The Hard Truth About Sunshine(19)

I drain the rest of the beer in my can and crush it in my right hand. Despite being light two fingers, it's pretty strong and that's due to the months of rehab I endured. Standing up from the bench, I ask, "Anyone want another beer?"

"I do," Connor says.

"Me," Barb mutters.

"Me too," Jillian adds, and I wonder what type of drinker she usually is. She doesn't look like a beer type of girl, yet she'd drained hers almost as quickly as I had during dinner.

I grab beers from the cooler and take a quick look around at the other campsites. The one on our left is empty. To our right, there's a two-man tent setup but I've yet to see people there. There's a family of four on the other side of that with two preteen-looking kids.

I have a scant moment of turmoil, but then squash it. I'd read the law on where dope can legally be smoked as it was posted in the dispensary, and we're in a private campground on our private spot we paid for. We're good to go. So what if the kids happen to look over and get a peek of us getting stoned?

It will be a life lesson their parents can explain to them.

After distributing the beers around the table, I pull out the plastic bag of marijuana and some rolling papers.

"What's that?" Jillian asks from across the table.

I roll my eyes at her. I only told them that Barb and I were going grocery shopping when we left, but surely she knows what pot looks like.

"Oregano," I tell her dead-panned.

"What for?" she asks, slowly blinking her eyes.

"To get you high," I tell her with a sly smile, and her mouth forms into a little "o" of understanding. "Figured the perfect time to do that was while we were in a state where it was legal. That will hopefully take care of any paranoia you might have about getting in trouble."

"Well, I'm not sure now's the best time-" Jillian starts to say, but Barb cuts her off.

"You said it was a bucket-list thing, and we're doing bucket-list things on this trip. So you are getting high."

"Yeah," Jillian says quietly, giving Connor a motherly look. "But Connor's not even eighteen-"

"You're not in charge of me, Jillian," Connor snaps at her, and I turn to look at him in surprise. That's the first time he's ever lashed out at her for her overprotectiveness. "I'm pretty sure if I get arrested for underage consumption of marijuana, my parents aren't going to be too pissed off given my time table."         

     



 

Jillian's face flushes and she lowers her eyes to where her hands are clasped on the table. "I'm sorry. I'm just being paranoid before we even start, I guess."

"It will be fine," I assure her as I start to roll a joint. "There's hardly anyone around."

"When did you start smoking pot, Christopher?" Connor asks from my left.

I don't take my eyes from my task, but I answer him. "I smoked some in high school. After I got out of inpatient rehab, I moved to a halfway house for disabled veterans who were independent enough to get out of the hospital, but still needed intensive outpatient rehab. My roommate there smoked a lot, and I had him score for me as well. A lot of veteran's self-medicate that way."

"Is that what you call it?" Jillian asks softly. "Self-medicating?"

"Well, none of the pills the doctors gave me were working, so yeah …  why not?"

I lick the edge of the paper, finish my roll, and stick it in my lips. Pulling my lighter out of my pocket, I stare at Jillian as I strike the flame and bring it to the end. One short suck to get it going, then a longer inhale to pull the smoke deep into my lungs, where I hold it. Pulling the joint from my mouth, I hand it across the table to Jillian.

She takes it from me, stares at it as if it's dangerous, then looks back to me with those lazy, sexy eyes. I exhale the smoke from my lungs and nod down to her hand. "Go on. It won't hurt, I promise."

"Bucket list," Barb mutters from Jillian's side to remind her she asked for this.

"Here goes nothing," Jillian murmurs and brings it to her lips. I watch her carefully because I know this is the first time smoke has probably touched her lungs since she's so averse to my cigarettes. She sucks on the end, the cherry flame brightens, and then inhales. It immediately puffs back out of her mouth as she starts to cough, holding the joint out to the side so Barb can take it.

Jillian hacks with her hand covering her mouth, tears filling her eyes.

"It will get easier," I tell her with a wink. She looks across the table at me, blinking her eyes at a sloth's pace to dispel the wetness. "Next time, just pull a little into your mouth. Once it's in, then inhale it. Don't try to take it directly down."

She nods and gives another cough.

Barb takes a long hit, then passes it to Connor. He takes the advice I just gave Jillian, sucking it in like a pro, and fuck …  I'm kind of proud of him.

When it comes back to me, Jillian asks, "How long before I start to feel something?"

♦

One hour and another round of hot dogs later …

Jillian is laughing uncontrollably. It started out as a snicker, which erupted into a snort and then turned into a cackle. Then came the deep belly laugh, followed by wheezing.

I hold out the second joint of the night to her, but she shakes her head and gasps, "I can't do anymore. I'm dying as it is."

And that's almost true. She's been laughing her ass off at almost everything since she felt the first effects. Connor has too, for that matter. Barb and I are just mellow, although I've found myself chuckling more and more.

I take another hit off the joint and offer it to Barb. She takes it without hesitation. I'm betting her tolerance dependence for the stuff is higher than mine because I'm pretty sure she smokes it daily.

"Connor," Jillian says with a slap of her hand on the table. "Did I tell you that I told Christopher he was hot?"

My jaw drops slightly, gaze shooting over to Barb for a brief moment. She looks at Jillian with interest before taking a deep drag on the joint.

"But he didn't believe me, I think," Jillian says in exasperation. She throws her hands up as if she's confused and says, "I don't get it though. He absolutely stumps me."

There's a moment of silence before Jillian's eyes slide guiltily to mine.

I lean across the table and murmur in a low voice, "Did you just use the word ‘stump' in reference to me?"

She winces slightly and swallows hard. Her brows draw inward and her lips purse and for a moment, I think she might cry. But then she slaps her hand on the table again as a laugh bursts through her closed lips, making a pppffffbbbbtttt sound.

She starts laughing hysterically, gasping as she sucks in air. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say ‘stump'."

But she doesn't quit laughing, leaning so far over the side of the bench I'm afraid she might fall off. It takes no more than three seconds for my scar to pull and my lips to peel back in a grin.

And then, I start laughing too.         

     



 

♦

Two hours, a bag of Doritos, a bag of Cheetos, and a can of Pringles later …

Marcy Playground's Sex and Candy is playing on my iPhone that I'd set into the center of the table, and I take the last hit off the third joint of the evening before I drop the paper end to the ground. Pushing the heel of my tennis shoe over it, I ensure it's snuffed. We're all mellow right now. Even Barb looks relaxed, which is strange because I don't ever recall seeing her that way. Gone is the permanent scowl. She's actually got a slight smile on her lips, although her eyes are barely open because she's so stoned.

"Hey, Barb?" Connor asks, his voice slightly thick from the pot, beer, or the combination of both.

"What?" she says, opening her eyes up more to focus on him.

"Do you still talk to your parents?" he asks softly, and the air goes still over his bold question.

In any other circumstance, Barb would probably tell him to go fuck himself or viciously stomp off, but she merely says, "Nope. They're dead."

"Dead?" Jillian asks.

"Killed in a house fire," Barb says without an ounce of remorse or pain in her voice. In fact, it almost sounds like triumph.

Jillian gasps, her hand coming to her chest. "You didn't … ?"

"For fuck's sake," Barb says with a half laugh, half growl directed at Jillian. "I'm suicidal, not homicidal."

I can't help but snicker at the obvious relief on Jillian's face that there isn't a murderer sitting at our table.

"I left home after I gave the baby up," Barb reveals to us, and there's the pain I know that's a driving force. "Never went back."

"Jesus," Connor whispers.

"You know the funny thing?" Barb says, but I don't think any of us will laugh at what she says. "I'd have died too if I was still living with them. How ironic is that? I wanted to die, and they did it so fucking easily."

"Do you still want to die?" Jillian asks, and that question right there completely kills what was left my mellow mood.

Barb actually gives a genuine smile in return as she nods. "Every damn day."

None of us know what to say, so silence envelopes the table.

And then …  in a voice that's barely audible, Barb adds, "But I also want to live every damn day too. I'm just not sure which I want more."