something wicked this way comes

3 | liana | smoke buddies

━━✱━━

KARMA IS FOR LOSERS. Okay, that was harsh. Let me elaborate : karma is for those who want others to fight their battles. There, better?

Now I wouldn't begin my tale of woe by stating there's no person in the sky, I'm sure there is. At times like now, I can picture a popcorn bucket next to them and them nodding off every time I don't bring a stranger home. Loneliness? Nah. But could be. Never say never.

Karma as notion is quite illogical.

Just something you've been taught to keep you under check.

The source of comfort for the miserables.

Somebody swindled you off money? How terrible. Here let me offer you a practiced line, a token of empathy : karma will get them. They will never be happy. We shouldn't be tricking people. Unless it's for the Halloween candy, but that's a given.

You can just file a police complaint against them, instead of waiting on your deity to take action. And if there's one, I guarantee they are rolling eyes as we speak.

"I don't think I can smoke with you anymore," says Yasin Lang, tipping his ash on my goddamn floor.

"It's not that I don't want to," he adds. "Just the fact I've been trying to quit. You should too. Enough damage has been done."

Damage, he says. I wonder what damages he's here to repair.

For one, he cares about his health. "Are you listening, Lia?"

This must be Karma getting even with me. Because why in the world Yasin Lang would break off a sweet arrangement as this?

On Saturdays, we smoke.

After work, usually.

We take turns at paying. He gets me Thai food, I tell him work's been weighing down, we console each other it gets better. And smoke a joint.

"Is this about money?"

"Liana," pain seeps into his voice.

"I can pitch in more. I'll work overtime, don't you worry."

"You're too careless, Lia."

He brushes a tuft of ash-blonde back, a sigh escaping his lips. "I know what a competent worker you are."

Then what is it?

"I'm not challenging you, trust me. I'm only worried in the next ten years. . ."

"Oh I wouldn't live that long, " I say. Because it's true. Future plans? What future? What plans? "Life is my rollercoaster and I'm too late for a refund. So here, hold this and let's meet on Saturday. Okay?"

I hand him the Malboro pack before disappearing into void. Code : kitchen.

Moonlight pours in. Beneath the large circular window, I place my ass and look back in time. My memory palace is fucked. It has all these people, colors in kaleidoscope, that I once yearned to enchant.

"Lia, what's that behind your back? Are you hiding something?"

"That man is twice your age for Christ's sake. Get a grip, Lia!"

"God, what are these? Red marks again.. what's the matter, Lia?"

"Why can't you be normal, Lia?!"

I'm normal as far as I can tell. Everybody smokes when tired. Work's hectic.

Some manage to take it down on their respective family. It's called displacement. Rage welling up, a man gets home and yells at his wife. Only later he's reminded he's only frustrated, with his boss, also a woman by the way. Maybe cancer stick would have eased him. Just saying.

With that thought, I light one.

Biting my cheek, hearing the door shut.

He'll apologize tomorrow. I can just feel it. Like me, he's also socially oppressed. He must come back. He'll quit his positive charade and crawl back and we'll be here, at eleven on my front porch, higher than gods.

I just know it.

━━✱━━