Read Online A to Z of You and Me by James Hannah - Free Book Online Page B

about getting a place in town maybe, get out of here. Start up a few things. I’ve got some ideas.”
    Mal runs the paper along his tongue tip and seals it shut. Mal, master joiner. Never too tight. Meticulous mix.
    He draws out his Zippo from his jeans pocket.
    Flick, flick, and flame.
    â€œRight, now, who wants this?”
    He passes it to Kelvin, who pauses just long enough to look uncomfortable before taking it at fingertips’ length. He begins to suck on the end. A bit of smoke in his mouth, quickly blown out.
    â€œNo, man, come on. Stop fucking about,” says Mal.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re not doing it right.” He lifts the joint back off him. “Now,” he says, invoking his most imperious Mr. Miller impression, “if you remember your diaphragm, which is this membrane at the bottom of your chest here”—he jabs Kelvin in the chest—“you need to pull down on it to draw the smoke”—he takes a deep toke, holds, and exhales—“into your lungs and out. Into your lungs and out.”
    Poor Kelvin. It’s so obvious he’s never done this before. I watch carefully as Mal shows him how it’s done. I’ve only smoked a couple of Laura’s cigarettes, but I think I’ll get away with it.
    Everything we do is glacially slow.
    Seriously, I’m not sitting on this beanbag anymore. I’m properly flat on the floor, and my head is planted where I’d been sitting. I can hear all the little beans inside tumbling over each other: delicately, impossibly light.
    I look over at Mal and squint. Blink a bit to see if I can make more sense of it, somehow.
    Kelvin’s standing again, looking down on us from the doorway.
    â€œListen,” says Kelvin, “I’m going to go, all right? I’ve got—”
    â€œYou not want any of this?” says Mal, holding up the second joint.
    â€œNah, thanks, man. I’ve got my own at home. I’m going to go and…got stuff to do.” He looks at me. “Are you coming?”
    â€œNo. I don’t want to,” I say. “I feel too nice here.”
    This is so nice. I’m exquisitely comfortable.
    â€œI’m never going to move again,” says Mal. “I just want to be sucked into the sofa.”
    He starts giggling goofily, and I start retching laughs.
    We sit there with the TV turned off for another lovely long age. It doesn’t matter. It’s an impossible distance away.
    â€œWell, I’m going to go, I think,” says Kelvin. I look over at the doorway, and he’s still there . I thought he’d gone ages ago.
    No one’s going to try to talk him into staying. No one should have to talk anyone around to anything.
    It’s getting to the point with Kelvin where—I don’t know—I just don’t say anything in case it makes him talk more. I don’t want talk, just want to say shhh . But that seems to make him anxious, which makes him jabber.
    â€œI’ll see you around,” says Kelvin.
    â€œBye, Kelv.”
    Three’s a bad, bad number for friends. The two gang up on the one; it’s always the way. Two’s company, three’s a political situation. Just make sure you’re one of the two.
    It’s good he’s gone.
    I feel a bit bad, but it’s good for everyone.
    â€¢ • •
    â€œKnock-knock,” says Sheila, knock-knocking on my door frame. “How are we doing? Oh, that’s much better. Your breathing sounds a lot easier now, doesn’t it? Come on, let’s get that mask off you, so we can see how you do without it.”
    She pries the mask from me, and I stretch my clammy face, run my fingers over my cheeks to feel for mask marks.
    â€œThere we go. I’ll leave it here for you, OK?”
    â€œOK.”
    â€œI’ll get Dr. Sood to come in and have a look at you in the morning, see if there’s anything else we can do to make it a bit easier