The Page of Wands

A VINTAGE STORY

I was firing up some 420. Well, that's the first phrase that came to my mind when I remember Josh. He was a cute guy and although we didn't know each other to become friends, I got enough from him to recognize he was indeed a good man.

Josh made my tongue go crazy. He had this accent I was never able to decrypt and he was crammed up in verbs and words I didn't know–and thus, needed. He was not a bookish guy, he told me, he was just a critical and logical human being but he was surrounded by this hunger for knowledge that no matter he never went to college, his wisdom was delivered to him by the very world which esteemed him. You know that the planet hates us, so the motherfucker invents ways to kill us all?–don't blame it at all. Well, it venerated Josh instead and that's why it gave experiences to him.

I myself am to be considered older than him. Or wiser. But I'm not. Don't misbelieve my good sense of amiability, what I mean is that I'm a graduate from college and an industrious young adult. I read often, I search for news, and I'm a good listener. Well, now that I think about it, my job has maybe something to do with it. I'm a journalist. I've worked for the local newspaper since some months. But I'm really no one compared to Josh who happened to be just some heads above me.

As I declared, he and I didn't know much about each other. He smokes, I don't. I read classic literature, he doesn't. He's gaudy and I'm a wallflower.

When Josh spoke, my hungry eyes followed the path of his lips. He had a moustache. He knew I was bewitched by him but he didn't care about it. I assumed he was used to this attentiveness from the ones who listened to his stories. So, I had to catch every unusual word of his without asking about their meaning, and I grinned every time he stopped to stare at the front and gave me a direct look, not only to confirm him I was enjoying his tales but because I was having a nice time.

I'm not much of a speaker. In my graduation, I was asked to speak up for the class. I declined. Not that I was nervous–maybe an inch–but I sweated too much and then it'd be a mess out of me. I prefer to listen and that's why I devoured Stella Park's discourse when she jumped in the podium. She was incredible and attractive.

Now I dedicate myself to listen to others and write what they say. It may sum up I have no body and no personality, and indeed I invisibilize my presence very well but it's just that I don't tolerate attention. I prefer to yield it.

I didn't know what a 420 was until that day when I met him. He was 'firing up' some. Of course that day I got to add new words to my vocabulary. I added new senses for everything that day. I'm telling you, if one day you find a ravishing creature, keep your eyes on it until it vanishes from your sight. Clutch your claws to it, draw its silhouettes, devour it. After these kind of encounters, you won't ever be the same again.

Seize them.

We are all whimsical, ruthless, cruel creatures. We need to give and receive, we need to burn and freeze. We're opposites and equals at the very same time. Think of Josh and I.

Our love for knowledge united us. Our experiences separated us.

I'm still grateful for that evening when I was crossing down the red street. I was spit out from Giorno's dining place straight to where the invitation called me out. I had already made my mind up to write my own book and quit the newsletter but I was tromping cautiously and in the most authentic discreet pace.

I learned from my nonno I had to have my laces tied on everything and only untie one once I was more than sure I could go with an option. So, I never told me chief I pretended to stop writing simple articles for him. I never told anyone I wanted to be simple book author. Well, of course my girl knows it. This, she supports me.

I was walking down the alleys to where I was invited. I had received a note inside a napkin some nights ago while I was having some junk dinner at Giorno's.

'I have some good stories for you.'

I asked Giorno who left it there. I had gone to the restroom to wash my hands and when I returned, I had found this tarot cartuline card inside the napkin I was using to clean the mustard out of my mouth.

The old man just said: "Someone."

Of course he told me he knew who it was. At least the nickname. The card also let me know the place I could find this messenger.

"It's a bum everyone treats here."

He was Josh.

He wore Lennon green glasses and he taught me words to add to my book, words and ways of 'having and sharing fun.'