Chapter Five

I opened my eyes to silence. My room was dark, the curtains thick enough to block out the daylight. I looked over to the clock, I was an hour earlier than I'd anticipated.
'F**k,' I thought. 'I really should be using my weekends to sleep.'
Mom was probably at work, and my brother probably had some meeting to attend — whether or not it was associated to his web design, I didn't care. I had the house to myself, just as planned.
My Gramma told me when the house is empty, it is usually the best time to clean. I never understood that statement, but I assumed she always meant that no one was around to tell you how to clean, so you are able to clean in peace.
I was not planning on cleaning. I wanted to smoke pot and do homework. I had a few essays to work on, so my eyes would be glued to words for a few hours. I wandered over to my safe and pulled out Ally.
As I was closing the safe, saw Sunset and I smiled. Chase had been in my house, and although he couldn't talk, I felt like he wanted me to know he felt the same thing. It might have been because I was still high from the night before, but I was eager to see him again, nonetheless.
I packed my herb grinder and wandered downstairs to the kitchen, twisting the device absent-mindedly. Setting the grinder on the counter, I poured myself a cup of coffee — I always forgot to thank mom for leaving the pot on — and yawned as I wandered to the fridge to get the cream.
As I wandered back to my coffee, I brushed my hair out of my eyes. Gramma told me I would fall in love, and that it would be unexpected. I remembered reminding myself to tell her about Chase the next time we went to visit her. I hoped it would be soon, I needed someone to let me know things would OK — not just with love, but with my friends.
I frowned, remembering Dwayne had been sick before school got out. I picked up the phone and dialed his number. I sipped at my coffee, listening to the phone ring a few times before someone finally picked it up. It was his dad, who never really liked me for being gay; so I spent the next few minutes on hold while I imagined Dwayne's argument with his dad.
Finally, "Hello?"
"Hey, man," I said. "What's up?"
Dwayne groaned, "I'm not feeling well. I got sick in school yesterday, so I'm spending today at home."
I was slightly disappointed, but I didn't mind, "Oh, all right then. I hope you feel better."
"Yeah, same here." There was a pause. "Dude, did you meet up with Chase? I told Justin just to let him tag along, anyway."
"Yeah man, we came back to my place and hung out for the evening."
There was an extended silence on the other end.
I laughed slightly, "Why?"
"He's in my computer engineering class," he said. "He IMed me and asked that I help you meet him."
This time I was silent.
"Apparently, he thought you were very nice during the rainbow meeting. He went back to the meetings before he realized we weren't going there."
Again, I responded with silence.
"Dude, he thought we were gay, too."
"What do you mean? You, Kyle, and Justin?"
"Yeah! He was like, 'You know that one dude, the one with the blond hair. I' not saying you guys aren't cute but yeah.'"
I laughed. My blond hair has always been the only thing distinguishing the four of us. We were all the same height, same eyes, same skin tone, but I was blond. The other three had gingery hair.
"So," Dwayne continued. "The question I asked Justin to ask you was if you liked him back."
I paused, "Why do you want to know that?"
"Because you two just met, and barely. Do you think you really should try going after him? I mean, he's one of those snobby city boys. He can get you in trouble."
So this was why Dwayne encouraged me to keep Chase as a costumer and nothing more. I was angry he wouldn't let me try it out. I had stood by and watched him go through a relationship with Alice, now the school's prospected w***e.
"It doesn't matter if I like him or not. I think love is a nonexistent thing. It's just a word."
"I'm not talking about love, I'm talking about him."
"Then stop," I snapped before I hung up.
I sat down at the table and sighed, resting my head in my hands. My temper usually got the best of me, probably because I was usually alone when I got mad. That made me unable to handle an interpersonal situation while angry.
My Gramma told me cleaning was something that helped her with her temper. I tried it once, and it worked, but I'd prefer to get high. I grabbed my herb grinder and went back to my room, ready to smoke a few bongs before hitting the books. I smiled. I had a computer with Internet access, so hitting books wasn't necessary. The term probably came up when no one had computers, and grew tired of sifting their way through one textbook after another.
Instead, I took a hit out of Ally and leaned back, allowing the new boost of THC to take over before going online. I wasn't overly excited about researching the reasons why World War I had begun. It was interesting, but it wasn't something I wanted to do on a Saturday morning. Oh well, it's easier to get things done and out of the way so we have more time to play, as my Gramma always told me.
Shaking the numbing feeling out of my hands, I started typing, browsing, chatting, searching, loading, networking, and playing games through the worldwide web. I was talking to Kyle and Justin, as well as trying to summarize a 2,000 word article about Franz Ferdinand into three paragraphs. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't boring neither. The pot made things interesting, and although I stared blankly at the screen for several minutes at a time, I'd always snap back into attention.
By the time I felt satisfied with my four-page report about WWI, several hours passed by, and my Saturday was gone. I decided some tea was in order. My Gramma and I would always have a cup of tea and talk — OK, debate — about all the things she said I was "too young to understand just yet."
I set the hot water on, and looked at the time — '4:30, mom should be home right soon.' I opened a few cupboards in search of tea biscuits. I was pretty sure mom said she bought some the other day; unless my brother decided to eat them all in some munchie-crazed fit.
I closed the snack cupboard and sighed.
'Tea, alone, it is then.' I thought, then sat at the table, waiting for the water to boil. I began to make up some beat on the table, humming a slow song to myself. It was a tune I don't remember ever hearing, but I only ever hummed it alone. I never knew why.
When the kettle began to scream, I turned around and pulled the plug out the wall. My cup was all ready and I simply poured the water in. I left it there to steep, then wandered back to my room for, yet, another bowl. How I loved the life of a pothead — everything that was once complicated was no longer complicated. My brother would not agree with me, but that's only because he is a dealer, and I'm just the little brother who sells to high school students for him.
One more bowl, then mom would be home. I already had it all timed out. The best thing about a routine, my Gramma said, is knowing when to expect the unexpected. It took years for me to understand that. When I first started smoking up, I realized my mom's routine would undoubtedly bring her through the door no earlier than 4:50.
I had 15 minutes to have another bowl. I could roll some joints while she made dinner. I loved my mom's cooking. The spices always blanketed the scent of pot. I was almost completely up the stairs when I stopped. Mom would think the cup was hers — an unexpected gift from me. She'd done it many times, and I'd rather she have her own cup instead of taking mine.
I turned around, waltzed back into the kitchen and made her a cup of tea. Then I turned and went back to my room. Luckily, I had a small mountain of ready-to-smoke pot. I wound up taking three hits from Ally in the span of three minutes. My God, what a high. I loved it. I rolled a a couple of joints, then sprayed myself with some deodorant. I heard my mom's car door slam shut.
My mommy was home. I went downstairs to finish making my tea. I heard mom come in, and she was talking to someone. I was tempted to stop what I was doing to investigate, but I kept making it.
"Trevor, you have a visitor," my mom said. After she got closer, she leaned in and whispered, "He won't tell me his name; he won't even talk to me. How rude can these children get? You'd better not be like that when I'm not around."
"Mom," I said quietly. "He's a mute. His name is Chase."
I didn't even have to look to see it was him standing in the doorway.
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