Page 32 of Regretting Youu

I pull away from the window and turn to look at him. “No. I kind of want to get high, though.”

His eyes move swiftly from the road to me. He smiles a little. “I’m sure you do.”

“I’m serious,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I’ve never tried it before, and I really want to get out of my head today. Do you have any weed?”

“No,” he says.

I sink back into my seat, disappointed.

“But I know where you can get some.”

Ten minutes later, he’s pulling up to the local movie theater. He tells me to wait in the truck. I almost tell him never mind, that it was just a random thought. But part of me is curious if it’ll help with the grief. I’ll try anything at this point.

He walks into the theater, and less than a minute later, he’s walking out with a guy who looks a little older than us. Maybe in his twenties. I don’t recognize him. They walk to the guy’s car, and within fifteen seconds, cash and weed are exchanged. Just like that. It seems so easy yet fills me with a nervous energy. It’s not legal in Texas, and even if it were, Miller is only seventeen.

Not to mention, he has a brand-new dashcam in this old truck. I’m positive the dashcam didn’t catch the transaction, but if he were to be arrested right now, the police would search his truck and probably watch the video and hear that the drugs are for me.

My knee is bouncing nervously when Miller climbs back into his truck.

He drives to the side of the movie theater and faces the road so that we can see the entire parking lot. He pulls a baggie out of his pocket. There’s an already-rolled joint in it.

The truck is so old it still has one of those built-in cigarette lighters. He pushes it in to heat up and then hands me the joint. I stare at it, unsure of what to do with it. I look at Miller expectantly. “You aren’t going to light it for me?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t smoke.”

“But . . . you have a dealer.”

Miller laughs. “His name is Steven. He’s my coworker, not a dealer. But he always has weed on him.”

“Well, shit. I didn’t think I’d have to do it myself. I’ve never even lit a cigarette before.” I pull out my phone and open YouTube. I search for how to light a joint and start playing a video.

“YouTube has weed-smoking tutorials?” he asks.

“Shocking, I know.”

Miller is finding this amusing. I can tell by the expression on his face. He scoots closer to me and watches the video with me. “You sure you want to get high? Your hands are shaking.” He takes the phone from me.

“It would be rude to change my mind now. You already paid for it.”

Miller continues holding the phone for us. When the video is over, I pull the lighter out of its socket and stare at it hesitantly.

“Here. I can try.”

I hand it to him, and he lights the joint as if he’s a pro. Kind of makes me question his initial claim. He inhales once, then blows the smoke away from me, out his open window. He hands it to me next, but when I attempt to inhale, I just end up coughing and sputtering through the whole thing. I’m not nearly as graceful as he was.

“If you don’t smoke weed, how come you did it so easily?”

He laughs. “I didn’t say I’ve never tried it. I’ve just never lit a joint before.”

I try it again, but I still can’t get it to go down smooth. “It’s so disgusting,” I choke.

“Edibles are better.”

“Then why didn’t you get me an edible?”

“Steven didn’t have any, and drugs aren’t really my thing.”

I hold the joint between my fingers, looking down at it, wondering how I ended up here when I should be at my father’s funeral. Drugs aren’t my thing, either, I guess. It feels so unnatural. “What is your thing?” I ask, looking back at Miller.