New Apartment

Another rainy winter day in the O.C.

Dad and I, and one of my friends, the friend with a truck

and a need for a six pack of beer and a little crystal,

move the little furniture we own

(all Salvation Army chic with previous owners dead skin and lost change)

into our new apartment off of 19^th street Costa Mesa.

We get done quickly.

All of our shit is wet.

We're wet.

The dust mites are wet.

Speedy (the pick up friend)

tells us he has to go. After seeing him pick at his face

I knew it

wouldn't be long.

As far as tweakers  go, he is one of the better ones.

I head to my new room. A room like all the others;

painted white, nicotine stained curtains

and a view of some other apartment.

I open the window as a police helicopter passes over.

Dad calls me to the living room.

I sit down on our new couch,

thinking about how many dust mites I am crushing;

Dad hands me a brown paper bag.

I open the bag and find a quarter bag inside.

Ignoring the surreal moment

of a father handing his fifteen year old son a bag of dope,

I open the quarter, raise it to my nose and take a big sniff.

Damn Dad, that is some good smelling bud!

Dad reaches into his pocket,

pulls out a bowl and hands it to me.....Load it up.

That moment it hits me,

I am about to get high with my dad!

I load it, light it and pass it to Dad.

He takes a long toke, holds it in

and then lets out a cumulus cloud

of spent smoke.

We load it a few more times.

I start to feel the familiar heaviness

of a good buzz.

I forget about the dust mites.

I forget about my dad

and I enjoy the moment.

© Charles Scott 2014