated his face while he inhaled deeply.

I could see his hands colored with ink, the colors dipped and curved together to make patterns and letters, disappearing down his wrists and back into the shadows. I could only try and remember the rest of the images splashed on his body for everyone to see, while mine lay hidden under my clothes, for only the few to glimpse. His eyes were closed; shutting me off from the blue green orbs I knew lay underneath.

As the lighter flickered out I looked down towards my shoes, I could only make them out because of the little sliver of pale skin which set them apart from the hem of my jeans. These shoes were soiled and old, but I could not let them go.

My eyes traced up my legs, clad in dark skinnies, and the top of my form in a flowy tee and denim jacket. I was wearing the newest trends, but I didn't see it. To me I was just skinny, and not the tall model skinny, just average skinny, with seemingly barely there breast and unwomanly hips. The kind of skinny you look past when looking for beauty, I was anything but chic.

Instead of handing the relaxing items back to me, he slipped the lighter in his pocket and began to tap out the bowl. When he was done, it to found its way next to the lighter in his pocket.

Usually this would be the end of our night together; he would slip back inside moving around the crowds to find friends and acquaintances for small talk, before finding some girl to leave with him.

I would stay in the darkness between the houses, alone, my high letting me see the night like no one else could see it.

This night he stayed and took in the darkness and night with me, both filling the void of our loneliness with each other, for even with all his friends, acquaintances, and lovers he always seemed alone at heart.

I could feel him staring at me even in the dark, raking me in. Images swirled in my head, my high making them even more vivid, the idea of his stare, what it meant, and the idea of his touch and what it would feel like on my skin.

My mind became dizzy with thought and I began to slip down the wall, bringing myself to the concrete, trying to steady my mind.

He didn’t leave then either, but sat down next to me, draping his arm around my shoulder, pulling my head close to lay on his shoulder.

He wasn’t touching my skin, but I could still feel his warmth through my jacket.

I don’t remember how long we sat like that, but I do remember feeling less alone.