detraction (l.h.)

three

 "That's a little unsettling, yeah?," Calum nudges Luke in his side. The reference goes unrecognized by Luke, and he continues to pass through the beaded curtains. All of the textures brushing his shoulders had felt mystic and heart-wrenching. His steps were slow but his heart was fast.

The music playing throughout the surprisingly large building was nearly deafening. Although wincing, Luke was nowhere near regretful of coming here because of the piercing noises but rather because his fear of being inept of being normal for once came into place. He felt like a fish out of water here. It seems like there was not a single person here without a tattoo, piercing, or wacky hairstyle besides himself. Even Calum had a tattoo. Even high and pristine Calum. If Calum was pristine in this case, what does that make himself? Words of discouragement ran through his brain. 'What if I don't know what something is? And even if I do, I can't say I'll know what to do when in contact with it. Fuck, I don't even know how to smoke a damn cigarette.'

Speak of the devil, Michael hands a quarter-burnt, dingy spliff their way. Calum quickly takes it between his thumb and pointer, "Long time no see, ol' buddy, ol' pal."

That mentioned feeling of envy courses through Luke's blood again as his best friend takes a large huff of the white stick. He must've been caught staring soon after, because Cal offers it Luke's way, "Here you are, since you seem so desperate."

Taking it in between his fingers as Calum had, the aroma floats to his nose. This wasn't tobacco, he's pretty sure. "Um, what exactly is this?"

"It's weed, mong."

'So this is what weed smells like?', Luke thinks. Not a drop of the substance had filled his brain yet he was nearly intoxicated by just feeling the thinly wrapped blunt. Risking the embarrassment, he drags it up between his lips and takes in a small bit of smoke, making him cough it right back out. Michael laughs a bit into his elbow, "Oh yeah, by the way, this shit's strong. Straight from the dispensary."

'Dispensary' had brought up the conversation his parents had at dinner once, when his father was to pass the legalization medical marijuana throughout all of Australia.

"Andrew, you're seriously going to let that bill get passed?", his mother had argued. Any mention of drugs or hard alcohol had put her in a frenzy, "What influence will that have on our kids?"

"They're good kids, Liz. I don't think this will have any effect on him at all," Andrew swallowed down the mouthful of food, "And don't act like you didn't smoke when you were young."

"Honey." she said sternly.

"Luke doesn't know what we're saying. The chances of him taking these words into account are slim."

Luke looked up from his plate, his furrowed brows covering the hood of his eyes, "I can hear you, you know?"

His parents looked over at the previously quiet boy. Liz closes her eyes, and smiles, "Luke, don't smoke marijuana. Not even if you're alone. You'll get hooked and everything will go downhill from there."

Luke's mother was always right, but she wasn't there. It was all going uphill from there when the smoke pierced his system. The coughing fit was short-lived, and he soon got the hang of it all. Michael developed a triangle, rather than a circle like in the movies, between the three. Puff puff. Pass to the right.

It wasn't until Luke's eyes hung low, and his laughs became a little more girly did he notice that they haven't moved much from the door. All three of them stood, catching glances of each other, and bursting into fits of giggles. Luke speaks up after his silence, "I never knew this would be as fun as it looks in That 70's Show!"