My mom was gone, off doing mom stuff. I had her ancient cellphone to temporarily replace the one which had mysteriously disappeared on my trip to find Tatum in New Orleans, so there was no contacting her. Turned out, alone was not a good place for me it seemed, no matter how badly my independent head wanted that. Shoes off, pants unbuttoned, I shuffled into my room and shut the door. The only solace I’d found since coming back from my weekend in Hell had been searching my room for long-lost goodies. Along with my dad’s ring, I’d found a stash of condoms from Planned Parenthood and a handful of pictures I’d sworn to Tatum were destroyed. I debated more than once since finding them on making good on that promise. Flopping down on my bed, I pulled out the box which held my long lost friend, marijuana. The serene calm it brought with it was the only thing I’d discovered which masked the pain that festered in my core. Plus, life was so much more fun under the influence.
