Page 25 of The Last Special Thing

“It’s a plant,” he reminded her.

They turned into a nearby park and took a seat at a picnic table at the far end, tucked between two large oak trees. It was early afternoon, and they were alone.

Art pulled out a tube with a joint inside- a message in a bottle and handed it to her.

She read the disclaimer, “Sativa hybrid. Julius Caesar Triple Burger. Full flower joint.”

“It’s just marketing.” Art whipped out a lighter from his pocket.

He scanned the vacant park, then he ignited the flame, holding it below the edge of the joint. He rotated it in a circle like he was roasting a s’more. As if this was normal, to be out in the middle of summer at a park where children could have been playing and lighting something on fire. Pot was legal in California as long as you were over twenty-one, but she wasn’t sure if smoking in public places was also legal.

She wrung her hands together as Art burnt off the last of the paper and reached the weed. He inhaled, passed it to her, then exhaled a moment later.

Amelia inhaled quickly to get it over with, then tried to hand it back to him.

“Princess,” he drawled, a smile playing on his lips. “You really haven't smoked before.”

“I’ve done this.” Maybe she didn’t have the same experience he did, but she did have some.

Art reeled in his enjoyment at her expense. He leaned toward her. His eyes had softened. “Can I give you some advice?”

She met his eyes, knowing he intended to help her.

“Inhale and pause,” he instructed. The words ‘I know’ were on the tip of her tongue, but he cut her off with a raised finger. “Let the smoke sit in your mouth for a minute.”

She put the joint to her lips again, inhaling and counting to five. When she opened her mouth, her eyes locked on Art, and the smoke billowed out. A wide smile spread across his face, as if he could tell that his advice worked.

A triumphant smile spread across her face. She handed the joint back, feeling giddy, and the smoke curled into the cloudless blue sky.

They passed it back and forth a few times. Her entire body, from her toes to her fingertips, relaxed. They fell into a comfortable silence, yet she felt his presence more than before. He was right. She hadn't smoked before.

He stood up and extended his hand. “Let’s adventure.”

She took his hand and smacked her lips together, tasting a fire pit.

She pulled out her phone. Madisson should be home by the time they arrived. But instead of messaging her, she fixated on her thumbs. Texting was a pretty cool thing she could do. Twenty years ago, people didn’t know how to text.

At least, she didn’t think they did.

How long had texting been around? Were pagers considered the first form of texting? What did a pager look like?

Her phone vibrated, but she hadn’t been able to text Madisson yet, lost in her thoughts.

Weston

Where have you been?

Amelia shoved her phone in her jean jacket, which felt like a tent on her. She couldn’t think of Weston. She was trying to make sense of the world.

Walking along, she rolled her shoulders.

How often did she go through life without feeling as intensely as she did now? Without noticing how tall the pencil-shaped palm trees were or how wet the puddles looked, mirroring the sky blue above them. What a shame not to notice everything.

They were almost back at the apartment, one block further to go. Her eyes were dry. While she always made fun of lazy stoner eyes, hers felt too big for her head.

Maybe it wasn’t great to feel everything after all. She hated that her eyes were bulging out of her head.

How could anyone love her with her giant bug eyes?