The Fleeting Happy

Twenty-Five

Greene and I reached Severn Valley's hardware store relatively quickly, circling the parking lot only twice before finding a spot. It was a surprisingly warm day for spring, but I was just glad that the horrendous winter cold was gone— especially since the heater in Greene's truck was still broken.

"You know, you really should get that thing fixed," I'd advised him, just before he shut off the engine.

Greene glanced at me, as if wondering why I was talking to him so comfortably.

Despite the fact that we'd mostly reconciled our post-breakup differences, things between Greene and I still had some undeniable residual awkwardness that I was hoping would go away with time.

"So, how was the first day with Link the Shrink?" Greene asked as we climbed out of his truck and started the leisurely walk down the parking lot, towards the hardware store entrance. For some reason, Greene seemed different. Or rather, changed. Something about his aura had changed and I wasn't quite sure what it was.

I knew him pretty well (or at least, I thought I did), and I was able to spot the shift in his personality as quick as lightning. For one thing, he had his hands stashed in his jeans pockets. Usually, he talked with his hands, waving them or jerking them or slicing them through the air in little parallel lines. Now, they were at rest, tucked idly out of sight.

For another thing, he smelled...

Like nothing.

I sniffed the air once, just to make sure. There was no scent of marijuana that lingered on his clothes. He smelled normal. Greene never smelled normal.

"You okay?" I asked, as we stepped into the hardware store. The sliding glass doors hissed shut behind us, encasing us in the air-conditioned coolness of the building. Inside, looming shelves of outdoor equipment, work tools, automachinery, lawn furniture and more were splayed out before us, dotted with the occasional eager red-shirted employee or primly-stacked display.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Greene blurted out, a little too quickly. He seemed flustered. Greene was never flustered— he was always as cool as a cucumber. Something was definitely going on. "Why would I not be okay? Psh. I'm okay!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a Ziploc bag crammed with squashed, flattened brownies. Without another word, he began to stuff his face.

"That's an edible, isn't it?" I asked, cracking a smile. Thank God, I thought. He hasn't gone completely insane. If Greene was still at least ingesting marijuana, then that meant that all was right in the world.

"Mhm."

"You seem different," I noted.

Greene balked. "No, I don't!" Then, almost rapidly, he changed the subject: "So, what were we supposed to buy again? Do you have the list Carter gave us?"

I reached into the pocket of my jean jacket and retrieved the crumpled-up slip of loose leaf paper Carter had so prudently given us for reference. Jotted down in his Kindergartner-like scrawl of hard-pressed lead was the list of things we needed to buy: 10 of the standard 10 x 16 feet tarps. A telescoping ladder. Cable ties. Construction adhesive. Flagging tape. A 30 foot retractable extension cord. A long, dreary list of over-specified screw heads and other such tools he might not have had in his own tool box.

Most of the things on the list, I had no idea why we needed them. I got more and more concerned for this prank the farther down I went.

"How much is all this going to cost?" I asked, frowning.

"Don't worry, Carter gave me the money," Greene said.

I folded the list back up again. "Don't you think he's taking this prank thing a little too far?"