On Saturday night I went with Mum and Dad to the Cobb & Co in Riccarton. It was highly unusual for us to go to a restaurant – I think my parents saw it as an extravagant waste of money. Why pay someone else for food when you could make it at home yourself? In a way, taking me out was a big gesture on their part.
But I was bored and fidgety the whole evening. All I could think about was going over to Skye’s place. As usual, I was building the event up into something far larger than it needed to be. I fluctuated between excitement and apprehension. I worried that when I was at Skye’s I would say or do something stupid and expose myself as an uncool idiot. As always, I had moments of thinking I shouldn’t even go. That way I wouldn’t have to fret about it any more.
On Sunday, I had lunch with my parents, then biked over to Skye’s place in the middle of the afternoon. It was a clear, hot day with barely a cloud in the sky. People were out washing their cars and mowing their lawns. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted about me.
I coasted up the driveway at Skye’s and leant my bike against the side of the house. No one answered when I knocked on the front door, so I walked around to the back. Skye was sitting on the steps smoking a cigarette. She looked ill in the bright light. This was something I often noticed over the next couple of years. In the dark, she looked good, but sunlight made her appear pallid and slightly sweaty. With her sunglasses on, she looked as though she’d been up all night and was only just recovering.
She gave me a small, non-committal smile, stubbed out her cigarette and led me inside. I was startled to see a boy with long, wild hair and an intense stare hovering in the kitchen. It took me a second to realise it was Obie. He looked so much older than when I’d last seen him. He must have only been around eighteen, but to me, at the time, that was ancient.
‘What you two up to?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Skye said.
His eyes lingered over me, making me suddenly self-conscious. Then he turned back to Skye, saying: ‘Who’s your friend?’
Skye gave him the fingers. ‘Fuck off.’
He scowled. ‘Fuck off yourself, you cunt.’
Skye grasped my hand and dragged me out into the corridor and down to her bedroom.
She slammed the door shut. ‘Sorry about my fuckwit of a brother.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘No, he’s an arsehole.’
I gave a weak nod. Obie had been unpleasant, but then Skye had been just as bad. I was a little shocked by how aggressive they’d been towards each other. I didn’t have any siblings, but if I did, I didn’t think I would speak to them in the way Skye and Obie spoke to each other.
I also noted that Obie hadn’t recognised me. I wasn’t sure whether this was because I’d changed so much over the past few years, or because he’d just forgotten me.
Skye’s bedroom was just as much of a mess as when I’d last seen it. I almost laughed when I thought how my parents would freak out if my room was that untidy. When Skye marched across to her bed, the flotsam and jetsam on the floor crunched under her feet. I followed, trying to pick my way as carefully as I could, but at one point a tape cover cracked beneath my sneaker. I winced, but Skye didn’t seem to care.
I sat on the bed next to Skye and she retrieved a joint from under her pillow, held it up and grinned at me, saying: ‘Your present.’
I gave a little laugh. I hadn’t expected to receive dope as a present. It was the weirdest gift anyone had ever given me, but then what else was I expecting from Skye?
A motorbike rumbled outside and Skye went to the window. The engine roared louder, then faded into the distance.
‘Great.’ Skye turned back to me. ‘Obie’s fucked off. We’ve got the house to ourselves.’
She led me through to the lounge, where we sat together on one of the sofas. She laid out the joint, an ashtray and a lighter on the coffee table, as if she were preparing for a religious ceremony. I began to feel anxious. I’d been entirely relaxed about smoking dope the last time, but I’d been drunk. Now, completely sober, my old fears about drugs returned.
Skye lit the joint and took a few tokes, the end crackling red and the pungent smoke billowing around her. Then it was my turn. I placed the spliff between my lips and inhaled. As before, the fumes tickled the back of my throat. I quickly exhaled and gave a few small coughs.
I thought I’d done well, but Skye shook her head and said: ‘You’re not smoking it right. You have to take in a lot and hold your breath for as long as you can. Otherwise you won’t get anything off it. Give it another try.’
With great seriousness, I put the joint back in my mouth. This time I sucked down a large amount of smoke and sealed my lips tight. My throat quivered. I was desperate to cough, but I held on. I wanted to show Skye that I could do it.
I managed to hold my breath for five seconds or so. Then I couldn’t stop myself any longer. I spat out the smoke and broke into a fit of hacking.
Eventually my coughing subsided and I wiped my eyes dry. ‘Sorry. I don’t think I’m very good at this.’
I went to hand the spliff back to Skye, but she shook her head. ‘You’re doing OK. Give it another go.’
I hesitated. I was ready to give up. ‘I think maybe I can’t do it.’
She gave me a withering look. ‘Are you chicken?’
‘No.’
‘Well go on then.’
Her scorn stung me. I did not want to look stupid in front of her and I decided I was being a bit pathetic. If other people could smoke, there was no reason why I couldn’t.
I took another toke and once again held my breath. I wanted to cough, but this time I found myself more able to suppress the feeling. Eventually I blew out and gave only a few small splutters.
‘Excellent,’ Skye said.
I was absurdly pleased that Skye had praised me. She took the spliff, had another drag and passed it back to me. We continued smoking until there was only a roach left, which Skye jabbed out in the ashtray and put in her pocket. Silently, I congratulated myself. I’d done well. I’d smoked dope properly for the first time. Skye had approved of my technique.
Skye looked across at me. There was a furtive smile on her face, as if she were on the verge of telling me a guilty secret. Her eyelids were droopy. ‘Let’s watch TV.’
She slunk over to the television, clicked between the two channels, and settled on some old black-and-white cowboy movie. She sat back down next to me and stared at the screen. I was struck by how quiet she’d become. Normally she could hardly sit still and talked constantly. Now she was completely silent.
I tried to follow the film, but as we’d started watching in the middle of the story it was hard to make sense of it. Cowboys with American accents marched onto the screen, spoke sternly to each other, then marched off again. There was some sort of shoot-out. People rode about on horses. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous, more like a comedy than anything else.
I sank back into the sofa. My skin vibrated with a strange energy. I was very aware of my breathing. I felt the air filter through my nostrils and glide like a blob of cold liquid down my throat. With each breath a new blob funnelled down my oesophagus. One after another. My lungs puffed up and then sagged again. Over and over.
Only now it felt as though I wasn’t getting enough air. I took deeper breaths, but that didn’t help. My lungs didn’t seem able to expand enough. My chest was tight. I was suffocating.
I stood up quickly. I was feeling panicky. I muttered something to Skye about needing the loo and paced out to the hallway. I put my hand on the bathroom door and was about to push it open, but stopped because my heart was thudding wildly. I could barely breathe at all now. I was becoming dizzy. I was going to die. I could tell.
I rushed back into the lounge and said to Skye: ‘Call an ambulance. I can’t breathe.’
She burst out laughing. I was shocked. How could she laugh when I was dying?
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘You’re OK.’
‘No, seriously. There’s something wrong.’
She stood and grasped my arms, staring straight into my eyes. ‘You’re fine. You’re just stoned.’
My mind went into overdrive. I was stunned that Skye wasn’t going to help me. Was she mad? Didn’t she care if I died? Then I remembered where the phone was. I could call an ambulance myself. I tore myself away from Skye, raced down the hallway and picked up the receiver.
Skye ran after me, shouting: ‘Wait.’ She was half laughing, but there was a tinge of concern in her voice now. ‘You’ll be OK. I promise.’
I glared at her. I was furious. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘You’re breathing now, aren’t you?’
I paused. She was right. My breathing was fine now. I’d been so preoccupied with talking to her that I’d forgotten to worry about it.
I stared at her for a moment, still holding the phone in my trembling hand. Then she started giggling. This made me chuckle. Soon we were both laughing uncontrollably. Tears welled in my eyes.
‘Your face.’ Skye fought to speak between fits of laughter, her voice coming out squeaky. ‘You looked so funny.’
I laughed even harder. She was right – I must have looked hilarious. I’d been so terrified and that seemed so silly now. I doubled over and then had to actually sit on the floor as I was shaking so much.
Eventually we both calmed down and Skye said to me: ‘Hey, you want to see something really cool?’
‘Yeah, OK.’
I followed her into the kitchen and out through the back door. The sunlight dazzled me and I had to put on my sunglasses immediately. Everything about the back garden seemed intense. The greens were vivid, the shadows black ponds. The unmown lawn was a wild tangle. Every leaf on every tree looked insanely detailed. The scent of sun-warmed vegetation was strong. Insects hummed loudly. Everything seemed to throb.
‘Over here,’ Skye said.
She walked around to the side of the house and clambered up a nearby tree. She moved quickly and dexterously, as if she’d done this a hundred times before. I grasped one of the lower branches and hauled myself up. It was difficult. I hadn’t climbed a tree in a long time and my arms felt weak. Twigs jabbed me and bark scratched my skin. I didn’t enjoy the experience and wondered what on earth Skye was up to.
Skye edged along a branch and eased herself onto the roof of the house. She looked back and encouraged me as I did the same. I dropped awkwardly onto the tiles and for a second I thought I was going to slip off, but Skye grasped my arm and steadied me.
She took me up to the top of the roof, where we sat on the ridge, the sun warming our backs. I caught my breath as I gazed at the surroundings. It looked so different from ground level. We seemed to be floating above a forest. I’d never realised there were so many trees in this part of Christchurch. Every garden was full of them, while the dense woods of Deans Bush stretched away to the left. There was nothing but greenery all around us, save for occasional roofs and chimneys poking out of the foliage. The golden light of the late afternoon sun washed over everything.
I felt transported to Narnia or Middle-earth. I’d passed through a portal to a magical land.
My skin was still vibrating and the sun’s warmth seemed to fill me with strength. Skye had been right. I was stoned. Properly stoned for the first time. Those previous attempts of mine to smoke dope hadn’t worked at all.
Silently, I said to myself: I get it. I understand why people smoke dope now. It’s amazing.
Skye turned to look at me. She had the same mysterious smirk I’d noticed earlier.
‘Quite buzzy, eh?’ she said.
I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. She and I were on the same wavelength, feeling the same things.
And I was so grateful to her for showing me this world. Without her, I wouldn’t have experienced all this, wouldn’t have had my eyes opened, wouldn’t have had my horizons expanded.
‘So, you like your birthday present?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. It’s cool. Really cool.’
ns216.73.216.143da2
