So, as much as I love history class, (ha) I ditched. To smoke with Daisy in the courtyard. The courtyard once was surrounded by extracurricular classes. Random ones, that no one really joined or cared for, so they were cut out. Most of the classrooms are used for storage now. So, it has become the I’d-rather-have-a-smoke-than-sit-in-class court.
Oh, yeah, Daisy. Daisy’s a girl with dirty blonde hair. She’s one of my friends, but we’re not a super close one, and we occasionally make out. I’ve tried to get her to do more, but she won’t. So we mostly just smoke together.
I leaned against one of the stone pillars, and took a long drag on my cigarette. “So, Daisy,” I said, smoke escaping gracefully from my lips, “what class you skippin’?”
Daisy groaned, lighting her own cigarette. “Math,” she said bringing the cigarette to her lips. “Have you taken that test yet?”
“If you count filling in the bubbles to say ‘die’ as taking the test, then yeah,” I said, smirking as I flicked ash from my cigarette.
Daisy chuckled as she sat down on the browning grass and stretched her legs out in front of her. “What about you?”
“History.” I watched a tendril of smoke drift up into the air.
Daisy looked up a bird that flew overhead. “Ya know, someday we’re going to have to stop this,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
“Yeah, but why stop sooner than we have to?”
“We shouldn’t have even started.”
Dear ole Daisy and I have this conversation often. It irritates the crap out of me. She chose, and still chooses the path she’s on. Skipping class, snorting coke on the weekends, drinking cheap liquor on Sunday instead of worshipping the Great Lord. She always bitches about it, saying how she should kill herself, how her Daddy shoulda wrapped his willy.
Just fuckin’ do it.
She won’t though. She’s too scared.
I’m not going to tell the rest of the tale of the courtyard smoking. It’s stupid. And ya know what?
I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done.
