LITTLE HONDA
With a bit (okay, maybe more than a bit) of alcohol and a questionable amount of courage, anything can happen.
Here I am, sheepishly sitting across from him on this couch. I can’t stop petting the suede, drawing smiley faces all over the cushion next to me.
“When I saw Jeff Mangum on his solo tour, he looked like he hadn’t been out in daylight for at least, like, fifteen years. At least.”
“I hate to judge a book by its cover, but… yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Isn’t it weird that his wife looks like Anne Frank?”
“AND his sister?”
“There’s something going on there… something definitely illegal.”
“Well, I’m about to do something that’s illegal in 27 states… you coming?”
I look up. “I guess you don’t know me that well yet.”
I wasn’t surprised he knew how many states hadn’t legalized weed yet. Us Californians are passionate about our bud. Once you get the conversation going, suddenly everyone has a PhD in THC, throwing out facts and studies that legitimize the cause. It’s hilarious, but laughing out loud would just be offensive.
“You get greens.”
I blush.
“Thanks…”
I light the joint and sit in one of the patio chairs. He sits next to me.
“Did you see everyone go out to the garage?” he asks.
“No… why, what’s going on?”
“Ah,” he leans back. “I just think somebody brought coke.”
“Ew… Jesus, you would think no one would snort coke after Jen’s ‘rhinoplasty’.”
He puts up air quotes. “Rhinoplasty”.
We chuckle to ourselves and look down. I can admit that this is odd. Us two hanging out alone. I guess after enough drinks you can bond with practically anyone. I suppose sobriety has its downfalls; social expectations, anxiety, depression, knowing your imminent death… these things are total bummers. It’s nice to know that sometimes you can just bond with someone you’d typically be instinctually fearful of during the daytime.
“HEY!”
We look at each other.
“Just uh, having a smoke…” he mutters.
“Oh, oh, oh… a smoke.” our friend drunkenly slurs with a sly smirk swept across his face, his eyes squinting with suspicion.
“Yup.”
“Okay… you two are cute!” He slams the sliding glass door.
“Ew… Jesus, you would think no one would snort coke after Jen’s ‘rhinoplasty’.”
He puts up air quotes. “Rhinoplasty”.
We chuckle to ourselves and look down. I can admit that this is odd. Us two hanging out alone. I guess after enough drinks you can bond with practically anyone. I suppose sobriety has its downfalls; social expectations, anxiety, depression, knowing your imminent death… these things are total bummers. It’s nice to know that sometimes you can just bond with someone you’d typically be instinctually fearful of during the daytime.
“HEY!”
We turn our heads like meerkats.
“Why are you guys out here?!”
We look at each other.
“Just uh, having a smoke…” he mutters.
“Oh, oh, oh… a smoke.” our friend drunkenly slurs with a sly smirk swept across his face, his eyes squinting with suspicion.
“Yup.”
“Okay… you two are cute!” He slams the sliding glass door.
“Jesus Christ, they’re all really fucked up.”
I laugh, “Yeah, huh… not surprising, though.” I look up. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fucked.”
“Yeah? Eh, I’m sort of winding down. You want to do shots?”
Aw, shit. I’m supposed to drive home.
“Yeah, sure.”
—
Tequila drips down my hand and seeps into a cut.
“SHIT.” Pure pain.
“WE’RE NOT DONE YET. THIS IS ONLY OUR SEVENTH SHOT.”
“No, I know, I know… I just… er, okay yeah let’s do this.”
I don’t think any of us realize how fucking sloppy we look at this very moment. Our testosterone levels are through the roof and the phrase ‘turnt up’ would perfectly describe this situation… and we wouldn’t be afraid to use it.
We raise our miniature glasses up.
He smirks. “What’s this one for?”
“To… to friendship!” I smile confidently.
His grin grows wide, teeth shining through.
“Friendship!”
A SHORT STORY BY MARINA SAKIMOTO