01-Joe

Author's note: the oft-used term in this story, Lunchin', is slang that was (maybe still is) predominant in the Washington, D.C., Maryland, and Virginia metropolitan area. While it has several meanings, in this story it generally means “overreacting,” and “needing to calm down and/or chill out.” It might also mean "acting stupid," depending on the context.

THURSDAY

“Trey, I know what this is!” Mrs. Cruz shouted. She stood in the driveway by Trey’s station wagon, holding a two-foot, sparkling blue glass bong in one hand.

Trey Cruz and Joe Cunningham stood in the driveway, realizing they were busted, wishing they could teleport away from this scene. Trey had an expression of pain and surprise written on his face, and Joe, a fabricated look of complete innocence. But they were both bad actors. How many times had Trey and Joe smoked the hell out of that bong? Smoked it until the glass was caked with resin? Until neither of them could keep a straight face for longer than half a second? Even at that moment of panic, Joe could still hear the water bubbling inside the tube, could see the smoke gathering within the chamber, and could feel the harsh, wicked inhale as the laughter and cheers from his friends all around him escalated a notch. He could clearly recall the smooth exhale enveloping them all in a giant cloud of smoke as he lost all feeling in his body, and any expression on his face was replaced with the giant, dumb grin of the high.

Mrs. Cruz could see straight through them. She could see how their eyes were glued to the bong as she waved it back and forth in the air. They had dubbed that bong “Big Blue.” She knew she held something very familiar to them. Perhaps she could even see it was something very dear.

“Mom, I told you, it’s not mine!” Trey yelled. “You’re lunchin.’”

Joe felt an upwelling of laughter and almost lost composure.

“Oh!” A fake, sarcastic laugh came out of her mouth. “There’s that word again. Lunchin’! Is that how you plan on getting out of trouble your whole life? Just use nonsensical words? When your boss fires you for failing a drug test, what are you going to do? Tell him he’s lunchin’?” She made quote marks with her free hand when she used the term.

“But it’s not mine!” Trey wasn’t giving up.

“Oh, yeah? Then why was it in the back of your car?”

“Someone must have left it there!”

“How does someone leave this thing around?”

“I…I don’t know! That’s what’s so weird!”

Joe bit his lip, stifling another upwelling of laughter. It drew her attention.

“Joe Cunningham?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you know anything about this?”

“No, ma’am,” he said immediately. Polite and as brief as could be—the best manner to have when a friend was getting busted.

“You think your parents would like to hear about this?”

“No, ma’am, I…don’t think they would enjoy that.” Now he was just being honest.

A car pulled up on the side of the yard. Trey and Joe groaned to themselves when they saw it was Paul heading for Trey’s house and this terrible scene. How many more of their friends were going to have to witness this upcoming bong-execution?

The car parked, and within seconds, Paul walked down the driveway toward them, wholly oblivious. He even had a jump in his step. They both knew why he was there. Paul was their good friend, and for these guys it was convenient indeed when a good friend also sold weed. Plus, he was clean-cut, and well-mannered, so adults and teachers liked him, and wouldn’t suspect the entrepreneurial endeavors he had on the side. He was also reliable, showing up there right on time to deliver the dub-sack Trey requested earlier in the day, when he’d thought his mom would be working late. Instead she was already home—looking through his car for some ungodly reason.

Mrs. Cruz had her back turned momentarily, so Joe tried to motion Paul away. But it didn’t work—in fact it even made Paul more curious as he hurried forward, asking what was going on. Mrs. Cruz spotted him, eager to continue her interrogation.

“Hey, it’s Paul! Perfect! Maybe you know whose this is?” Mrs. Cruz held the bong high in the air.

“Oh, shit!” he yelled out, as Trey and Joe both winced. “Uh, no, Mrs. Cruz, I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Cruz said, making her way to the garage.

“Mom! Mom, what are you doing?” Trey asked weakly.

The three teens watched helplessly as Mrs. Cruz disappeared into the garage. They only had time to share a few nervous glances before Mrs. Cruz returned, with one hand carrying the bong inside of a trash bag, and the other clutching onto half a cinder block. She tossed the bag and the bong in the grass, where it landed softly, but it wasn’t safe for long.

“Oh no, oh no,” Trey moaned softly, knowing all too well what was about to happen.

“Oh, shit,” Joe muttered.

“Dude…you gotta stop her somehow,” Paul said under his breath.

“Dude…it’s too late,” Trey answered as his mom raised the cinder block in the air and brought it down on the glass bong. They heard it shatter within the bag, presumably into a million sparkling blue pieces. None of them could keep up their act. They all winced.

Mrs. Cruz stormed inside.

“What the fuck? I just got here…” Paul whispered, stunned. “I must be dreaming…tell me that did not just happen.”

“It did,” Trey answered. “Big Blue is no more.”