Walking out of This World

Fifteen

I open my laptop and stare at the little white line moving across the center of the black screen. The mouse responds to a silent touch and selection of OpenOffice with the little black arrow. I need to write this down before all sense of a personal record escapes me. This is the end of September and the river of reason that normally runs through my brain has turned green and winding.

Sunday I completed my first day of community service and met Grace who showed me how unconditional friendship is offered and received.

Then, there's Lacey who ushered me into the embrace of green haze and conscious lust.

Monday found me facing down philosophy class at the pointed end of rows of students rising like a stadium and making State's anonymous greeting. Monday found me savoring the green haze and docilely committing to...I must say...a well organized PARTY ON blast, surfing on the crest of the green wave.

Tuesday took me back to the freshman stadium in a different building for Math. I was less interested in the numbers than the video game with which my laptop so graciously gifted me.

"Shh. Just finish on line."

Wednesday brought down the house with my favorite content—writing. I gratefully listened to the prof read regal examples of good writing. I peered down from high up in the nosebleed seats of another department's stadium.

Thursday I skipped for the noble purpose of calling Dad and Mom, assuring them that all was well...Oh yeah, "I appreciate the money you are investing in my education," I assured them.

I had to smoke some green after that episode.

I called Lacey, the recollection of s'mores and lust powering the green river that now runs through my grateful gray matter. I asked her to go dancing at the Venue Friday night. Latter I offered Warren a night of everything on me if he'd make it a foursome.

The local ATM has become my best friend and a BMW is good cover for a lustful motive.

It's finally Friday and I'm smoking the last greenie—leaning out of the window of course. Next, I'll wash the evidence away with a mouthful of Scope and an extra spray shot of cologne.

Warren is waiting for me downstairs.

I close the laptop and head down.

It's nine o'clock when we pull up around a half circle of asphalt where the girl's sorority house proudly waits all decked out in white columns and Southern charm.

Warren presses the little button on the ring box. "We'll be right their."

We walk down the stairs that conveniently match the driveway's shape. Lacey takes my hand. We slide into the BMW's cool leather seats, enveloped in a cloud of chatter.

The line is still short enough to lend a momentary wait before we cross into the noise of pounding music and hidden chatter. A table is visible at one end of a growing mass of moving bodies. The soft scrape of chair legs against the floor welcomes our arrival at the Venue.

A waiter scuttles over and asks what we want to drink. I order a pitcher of coke and a large platter of nachos.

I lean into the center of the table and speak over the music blaring behind us. "This is a non-alcoholic place. I picked it so Lacey and I wouldn't be hassled about being under age," I explain.

"Nothing to worry about!" Warren speaks up. "I have us covered with my handy flask of rum." He gratefully doctors our drinks.

Lacey's face is glowing behind an inviting smile. "Let's dance!"