Beyond Labels (GirlxGirl)

Part 2

With Natalie gone for the night, I leave my desk and shift my attention to my personal dresser. The best tip I ever got for college was that if you hide your drug paraphernalia in your own dresser or drawers, RA's cannot search them.

As I open the drawer, the faint scent of herbs escapes, and a small grin forms on my face. I carefully retrieve my hidden stash, appreciating the brief respite that the night brings. The semester has been a whirlwind of classes, responsibilities, and unexpected friendships, and this small ritual provides a momentary escape.

The soft glow of the desk lamp casts a warm ambiance in the room as I prepare for a quiet evening. I find solace in the simplicity of rolling a joint, the familiar routine grounding me amidst the academic chaos. The muffled sounds of distant conversations and occasional laughter from outside add a subtle soundtrack to the peaceful rebellion within the confines of my dorm room.

As I exhale the first puff of smoke, a sense of calm washes over me. The dimly lit room becomes a haven, a sanctuary where the boundaries of college life blur for a moment. The night unfolds with a gentle rhythm, the muted activities of the campus blending seamlessly with the soft glow of the desk lamp and the subtle scent of herbs lingering in the air.

Growing up, I found solace in the world of cannabis during my high school years. While some of my peers were engrossed in various hobbies or extracurricular activities, I found myself drawn to the laid-back culture and euphoric experiences associated with marijuana. It became more than just a recreational activity; it became a lifestyle.

My parents, surprisingly liberal in their views, adopted a laissez-faire approach to my experimentation with cannabis. As long as I maintained good grades and fulfilled my responsibilities, they seemed indifferent to my recreational choices. This permissive attitude only fueled my exploration further, allowing me to delve deeper into the subculture surrounding cannabis. Becoming the valedictorian of my class certainly helped keep them off my back too.

Throughout high school, my evenings often consisted of hanging out with like-minded friends, passing around joints, and engaging in philosophical discussions that seemed to flow more freely under the influence. Despite the occasional run-in with authority figures or the disapproval of more conservative peers, I embraced my identity as a "stoner" with pride. 

All of the sudden a knock on the door startles me, and I put out my joint. I do my best to mask the smell using some body spray. I look in the mirror that hangs on the bathroom door and can't help but notice my red eyes. Ugh, I'm so fucked.

I open the door and feel relieved when I see my best friend, Joseph, at the door. His tall stature and bright red hair make him distinguishable out of a whole crowd.

"Oh my fucking god. Don't you have a phone?" I ask Joseph with anger in my voice. He shoots me a look that screams 'puppy dog' with his brown eyes.

"Jeez sorry! I didn't know you'd be toking up already," Joseph says with an apologetic grin. "I just wanted to see if you were free for a late-night snack or something. Didn't mean to interrupt."

I shoot him a glare, a mix of annoyance and relief evident in my eyes. "Well, consider me interrupted. What's the late-night snack emergency?" I ask as I plop onto my bed.

Joseph chuckles, sensing my irritation. "I heard there's a new place downtown with killer tacos. Thought we could check it out. You in?"

I glance back at the mirror, contemplating the redness in my eyes and a birds nest of my brunette hair, and let out a resigned sigh.  "Fine, give me a minute to grab my jacket."

Joseph has been my friend since my freshman year. Him and I met in our world history class, and we both share a passion for obscure historical facts and late-night adventures. From our first conversation about ancient civilizations to our impromptu trips to the local eatery, Joseph has been a constant presence in my college journey. It helps that he's always respected my wishes to not be more than friends. Don't get me wrong, he's a cute guy, but I'm not so much of a romantic person. 

As we make our way downtown in search of those rumored killer tacos, the familiarity of Joseph's company eases the tension from the unexpected interruption. Our banter about historical mysteries and conspiracy theories fills the air, blending seamlessly with the lively hum of the city at night.

"It still blows my mind people think the moon landing actually happened. All I'm saying is if we did it in 1969, why do we suddenly not have the technology to do it again in 2024?" Joseph asked to the imaginary crowd. There was a brief pause in conversation. "Exactly."

"You know that meme of the guy with the crazy hair and it says 'Aliens'? That's the vibe you're giving right now," Joseph giggles at my remark. "I still can't believe we can't take anymore classes together. I miss cheating on assignments with you."

"I know right! It's cause we're getting further along in our majors. With you being computer science and me being art history, I'll probably end up being the one to make your coffees," Joseph laughs to himself.

When him and I arrive at the restaurant, our noses fill with the scent of delicious food. I didn't realize I was so hungry until now. The atmosphere of the restaurant was vibrant with colorful posters and what looked like street graffiti on the walls. 

"Hello, welcome to Rodeo's. What can I get for you?" The cashier asked both me and Joseph. Joseph was more prepared than me and placed his order online.

"I actually had an online order for Joseph." Joseph says to the cashier.

"Gotcha, let me go grab it." She says, heading to the back of the restaurant.

As the cashier hands over our order, I notice her intricate tattoos again. It looks like a sequence of mythical creatures and whimsical landscapes. I look up and meet her eyes, and there's a momentary connection – a subtle exchange that sparks curiosity.

"I love your tattoos by the way," I remark, unable to contain my interest. "Do they have any special meaning?" I can't help but notice the look Joseph is shooting over my way. 

The cashier smiles, her eyes lighting up with a hint of pride. "Thanks! They don't have any particular meaning, but I do love this one," she rolls up her sleeve and reveals a castle with a dragon sitting on top.

Joseph chimes in, "You gotta love a white girl with a dragon tattoo."

The cashier nods and laughs in agreement. I chuckle too at Joseph's comment, appreciating his knack for injecting humor into any situation. Glancing back at the cashier, I notice the intricate details of her tattoo, the vibrant colors and elaborate design hinting at a tale waiting to be told.

As we bid farewell and head back into the night, the encounter with the cashier adds an unexpected layer to our evening. The intricate tattoos become a symbol not just of her personal journey but also of the potential for connections that can emerge in the most ordinary moments. And, in that small taco shop, the social anxiety that initially lingered transforms into a reminder of the richness that comes from embracing the unknown and opening up to the stories of those around us.

I think I might have to come back to this taco shop.