25-Paul

Paul watched the scene play out quietly, the scene which featured a massive joint passed amongst the circle of his friends. His grin was a mile-wide all throughout. Every word and action from any one of them was sheer hilarity. It was like they were all comics—they were like comedians at the peak of their powers. Every word fit perfectly. Only this atmosphere could achieve it, only this place could bring it out, Paul thought. It was in those exact moments. The time and place were in perfect alignment. It was exquisite. And it might never quite be like this again, Paul realized.

He watched Trey hold the lighter to the cigar-like end of the gigantic joint that had been dubbed the Megaspliff. Trey lit it carefully, rotating the massive thing in his hand, distributing the flame evenly across the entire circumference of the end. Soon it bore a decent trail of smoke.

“Be careful,” Raza said at the last second, but his caution wasn’t nearly enough, as his words were instantly overcome by a vicious series of coughs from Trey, who spewed forth a giant cloud while also muttering “Holy shit,” on top of booming laughter all around.

“Give me that,” Raza barked, grabbing the fuming joint confidently and bringing it to his mouth. But nothing worked right at all, as the lit end actually burst into flame. With wide, panicked eyes, Raza coughed and batted out the fire as smoke and cinders filled the air and the guys around the table all keeled over once more.

“Look. They can’t even talk,” Antwann said, pointing to the two guys hunched over in coughing fits.

“The Megaspliff just handed it to both of these chumps,” Ronnie remarked.

“Wow,” Trey finally managed, his voice weak.

Ronnie took the joint next and looked as though physically and mentally preparing himself.

“Show ’em how it’s done, Ronnie,” Paul said.

“It’s a silly intake of smoke, see?” Ronnie explained. “You got to inhale from far back. Don’t even let your lips make contact with the end of it, yo.”

Ronnie began his monstrous hit, his lips never coming within even a half-inch of the joint. The guys watched with silent intensity as Ronnie reached the apex of his inhale and around the table eyebrows raised.

“And the transformation of Ronnie Whitner begins,” Paul said. “Wait for it…wait for it…”

Ronnie coolly released a giant cloud that enveloped the entire group, and any previous expression on his face was overtaken by his instantly narrowing eyes, and a huge, clown-like grin.

“There it is,” Paul chirped.

“How was that shit, Ronnie?” Antwann asked.

“Man…I think I just smoked a dime. In one hit.”

Paul got it next, and he mimicked Ronnie’s maneuver. It worked in grand fashion, and it hit him like a Mack truck. Almost instantaneously all feeling in his limbs was replaced with a pleasant buzzing sensation. The loopiness increased multiple times over, and he slouched ever deeper in his chair.

The Megaspliff passed completely around the circle twice. The end burst into flame occasionally, and the panicked, laughing stoner batted it out while everyone else collapsed in hysterics.

He watched Trey as he seemed to snap out of a trance, and, searching for some kind of wherewithal he couldn’t find, he instead simply stubbed the end of the Megaspliff onto the deck, putting it out. It was more than a third of the way smoked. “Executive decision,” he managed to say.

“Huh? Why?” Raza asked, blankly.

Trey shrugged. “We’re all toasted?”

“Damn, I ain’t ever seen anything like that shit,” Ronnie said, puffing furiously on a cigarette, his eyes long since vanished. “Look at y’all motherfuckers. Everyone’s like…sinking.”

Paul looked around the table. Ronnie was right. The longer it went on the more aggressively everyone slouched in their chairs. It was like they’d all fall on the floor soon.

“What? What? I ain’t even tryin’ to be funny,” Ronnie piped, shrugging, but nevertheless his words only seemed to fuel the laughter even more so.

Paul was one of them. He couldn’t stop laughing either. It was too funny. One glance at anyone seated around the circle would set him off—Trey with his stoned-surfer look, Raza with his trying-to-keep-it-together-but-failing theme, Ronnie who continued to speak a mile-a-minute as usual, or Antwann, who had put on a red Phillies hat that perfectly matched his blazing red eyes and poorly contained his poofy afro that emerged from all around the base of the cap.

It was all worth it, Paul thought, while in continuous, incessant laughter. He wouldn’t trade this for anything. His older brother Sonny had made straight A’s and got a full ride to college, but did he miss out on these experiences? If so, then Paul felt sorry for him. What were they living for exactly? What was waiting for them in the future? He couldn’t say for certain. Maybe instead it was this, maybe this was the exact moment that mattered most. Maybe it didn’t get any better. Maybe it didn’t get any funnier. Maybe they’d never be more full of life. Would it be this fun when he was older, wearing a suit, and working long hours? Was that the goal they were striving for? If so—why? Those guys seated around the porch table—his buddies from forever, whom he joked with, played sports with, chased girls with, got into trouble with—he knew them all so well they were practically telepathic. Did adults have friends this good? He doubted it. No, these were the best friends he’d ever have—of that he felt assured. Not to mention how they sat around that table, of different races and ethnicities, laughing and joking together like little kids. He and his boys had solved racism by accident. Without even trying to. They could bring peace and harmony to the world if people would just look and see how they lived.

Paul knew he was a special kind of high, and he actually had tears streaming down his cheeks, so deep was his laughter and his appreciation for the moment. But when, for no apparent reason, Antwann actually fell out of his chair and hit the ground, it was too much to handle. The laughing somehow stepped up a notch or so, as Paul saw Antwann unsuccessfully trying to stand back up. His pants were sagged so heavily, with the backside of his boxers more than halfway visible, and he couldn’t quite make it to his feet as he fell over again. His Phillies hat fell off, and his giant afro expanded to its full poofiness as his body rolled loudly across the deck, a tumbled mass of limbs and loose clothing. Antwann laid on the deck, giving up, his body shaking in laughter.

All around the table there was nothing but silence and strained vocal cords. Paul looked around and saw how they all had tears streaking their faces. It was too much—suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. His face genuinely hurt from laughing. He actually wanted to stop, even just for a moment, but all it took was one look at any of the other guys sitting around that table and it would start back up again.

Without saying anything, Paul jumped out of his seat and walked inside the house, unable to handle it anymore—he needed to breathe. He slid the door shut behind him and walked into the quiet kitchen, finally beginning to calm himself. His laughing slowed down, but didn’t stop entirely. He took several deep breaths, trying to get it under control.

Finally thinking he had it together, Paul refilled his cup of jungle juice and was in the middle of taking a sip when Raza walked into the kitchen. He had a giant, cartoonish grin on his face and the mere sight of him caused the laughter to erupt forth violently once more within Paul, and he sprayed red jungle juice all over the kitchen countertop. Raza in-turn collapsed into laughter as a renewed bout began.

Paul still could find no words and it took several minutes to quell the giggling. Finally, he floated back outside and sat down where the guys were shouting and laughing. He could tell just by the volume and color in everyone’s voice that tonight was going to be wild. They’d barely yet dented the jungle juice and it was hitting them hard. And the joint had taken them to another planet.

“Ah, hell no.”

They all looked over and saw a large group of girls filtering into the yard from a couple cars that just pulled up. His girlfriend, Lauren Kenny, was there, and so was Crystal Stevens, and Alana Herrera, among others. The voice had belonged to Alana.

“That’s some bullshit,” she said, bitterly.

“What?” Ronnie asked, chuckling.

“Smokin’ up before we get here? Uncool.” She shook her head.

“Damn…chill,” Ronnie replied. “We’ll re-toke soon enough.”

“Y’all best be,” Alana said. “What are you guys drinking, anyway?” she asked, curiously.

Antwann raised his cup. “The jungle juice is on. Go get yourself some. You’ll love it.”

With that the girls made a beeline inside, with a hush of annoyance because of marijuana-smoking opportunities not immediately presenting themselves. But they came back out happily, with full cups in hand. Their presence started the dispersion process, as the guys spread out from the table, mingling amongst them.

Paul pulled himself out of his seat to join Lauren. He approached her slowly, attempting a modicum of sobriety while doing so, but knowing he was probably failing miserably.

Lauren took one look at him and she started laughing.

Cigarettes lit, jungle juice consumed, and the tunes started to bump. The party had begun.