The Needle and the Damage Done

I’m trying to avoid plans for bringing in the New Year, but despite my continuous protests, Adam drags me to some big jock party that one of the guy’s from the soccer team is throwing. His name is Steven and I’ve thought he was an asshole ever since I had to share a hotel room with him during a soccer tournament, plus Adam and a few other dudes. We weren’t supposed to leave the hotel room after a certain time and they taped the doors to make sure that we hadn’t gone out in the middle of the night. Despite this rule, Steven decided to order pizza, and for whatever reason, decided to answer the door in his underwear. And I’m not talking boxers. I’m talking about the outline of his anatomy being totally visible. That poor pizza dude was probably scarred for life.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst part of the night for our group. He decided that he needed to move one of the beds, and not realizing that the headboard was attached to the wall, decided to yank it to start moving the bed. He put so much force on it that it cracked, leaving no way for us to fix it. Instead of letting anyone know about it in the morning, he just casually left the hotel room, and none of us were about to narc on him. I left a note apologizing, and somehow, Coach never found out about it and they didn’t charge for the destroyed headboard. Despite the fact that nobody got in trouble, it was a dick move for Steven to pull that garbage. Had he not transferred schools this year, he’d be the golden boy of the school, not Adam.

But at nine on New Year’s Eve, Adam and I end up at Stupid Steven’s party. I beg Adam to please not make this an all-night affair. I have my mom’s car and I’m his ride, since I know he will drink and get recklessly stupid, but she starts her shift at like four in the morning and I need to have it back by then. I remind him of this as we walk towards the front door of Steven’s ridiculously sized house – who needs that much room for three people?

“Dawson.” Adam stops and turns to face me, putting his hands on my shoulder. The gesture feels awkward. “For one night, can you please not be a buzzkill? Just once. Please. Be charming. Be laidback. You might even get yourself laid.” With that, he removes his hands from my shoulders, nods, and walks way ahead of me.

I stop for a moment, take a deep breath, and shake my head after him. Fuck him. He can find another ride.

But I enter the party anyway, trying to look for a friendly face. I recognize the majority of the people here, but I don’t care to really talk to them. Still, I make polite conversation with a few and then seamlessly remove myself from each conversation. When I’ve had about enough an hour later, I excuse myself to the back deck, hoping to be alone and catch some fresh air, but it’s not fresh air that I start inhaling when I step out – it’s pot smoke. The next thing I know, I’m leaning up against the deck rail with Drew Abrams, the junior that Melissa Fifeman used to date, and his best friend Brad Carson, also a junior.

“Hey man,” Drew says incredibly casually, clearly not concerned that I just sort of busted him smoking pot. Not that it’s a big deal, but he doesn’t even seem surprised that I’m back here with him and a few other stoners a couple of feet away, like this is totally natural. And maybe it is. I’ve never really brushed elbows with the stoners too often. “What’s up?”

Brad gives me a lazy smile and the “Sup?” nod. I return the gesture. “Not much, man. You guys just chilling?”

“Yep,” he says. I see he’s got a pipe and he lifts it to his lips to light the bowl. It looks like they might have just started it since it seems pretty full to me. He takes a long drag and then passes it to Brad who does the same thing.

Brad looks to me now and offers me the pipe. “Want any?”

I hesitate, but then remember that I don’t play soccer anymore so it’s not like I have to worry about getting pee tested. Still, I admit, “I’ve never smoked before.”

This actually surprises Drew. “Seriously? Wow. You’ve gotta try it, dude. It’s excellent smoke.”

Brad passes me the pipe and tells me to keep my finger over the little hole on the side. He instructs me to bring the pipe to my mouth and then he lights the bowl at the end, telling me to inhale. For whatever reason, I’m not really sure what this means and I end up breathing in too much, swallowing the smoke, and coughing for a very long time.

I pass the pipe to Drew and he stifles a laugh. “No worries, man. The more you cough, the more you get off.”

“Maybe try not swallowing it next time,” Brad advises. “Just inhale it, like breathing. And try to hold it in for a little bit before you blow it out.” He takes the pipe from Drew after he takes his hit and demonstrates, and then passes is to me to try again.

I do it better this time, but frown a little before I give Drew his pipe back. “I don’t feel anything.”

“You will,” he assures me. His next drag is extra-long and I study how expertly he smokes the pot. He laughs a little and shakes his head. “I can’t believe we just popped Dawson James’s pot cherry. Talk about bizarre.”

I have to admit that the situation is very strange. When the night started, I hadn’t pictured myself sitting outside with Brad and Drew trying pot for the first time. I certainly hadn’t imagined that I’d ever enjoy something like that either, yet here I am with no desire to go inside, find Adam, and leave. I’m actually kind of having fun.

Brad lets out a small chuckle in agreement with Drew’s statement and adds, “Just don’t get like super attached and think we’re all getting married or something.”

“Nah, that’s so elaborate,” I wave them off. “I was thinking more like starting a pot farm in Colorado. We could call it Breaking Mild or something.” I immediately regret making the joke, knowing full well that it was stupid and that Adam would chastise me for saying something that dumb. But to my pleasant surprise, Drew and Brad both laugh. Like genuinely.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Brad says. “I think my plans post-graduation are all figured out now.”

For the first time in years, I feel like I can relax a little. Maybe it’s the pot, maybe not, but I don’t feel like I had to fight for their acceptance. Brad passes me the pipe one more time and I try to inhale a medium amount, and it seems like I did just that. I give the pipe back to Drew and he shakes the rest out and covers it with snow.

“So when am I gonna start feeling something?” I ask.

“Pretty soon,” Drew said. “Maybe five minutes. Maybe fifteen. It depends.”

I nod silently, not sure where to go from here. I’ve never held a conversation with Drew or Brad before in my life.

“So you went out with Melissa a few weekends ago?” Drew asks.

My blood runs cold and I immediately want to leave despite how casual the question is. I give him another slow nod. “Yeah. Just dinner. Nothing major.”

This time Drew nods and starts to chuckle. “Jesus, man, no need to look so worried. I’m not gonna hit you or anything. I was just asking. She had a big crush on you when we were dating. That’s kind of why we broke up.”

I’m not sure what to say to this besides, “Wow.”

“Yeah. It kinda sucked, but I got over it,” he says. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and pulls one out, offering one to Brad and then to me. I shake my head to decline. I’ve probably participated in enough debauchery for one night.

Before I can stop myself, I question, “So did you end up hooking up with Amy, or what?”

“Amy? Hell no.” Drew guffaws at this as Brad quietly puffs away on his cigarette. “I wouldn’t touch Amy with a ten foot pole, whether she’s Melissa’s best friend or not.”

“I was just curious,” I say. The deck goes silent again, but this time I don’t care as much. My eyelids start to feel a little heavy, like when I get super tired.

“So did you come here with Adam Schmidt?” Brad attempts to keep the conversation rolling.

I respond with a simple yes, and Drew steamrolls right over the answer almost immediately. “That dude’s such a fucking tool.”

Despite being irritated with him, I feel the need to defend Adam. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“That’s what people say to defend douchebags all the time.” Drew shakes his head. “Dude walks around like he’s King Shit, like he owns the whole Goddamn world.”

I can’t deny that. It’s one thing that’s always bothered me about Adam – he’s privileged and therefore thinks he’s entitled to just about everything. And because he can be so charming when he wants to be, he really does get everything he wants.

“I heard he was gonna try to hook up with Melissa tonight,” Brad adds, taking one last drag off of his cigarette before crushing it against the deck.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I tell them. “He spent forever trying to convince me to go out with her, just kept saying about how she’s so hot and shit. Adam’s definitely got a hard-on for her.”

“I doubt he’d want to date her,” Drew says and finishes his cigarette as well. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something else white and long, almost cigarette like. I may not be well-versed in my stoner terminology, but I’ve taken enough health classes to recognize a joint when I see one. “She’s pretty and all, but as a person she kind of sucks.”

Brad starts laughing at this immediately, obviously in on some joke that I know nothing about. He’s almost doubled over, wheezing out the kind of laugh that gives you abs. Through gasps he manages, “Tell him what you did, dude.”

“Nah,” Drew says, a sly smile forming on his face. He digs through his pocket for his lighter and flicks it a few times. “No way good ol’ boy Dawson would wanna hear that story.”

My face flashes hot for a second. I hate that even though I have no reputation to speak of, people automatically know me as being a good kid. And it’s true, for the most part. Near straight As, always on the honor roll, never getting into trouble and keeping my nose clean. Sick as it sounds, sometimes I wish people would assume something mildly notorious about me, though I’m not sure what.

“You have to,” Brad insists, finally regaining composure. “It’s golden.”

Drew looks to me for a second before putting the joint between his lips and lighting it. I nod. “I wanna hear the story.”

He inhales from the joint for a second before passing it to Brad. “Just take like a hit or two of this, this shit’ll knock you out, my friend.” Brad nods this time and then hits the joint before passing it to me. I take a quick puff and pass the joint back to Drew before he starts speaking again.

“Okay, so remember how I said Melissa wanting to date you was part of the reason we broke up?” Drew inquires. I say yes and he goes on. “Well, the other part of that is that Melissa wanted to see a lot of other people, and she was doing that shit while we were still together. So after I found out and we broke up, I was pretty pissed off.” He takes another puff off of the joint and it makes its way around again. “So one night when it was still really warm out, I went to her house while everyone was sleeping and I climbed on top of her car and took a shit.”

Even though my heart tells me it was a terrible thing for Drew to do, I burst out laughing, my head feeling so light. “You so did not.”

“Oh, I did,” Drew insists. Brad is doubled over laughing beside him. “It was glorious. She texted me about it in the morning all pissed off, but I acted like I never knew anything about it. I mean, I doubt she believed me, but the satisfaction of it was so great.”

“Jesus Christ.” I have to fight the smile off my face, shaking my head lightly. The joint comes to me again and it’s about done, so I take another small hit and pass it to Drew again to finish it off.

Brad starts to say something but then Drew’s cellphone goes off and he holds up a finger to shush Brad. He’s clearly the alpha in their friendship; he’s Brad’s version of Adam. I wonder if Brad ever gets fed up with Drew like I do with my best friend. I’m almost tempted to ask, but I’m also a little more interested in Drew’s phone call.

“Yeah Devan, what’s up?” Drew speaks into his phone.

I glance at Brad and he mouths back to me, “His sister,” so I just nod and go back to eavesdropping.

“Oh, you’re over at Justin’s? I didn’t know he was having a party tonight.” I have absolutely no idea who in the hell he’s talking about. After some waiting, he says, “Yeah, we can make it over there. See you soon.” They say good-bye and hang up. Drew gives me a nod. “You wanna hit another party with us?”

I look over my shoulder to glance back inside. I catch a peek of Adam chatting it up with Melissa in the corner, a drunken smirk creeping across his face. He’ll be fine. He can spend the night or find another ride. Fuck it. I look back at Drew and Brad. “Sure, why not?”

We head around the house to my car and driving is a little more difficult than I expected it would be. Everything seems slower and like it takes just slightly more effort to do. But we make it over to the other party just fine and they thank me for the ride, explaining that Drew’s sister Devan had dropped them off and they’d have had to walk otherwise – apparently a feat that is not easily accomplished when stoned out of one’s mind.

The other party is much tamer and quieter than the one at Steven’s house. The people are calm, and I suspect that they are also stoned. They introduce me to everyone. There’s Justin, the party’s host and who has been a friend of their family’s forever; Drew’s sister Devan, a pretty girl with a lovely attitude (and for the record, exactly my type), though the thought quickly evaporated from my mind after meeting her husband Josh, who is kind of a tool. There’s Josh’s brother Jace who is significantly cooler and I spend most of the evening talking to him. The rest of the names and faces blur, though I recognize a few from both the junior and senior class and a few from other graduating classes. Everyone is super chill and they don’t mind that I don’t have much to say as I straighten out. It’s nice, not feeling so pressured to socialize. These are the kinds of people I wish I’d been hanging out with all along.

I regretfully say goodbye to everyone around three. Devan informs me that they have regular Friday night hangouts at her place and invites me to join in the future. I accept, happy to have something that I actually want to be doing on a Friday night.

I manage to make it back in time for my mother to leave for work, crossing paths with her briefly before I stagger off to go pass out in my room until at least noon. I hope I didn’t reek of pot when I came in and that my eyes weren’t red – it would be a dead giveaway and would probably result in my car privileges being revoked. Luckily she says nothing, and I am free to have the best sleep of my entire life.

I finally start to wake up around one in the afternoon, thankful that my mom is still at work and can’t chastise me for sleeping late. I make myself some waffles in the toaster, drench them with butter, and enjoy them before I head out to get the mail. My heart stops a little as I see that familiar envelope with the girly handwriting that’s definitely been hand delivered. I’m barely back in the house before I’m ripping it open.

Dear Dawson,

Before I get into my night, I hope you had a great night and were able to bring in the new year in a positive way. I’m not really sure how to read my night – it was a little bizarre.

Well, at least we have that in common.

I went to a party with Cammie last night after spending some time with my mom on her last night in Brunswick. It’s always such a relief when she goes back to where she belongs – D.C., not hell, though I guess the two are interchangeable. But I was excited to go out with Cammie and her friends and blow off some steam. The party was pretty wild for a little while and I ended up getting separated from her and everyone else. This guy I had just met that night named Gary started talking to me, and for a while, he wasn’t really bothering me. Then he seemed to get kind of pissed that I wasn’t paying as much attention to him as he wanted. And he didn’t like that. So he cornered me and kept trying to kiss me. I kept thinking about everything that happened with John and got nervous. And then I got mad. So I gave him a knee to the crotch and pushed him out of the way.

Jesus, guys are assholes.

I couldn’t find Cammie after that whole ordeal, so I decided to go outside to get some air and calm down. I sat down on the curb outside and put my head on my knees, just breathing. And suddenly the world seemed to get smaller and everything felt like it was closing in. I couldn’t get my mind off of John, and the thing with Sarah, and my horrible mother, and my stupid life in general. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest and I needed something to calm down – the cold air just wasn’t gonna do it for me. So I called Harley.

I try to recall exactly who that is, but I have to look back at the last letter to do so – the guy Cammie’s husband is friends with or something. The guy with the pot.

I mostly just wanted someone to talk to, to take my mind off of things. But he actually came to pick me up. We drove around aimlessly for a little while and he was really nice to me. He didn’t make me talk about any of the things that were bothering me which was kind of a relief. To be honest, I don’t think I could have put it into words.

He pulled over for a little bit and we smoked together, and I felt much better, but still not great. Then he suggested we smoke something else, saying he’d just gotten something new and needed to test it out. This shit was much better than the purple kush we’d just been smoking. It was intense and it felt like the insides of my ears were popping. You know how when you’re dreaming, time passes really weird? Like how everything is slow but normal at the same time? An hour takes a day and a day seems like it lasts for a week. That’s exactly what this was like. I have literally never been more relaxed in my life aside from smoking that.

I don’t know if I can relate to the dream thing that well considering I’m pretty sure everyone experiences them in a different way, but the rest actually sounds…fun. Prior to last night, I never thought I’d be saying that.

We spent the next couple of hours driving around, occasionally stopping to smoke some more when the buzz was wearing off. Around four in the morning, I don’t know what came over me, but I started blurting out all of the things that had happened lately, from John to Gary from the party. When I smoke too much pot, it turns me into a motor-mouth and I can’t sensor my speech that well; sometimes I’m not sure if I thought something to myself or if I said it out loud.

But he didn’t freak out. He just nodded and listened, which is exactly what I needed. And then things got a little weird.

Before I go on to the next thing, I just want you to know I’m not a hardcore drug user. I’ve never tried anything except pot and acid one time, but that was a trip I’d rather not get into. Except for lately, I don’t even smoke pot that much. I’m not sure if that gave Harley the impression that I’d want to shoot some heroin with him or what, but that’s what he asked me next.

Wait a fucking second, heroin? That’s a scary fucking drug. I mean, aside from the information they give you in health class, I’ve seen Requiem for a Dream. It just fucking ruins you.

I said no, of course. I’ve seen Intervention and I’ve done my own research after a tenth grade viewing of Requiem for a Dream.

See? Told you.

He got all bashful after I said no and apologized for asking me that. He said he just wasn’t sure, since it seemed like I enjoy going low, whatever that means. It got kind of awkward after that, so he drove me home and I thanked him for listening to me. I told him I’d let him know about buying some more pot from him and snuck in, tip-toeing past my dad who was sleeping on the couch, probably because he’d waited up for me. It’s about five-thirty in the morning and I haven’t been to sleep yet, but I just wanted to write this down and tell someone about it while it was all still fresh in my mind.

Anyway, like I said in the beginning of this letter, Happy New Year and I hope you got to do something cool. Not that I buy into all the “New year, new me” crap, but I’m feeling just the slightest bit hopeful that maybe my luck will start changing and something good will start happening, and I hope the same for you if you need it. But I need to crash now and sleep for about fifty years.

Exhaustedly yours,
Sylvia

I’m glad the letter ends on a high note (no pun intended), but I’m pretty skeptical of this Harley guy. I wouldn’t trust him if I knew him and I just hope that Sylvia’s going to be careful.