Page 95 of Howl for Me
As I’m scrubbing down the shelves, I start making a mental note to ask Cass what she likes to eat so I can stock up. Behaving… isn’t exactly fun. Especially when she’s not here to distract me. What does one even do when they’re trying to behave?
I wander back to the living room and flick on the TV. Some talk show blares at me.. A guy with too many teeth smiling at a crowd that laughs way too easily. My eyes land on the ornate little wooden box on the coffee table. That familiar itch creeps up.
Cass said no coke, didn’t say I couldn’t get stoned. I lean forward and pop the lid. Empty. Not even a tiny nug.
“Shit,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. I reach for the little address book tucked beside the phone. Flip through until I find Reggie. There’s a number scribbled beside a peace sign. I dial and it rings and rings.
Then a slow, groggy voice answers. “Hello?”
“Teddy, that you?”
“Yeah, man… who’s this?”
“It’s Johnny. I was wondering if you guys could supply me with some herbal refreshments.”
A pause. Then laughter. “Oh, Johnny. Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Bored outta my fucking mind. Like… I want to jump out of my own skin.”
Teddy chuckles. “Aw, man. Just chill. We got some stuff for you. You want the usual?”
The usual. Coke. Cassidy’s voice flickers through my head, stern and serious. I promised. I stare at the wall. The itch crawls under my skin like ants. I could just stay home. Keep it quiet. But…
“No, man,” I finally say. “Just some bud.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure.”
“All right. Give us like thirty minutes.”
I hang up and wait. It takes two hours. By the time they knock, I’ve built an entire model car I found shoved in the back of my closet. It's a ‘68 Chevelle, and I even used tweezers for the tiny-ass decals. That’s how far gone I am.
When I open the door, Reggie’s holding a bag and grinning
“Finally,” I say, stepping aside to let them in. “I was about five minutes away from rearranging my sock drawer. Come in,”
They step inside like they’re entering holy ground, eyes scanning the living room. “Nice house, man,” Reggie says, whistling low as he looks around. “Didn’t know you had it like this.”
I shrug, slouching back onto the couch. “Thanks. Have a seat.”
Reggie and Teddy flop down on either side of me, settling in. Reggie hands me a little plastic bag full of bud and I hand him the cash.
“Well, if you need anything else, you know, just give us a call,” Reggie says, already half-standing.
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I’m pathetic and lonely. Maybe because I actually like these two. “I’ve got a bong. You guys wanna stay a bit?”
They exchange that slow, stoner smile. “Shit, yeah.”
We light up and zone out, the familiar sounds of Scooby Doo buzzing in the background. I can feel the tension unspool from my chest, slow and lazy, like syrup.
Eventually, Reggie turns to me, eyes a little pink. “So what had you all wigging out earlier? Usually, you’re on the go. Partying. Girls. Blowing cash.”
I sigh, letting my head fall back against the couch. “I agreed to behave.”
Teddy laughs. “Oh man, Hector’s busting your balls again?”
“Him and Cass,” I mutter, dragging the last hit off the bong before setting it down on the coffee table.
