05-Joe

Joe dreaded going to class. It was so much better out in the halls, where there was so much going on—all the people to say what’s up to, all the girls to look at, and so many red, squinty eyes that allowed Joe to play his favorite hallway game: Are they Stoned, or Just Tired?

It was a particularly comical array of folks he saw pass by, none more so than the tower of loose, ragged clothing and unkempt hair that was Ed Lugo. Ed emerged from the crowd and walked straight toward him with a glazed grin.

Joe hadn’t seen him in forever. For all he knew, Ed had dropped out. He was one of those guys who skipped school so much it was a wonder they even let him back in.

“Hey, man,” Joe said, grinning in return.

“Joe, how are you?”

“Good, man. How you been?”

“Good also. Hey, I got some really good ‘cid if you want any.”

And just like that, Joe knew why Ed was in school today. “Oh, yeah?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, it’s some of that Wizard shit. It’s strong, and only five bucks a tab.”

Joe shook his head. “Dude—”

“Your boys Rob and Paul just bought some.”

“They did?”

“Yeah, about thirty seconds ago. You want to join ’em?”

Joe shook his head. “Dude…I’m done with it. That’s the truth. I’m done with acid.”

“Hey, that’s cool. I understand.”

“I just…I had my fun, and I’m done with it, you know?”

“Definitely, man. It’s not for everyone. Do me a favor, though. If you know anyone who’s looking, let me know.”

“Will do, man.”

“All right. Take it easy, Joe.”

“You too, man. Later.”

This was about the fourth time Joe had had that conversation with Ed Lugo over the course of the last year or so, but every time he acquired a sheet he still asked.

Joe hadn’t done acid in about a year and half, and frankly, just the thought of it gave him chills down his spine. Parts of it were fun, but overall, it was way too sketchy for him. Joe was pretty content these days just being a beer-n-pot kind of guy, as he put it.

He kept walking, and the start of his next class inched ever closer. It was terrifying. He had too much energy, and it was murderous to sit for so long. Especially now, with everything else going on—it was becoming exponentially worse.

Finally, reluctantly, Joe walked in the classroom. He sighed, and then sat down right as the bell rang.

Then, the torture began.

The teacher droned on and on, and on, as Joe shifted in his seat, looked at the clock, and fidgeted. At times he looked nervous, even anguished.

The class was trig, and on some days, he strangely didn’t mind it. It actually computed with him. But recently, forget it—paying attention was laughable, since she had come into the picture.

Indeed, a giant wrench had been thrown in the gears, something that was constantly manifesting itself. For example, he looked down at the paper in front of him, that college-ruled paper he should have been using to take notes, but instead it was covered with doodles and scribbles—and in these her name came up repeatedly. Juanita, written again and again, in various fonts and styles. Juanita, written with heartache, and written with joy.

He was so disgusted with himself. He genuinely hated himself for all of this.

Joe suffered through the rest of it, and during the final moments, he even watched the second hand tick through the home stretch all the way up until the bell rang. Class was over and Joe dragged his ass out of his seat and filed out of the room with all the other miserable bastards in his class.

It was a blessed reprieve to be out in the hall once more and Joe relished every second of it. He got to his locker, even though he actually didn’t need anything. But, he wanted to waste a little time. He didn’t want to get to his next class too early. Strategic timing was involved in his entrance. Though he didn’t know why—he hadn’t any plan other than trying to look cool while walking in.

It was Spanish, the class that in his mind, would surely go down in infamy.

He took a deep breath and then entered.

Not only did Katherine Lisi and Sarah Pratt both look up at him, their conversation stopped immediately, and yes, there were slight smiles on the faces of both girls. He walked by their table, trying not to make it look obvious that his heart was malfunctioning.

As he passed, Katherine said, “Hi, Pedro,” still with that same smile. That was his Spanish name.

“Hi, Juanita,” he said. That was hers.

Katherine and Juanita were one and the same. She was brunette, girly, and pretty, with skin that was always tan somehow, but his favorite thing about her was her smile—how it was so full and unrestrained, especially when she aimed it toward him. She came across as quiet and shy, but Joe knew she actually wasn’t, and that at her core she was outgoing and genuinely hilarious when she wanted to be. Altogether, she slayed him.

Joe took his seat toward the back of the classroom and breathed finally. The girls resumed their conversation soon after, the two of them giggly and smiley. He wondered if they did that on purpose, or if it truly was their natural state, or what. He looked at them for a bit, dumbfounded, feeling way overmatched.

Lance Gill showed up a few minutes later, and Joe earnestly thanked God. Lance was kind of a blowhard, but Joe didn’t care—he needed someone to talk to, desperately. They greeted, and Joe went seamlessly into the instant-classic story of the demise of Big Blue. During it he couldn’t help noticing how Katherine stole a few glances back in his direction. She saw him and Lance talking and laughing, jiving in a language that was more slang than actual words, and each time she was smiling.

He couldn’t believe it was like this now. They used to be such good, laidback friends, he and Katherine Lisi. For much of the year, they had sat right next to one another, so they were always paired up for class exercises. They’d laugh and joke together as freely as little kids. They were Pedro and Juanita, like two peas in a pod—and everyone knew it, too. But later, sometime in the spring, their seats all got switched around, and so for the most part they had stopped talking. That seemed to be when it all started, for whatever reason, because he found himself thinking about her all the time, thinking about her way too much for it to be normal. And it all led to this, apparently—whatever it was they were doing now.

The bell rang, and class began.

The students all quietly worked on exercises in their workbooks. Señora Peña paced through the tables, answering questions here and there. Joe couldn’t stop himself from stealing more glances at Katherine as she worked. She had a slight look of concentration on her face as she wrote in her workbook. Her hair was pushed to one side, and some strands eventually fell to her cheek. As she wrote, she would sometimes push these strands back behind her ear. Then, Señora walked close to Katherine. Katherine asked her a question in Spanish. Joe had no idea what she’d asked—he couldn’t hear her well enough, and he probably couldn’t have understood her words anyway. But then Señora answered her question, and Katherine replied, “Gracias, Señora,” and Joe felt dizzy.

When the bell rang the kids all around him bounced to their feet and jetted toward the hall. Katherine was one of them, and Joe watched her stand up in total sync with Sarah, the two of them instantly smiling and chatting as they glided swiftly out the door. Meanwhile, Joe stood slowly, moving like someone had just told him his car had been towed.

He perked up in the hallway, though—especially when he saw Trey and Raza walking right at him, the two of them grinning like hyenas.

“What’s up, guys?” Joe asked eagerly. “Goddamn, Raza, you’re still doing the flour baby thing?”

“You know it,” Raza replied casually.

They were none the wiser. It was clear that neither Trey nor Raza had any clue how messed up he was—it was perfect. He could always count on his friends.

“Jesus, I’m glad I didn’t take that fuckin’ class,” Joe said, grinning.

“So, have you recovered yet, Joe?” Trey inquired. “After seeing Big Blue go down like that?”

Joe laughed. “Nah, man. That’s gonna take some time. It’s funny how everyone is talking about it today. It’s like, the talk of the school, you know?”

“Yeah,” Raza said. “You can put that in the yearbook—in your senior memories. ‘RIP Big Blue.’”

“I’m gonna do a slow-pour of a forty tonight, man, for Big Blue,” Trey declared, nodding his head. “I’ve decided. I’ll be all ceremonious about it.”

“You know, Trey, even though you’re minus-one bong, it is still eminently clear to me that you smoked-up this morning.”

“Yeah. The Friday morning wake-and-bake tradition is still intact. Ronnie rolled a bob on the way to school. I’m still lit.”

Joe laughed. “I know. You sound like a surfer when you’re stoned. It kills me.”

“Yeah, Trey, it’s like the more stoned you are, the more Californian you become. You do that shit on purpose?” Raza asked.

“Dude,” Trey looked at them seriously. “It is freakin’ automatic. When I’m high, it’s like I have to restrain that shit.”

“Nah, you ain’t got to. It’s hilarious. Your throwback west coast shit is highly refreshing, considering how overtly ghetto our school is.”

“Where are you guys going, by the way?” Joe asked. “As we’re walking along here I’m becoming increasingly certain that none of us are actually heading toward the cafeteria.”

“Yeah, screw that,” Trey said. “I’m way too hungry to eat there.”

“So, what fine eating establishment will you be gracing with your presence?”

“The hallowed land of the stoned, of course,” Raza said.

“The Pizza Hut lunch buffet?”

“Hell yeah,” Trey replied.

“Skipping school while still carrying flour babies. Nice. You guys are perfectly half-assed. I love it.”

“It’s important to maintain good balance,” Raza added, speaking in an almost scholarly tone.

“How about you? Where you going, Joe?” Trey asked.

“Mike’s.”

“Smoke?”

“Well, it’s Friday like you said. I’m a little late for the wake-and-bake, but…”

“You can call it a learn-and-burn, then. How’s that?”

“I don’t know. The first part of that term is kind of a stretch.”

One of the side doors was in sight. It was a common escape route. Trey’s chin-length hair swung wildly, his head on a swivel as he scanned the hallways around them.

“Dude…what are you gonna do when we get to the exit and see them there, just waiting for us?” he asked.

“Who?” Raza asked.

“Administrators.”

“I’ll whip these bags of flour at them. Then, I’ll slip away quietly, the white cloud concealing my escape.”

“That’s hilarious,” Trey said. “Goddamn, I’d pay to see that. I almost hope we get busted, just so I can see it happen.

“Me too, in a way,” Raza agreed.

“You probably would do it, too,” Joe said. “You’re the craziest motherfucker in this whole school, Raza, dude.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

Up ahead they saw Liz standing by the doors waiting for them. She was a willowy freshman with a mischievous look, and never more so than that moment, as she peered through the window, scoping out the school grounds.

“Coast clear?” Raza asked her.

She nodded, and they slipped outside through the door.

“Hey, Raza,” Liz said, as they walked along. “You’re still a sweet little flour baby daddy, even on Friday, I see.”

“Ooh, burned,” Trey chortled, while laughing.

She turned her attention to Trey. “Hey, dude.”

“Hey, Liz, what’s up?”

“Shotgun.”

Raza busted out laughing. “Damn, Trey, you just got schooled.”

She smiled playfully. “Trey…all that ganja is making you slow. You’re way off your game.”

“She just called you out, man,” Joe said, grinning.

“Dude, shouldn’t your girlfriend be in gym class? Or Driver’s Ed., or some shit?” Trey asked. “Damn.”

“Shut up,” both Raza and Liz said simultaneously.

Halfway through the parking lot, Joe broke off.

“Enjoy the hallowed land,” he said, and they waved bye. He watched them get in Raza’s car, and a second later the music bumped as the engine started up. Then, they were off, and Joe was again by his lonesome.

He sighed heavily, and it felt like his entire body sagged and deflated.

Joe got in his car and drove to Mike’s house, which was only a few blocks away from school. Both of Mike’s parents worked, so they were gone. Mike wasn’t there yet, but he’d arrive soon enough. Joe practically salivated, thinking about the marijuana that awaited him shortly.

The front door to Mike’s house was locked, so Joe walked around through the side yard and then onto the back porch, which was full of pots and plants of various sizes, a little greenhouse jungle, unkempt and overgrown. The floor of the porch was brick, and large patches of moss grew between the cracks.

The sliding glass backdoor was open, as Joe knew it would be, and he let himself in.

Mike’s cats stared lazily at Joe. Joe pointed at one of them as he walked by, for no good reason, and then made his way downstairs to the basement, where Mike’s bedroom was.

It was dark, but black-lights were on, making certain things glow, giving enough light to navigate. Joe found the overhead light switches, flicked them on, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV. He sat amongst multiple guitars, basses, amplifiers, and a full drum set. Mike and his band jammed down there.

Mike arrived a couple minutes later.

Within a couple more minutes, they were smoking a joint.