pas de deux - josh kiszka

chapter eight- the rite of spring

fourty minutes later.

"No, because listen...Isadora Duncan has shaped me."

"Dude, Anna Pavlova shaped me..." Josh held his hand to his heart and his eyes lit up.

"Did you see they're auctioning off a pair of Anna's pointes at the Royal Opera House?" I leaned forward in excitement.

"Dude, no way."

"Dude, yes way!"

"They have to be expensive."

"They're at like... $2400 right now I think."

"Oh, to be rich." He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I'd drink to that." I raised my invisible glass in solidarity.

Josh smirked. "I can make that happen! What's your drink of choice?"

"I like a good Pinot Grigio?"

He pointed finger guns in my direction and stalked off into the kitchen.

Waves of highs had been hitting me throughout the hour since we smoked that joint, but now, as I stood in this foreign home, the thickness of the high closed in on me. I was left conscious only on the inside. Each thought rushed at me from nowhere: dense, deep, rich. With every inhale I felt my sinuses clearing, and suddenly I was empowered by the distinct scent of rose incense.

The room was dark still, even with the lights turned on, all colors: pink, blue, red, yellow.

I wonder if I did a pirouette in here... if the room would look like the city lights.

On his couch was draped a few throw blankets. One of them was intricately woven, with expensive fabric. I went to sit down, so I could get a better look at the blanket. It was a vibrant maroon, with blue and gold stitching throughout. Patterns in the maroon, blue and gold wove in and out of sight, like dancing strings, and the fabric was smooth. It looked Egyptian, but I couldn't tell for sure.

Josh appeared outside the kitchen doorway with two wine glasses, and sat them down on the coffee table.

"Well! Let's pack us a bowl."

Josh sat down next to me and pulled out his tray and the bowl. He became focused, and the room fell silent. The soft picking of flower to put in the grinder, and the growling scraping sound of grinding the flower was all you could hear. Music!

He packed the bowl with preciseness, and it was truly a marvel. I wasn't sure anyone could be good at packing bowls, but, man...I think Josh is a master packer. Master Packer! Like MasterChef, but for the art of packing bowls. I chuckled to myself.

Josh slipped the bowl into the bong and proudly held up the lighter and bong for me. "First hit?"

I took the bong, flicked the lighter and engulfed the green flower in ember. The bubbling in the bong floated past my ears and invaded my mind, each chuckle of the water echoing inside my skull. I exhaled, coughing a bit.

"Dude, that was a big hit." He raised his eyebrows at me. "You sure you don't smoke weed more often than this?"

"Honey, I've been doing this a long time." I nodded my head in his direction. I passed the bong to him.

My pupils were eliminated with the flame of the lighter, letting golden fire wisps seep in between the blackness of my pupils and green irises.

The bong bubbled as he inhaled, and as he exhaled, his mouth fell into a relaxed smile. "You gonna drink your wine?"