Fix: A Two-Part Story

Summer, age 17

Remnants of a rainy spring stretched into summer. The saturated ground and spontaneous storms made it impossible to get anything done or even scrounge up the motivation to do it.

Gage laid on the wicker couch listening to the patter of rain on the stone path that swirled around the garden. Ozone in the air and the rhythmic sound of the rain wrapped him in a calming haze that the joint between his fingers intensified.

His journal, one of the gifts from Josephine, laid open on his lap to his latest sketch, a flower. One he managed to snag from the garden during a lull in the rain. A blue and purple cluster of tightly packed petals on a long stem. Looking at the sketch he started to wonder when he switched from his usual madness to such mundane things. The itch to put harsh lines on a page had slowly faded away without him realizing it. Instead, he sketched the most random things—the shadows the blinds cast on his bed, beads of condensation from a beer bottle, or smoke falling from someone's lips, mannerisms or poses. Unknowingly, he started to challenge himself, something shifted inside of him.

"Gage, where you at?" Gerry called. Still far away enough for Gage to know he was still inside.

"Out here," he called back, not moving from his stretched out position. Placing the joint between his lips, he closed the journal. He heard Gerry approaching and released the smoke from his lungs.

"What are you doing?" he asked. In confusion, he looked from the joint to the journal and back to Gage.

"Exactly what it looks like," he laughed. He brought the joint back up to his lips only to have Gerry snatch it away. "What the fuck, man?"

Gerry took a hit not caring that Gage reached to get the joint back. He took a few steps back and laughed, all the smoke he inhaled escaping his mouth. He took another hit and passed it back to Gage.

"Vulture," he muttered, returning the joint to his lips.

"Seriously though, what are you doing out here?" Gerry still didn't get it.

"Smoking and listening to the rain, a little bit of sketching, exactly what it looks like," he pointed out again.

Gerry mulled over the explanation for a brief moment. "Yea, well, go change or spray on some cologne because we are going out to find some food," he clapped his hands rubbing them together.

"Where at?" Gage pulled himself away from the couch. The joint rested lazily between his lips as he slid the journal into this pocket. Raising his arms above his head he stretched, his back popping in protest.

"Jo want's to check out that new sandwich shop on Pinnacle," Gerry explained, leading the way into the house.

"Who's driving?"

"What does it matter?"

"Because if you're driving, I need to get more stoned. You scare the shit out of me."

Gerry turned around, gave him a light shove and took the joint from his lips. Gage laughed and chased after him.

The sandwich shop SUBlime was busy. The line stretched nearly halfway to the door and only a handful of seats remained available. Conversation buzzed and bounced off the subway tiled walls. Fresh bread baking and the sharp smell of homemade dressing and vinaigrettes wafted through the air.

"I've been dying to eat here since it opened up," Josephine said. Her attention fixed on the large letter board menu that hung above the employees working the counter. She spun around and looked at both Gerry and Gage, who just nodded their acknowledgement. Her gaze lingered on Gage. Smiling, she brought her index finger and thumb to her mouth as if she was holding a joint. Gage smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if saying 'you know it.' Josephine mouthed 'rude' and turned back around facing the menu.