I had never even considered that I might be being melodramatic about the whole "life" thing until someone decided to tell me that I really was.
"Dude, lighten up," he said, "you really think too much--here, have some of this," he offered, handing me his joint, knowing full well I wouldn't take it, "you won't be so pissed off."
But I'm not pissed off at all. Just mildly pensive. Somehow he failed to understand this, in his enlightened state. I don't know how I ended up being his best bud. I didn't even smoke, never mind pot or whatever else he did. Maybe I smoked for a week. And it wasn't really an image thing, just more to do something on what would have otherwise have been a really boring week. And maybe I did do pot every once in a while, but it definitely wasn't enough to alter me in any remotely significant sense. But despite our lack of similarities, Will and I just seemed to click as I think I found in him something which I felt that I was lacking in me--the ability to have fun.
Sure, he was a degree more than irresponsible. Careening down these windy, country roads at a breakneck pace, while under various influences isn't necessarily the best way to preserve one's neurological activity. However, it's sure a hell of a way to have a load of fun, and let go of a lot (as long as it's not the wheel). My idea of fun, on the contrary, was listening to really loud classical music, lighting a few candles, and reading a book at three am. Some how, I don't think I quite measure up.
"No thanks, Will," I replied, waving away the smoke. "You're dealing with me, here. Just angst and weak tea."
"Whatever." He always said that. Whenever he knew I was being sarcastic or something, he'd just wave it away with his naive simplicity. However, he didn't always pick it up. Truly, Will's a lot nicer than I am--while I sometimes play manipulative games, like talking over his head, to see if he'd play along (only when he's stoned), his most diabolical tactic is to pin me down when he wants to beat me when we're wrestling. I guess I like having the upper hand somewhere.
"Jess," he began, his eyes gazing at me imploringly. That's always how he starts something which he thinks will be important. Usually, it's just chemically induced philosophy, but once in a while, I swear the boy has a stroke of pure genius.
"Yep?"
"Umm, I don't know, really," he said.
Well then why'd you even begin to say it.
"That's fine, it'll come to you."
"Yeah. Sure you don't want some?" he said, again offering me his joint. Usually I'd immediately wave it away, with some response about not wanting it for some various reason or another, but this time, I just thought about his oh-so-eloquent statement about my being "pissed off." Not that it was anything ground breaking for me to smoke some pot, not that he was the first one to ever note that I wasn't necessarily the most chipper member of the species (by this time, it had been quite a common occurrence), it just seemed to have suddenly culminated with his invitation. Odd how stuff like that happens.
"You know...you know..." I couldn't find words.
"Something wrong?" he asked, serious as he could.
"I don't know. Something's just odd. Something's different." I had lost my grasp of it.
"That poster's new--the one with the fairy and shit on it," he said, pointing across his room. I obediently glanced at it, and made some little sound of acknowledgment. I didn't stop looking at it. I was so angry at him for missing my grand catharsis, for completely failing to recognize it. But then it became so silly, I doubled over in hysterics. Here I was, feeling like I had the most deeply profound and introspective moment of my life, while sitting in some room, full of psychedelic posters and lava lamps, while some hippie-freak tried to get me to share a joint, and told me about the fairy on his wall. And I didn't even know what the fuck was so deep about my revelation, which, by this point, I couldn't even recall.
"Jess?" he asked, puzzled. I kept laughing. As I was sitting on the foot of his bed, he moved down towards me, from his perch at his pillows. He moved my chin up with his index finger, and looked into my eyes. "Hey, are you, like, all right?" he asked.
I laughed even harder. It was insane, I realized, but I couldn't stop now.
I'm better than ever.
Maybe if I had felt like this when I smoke a joint, or do whatever, I'd actually get into that sort of thing. But it's always a haze. And when you have someone like me, searching dutifully for truth and some brand of enlightenment, hazes are something which should be avoided at all costs.
"Jess," he attempted again. He grabbed my shoulders and looked into my eyes, obviously getting himself prepared for something, as I continued giggling. "I'm pretty sure that I love you."
That was too much. Full-fledged hysterics seized me, and I doubled over again. Will looked all upset for a second; like I'd grabbed him by the heart and suddenly decided to pinch it. He still hadn't let go of my shoulders, and so he took advantage of his position and gave me a kiss on the forehead. He let go of me, and left the room.
I just laughed.
Back.