It was a particularly unbelievable event. For my friends atleast, when I described this instance of getting high.
Well, I couldn’t believe it myself when I think back about that day, almost a month back from now. How weird! For a person who is always the mommy in the gang, making sure that all those drunk folks get back home safely, notifying the Ola driver of the right directions to home, inspite of their incessant, drunk murmurs of the house being next to a banyan tree (which, of course, no on knew where!)
It wasn’t one of those days when I was frustrated with life. It wasn’t one of those days when I was in an I-wanna-try-everything mood. It just happened, because I felt safe getting high
Basically, it all started with that irritating greyness called smoke. I hate smoke, in whatever form. It irritates my eyes and chokes my lungs. What surprised me is how they coolly slipped their mouth and nose into a pipe and inhaled that burning remnants of that brown leaves and puffed out random patterns which my knowledge of geometry couldn’t define. Bong shots, they happily called it. And in an hour or so, that evil slowly crept into my head too. That’s what passive smoking does to you. I never knew when I got high.
No no, that wasn’t the word they used. Cut, it was called. In that dreamy state, my mind wondered how easy life was when cut was just when blood oozed out, little by little. The thought of blood created some sort of a repulsion in me and I decided to stay out of all such gory details.
I heard them laugh when I struggled to put my heels on and told them that I felt sleepy. Sleep should be the last thing in your mind now, they advised. And I listened as much as I could, obediently when they took me to the pub!
Pubs, as noisy as it can get, where places the moral me would never frequent. I was drowsy, but safe. There were strong fingers intertwined with my weakness that kept me moving forward. After ordering a cocktail for myself, I was surprised at how happy and quirky I felt at the same time. Well, time was as immaterial as it had always been, for me then. I don’t remember looking at my watch ever that night. Those hands kept me safe, secure. I drank my cocktail bit by bit, waiting to see if it would actually give me the kick I was expecting. Yes, cocktails get me high. But no, they betrayed me too, that day.
I was still dazed and dreamy through all the laughter and fun. But those hands never left mine and I knew they would keep me safe. I laughed at odd moments and dozed off silently for a while too. But never did I feel embarrassed about the Me, that day
I enjoyed being there, that night, in that state which people called “High”.
The day that would be etched in my senses for ever ended with small sips of beer and marks on my lips. Kisses, I felt tasted the best that day. My hands were still safely in his. I slept.