For as long as I can remember, my life has been nothing but drinks, joints, pills, lines, and parties. I get high when I’m having fun, and I get high when I feel like dying. I’m so far from reality that anything I see could be part of my fever dreams, acid trips, or drug-fueled delusions. Everything from real to imagined blurs together and I’ve learned to accept that. I met a girl in the midst of this life, and to be honest, I don’t remember if it was real or just one of my dreams. I wonder why I even came across her in the first place. Either way, she was a real rockstar.
It was just the two of us, a mountain of drugs, and the night air rushing in through my basement windows. She sat with ripped jeans on my leather sofa, inspecting a bag of cocaine, pushing the powder between her black fingernails. She wore a black crop top and a shiny septum piercing reflected the moon from between her nostrils. She was in my house, about to snort my coke, and I didn’t even know her name.
She handed the bag back to me as I kneeled in front of the glass table between us. I scooped a bit of pearly white powder with the tip of my knife, laying it on the glass. She straightened the pile with a credit card and leaned down, making it vanish under her nose. I could see her septum piercing in the table’s reflection. Girl: “Your turn, Jarad.” I laid another line on the table and snorted it myself. We went bump for bump, our eyes becoming more dilated with every line, snorting snow back and forth until she was satisfied. I could tell by her dexterity and exceptional tolerance that she would be a legend to fall in the making. We locked eyes and the cool wind adjusted her hair. Girl: “Perfect, now the night will never end.”
She stood up and took my hand. Girl: “Come on, Jarad, let’s touch the sky.” I wasn’t sure what she meant until she led me up the stairs onto my wide cantilever balcony. She leaned against the glass-adorned railing with her arms crossed, observing the sea of stars surrounding a full moon. They shined brilliantly, yet the world remained cold and dark as if their glow couldn’t reach us. Girl: “Isn’t it beautiful?” I stared at the scene before me. Me: “It really is.” Girl: “I know what will make this even better.” She removed a bag from her pocket. It was my molly and xanax, an assortment of multicolored pills and white bars. I wonder why she didn’t tell me about grabbing them, but at least somebody wants to take it other than me. I’d hate to waste it, yet it hurt to watch her have all this fun knowing she’ll be gone so early. We popped pills back and forth and I followed her tempo, brightening my high, killing myself at the same rate, racing her to hell.
She left the balcony and I closed the sliding door behind us, her backward glance telling me she wished to be followed. We left my house through the front yard, between the hedges over the fence, and started walking. I didn’t know where she was going, or if she even knew where she was going, but I still followed her, moving through the darkness with my gun like a creep. The roads were empty and dark and not a single car came into sight, and we talked for hours as we traveled. Me: “Do you believe in God?” Girl: “I do, but he’s kind of distant. Sometimes I talk to God, sometimes I get a little closer to Satan.” I wonder why God would give me this experience, meeting this girl and having all this fun while she’s still here. Me: “Why did you choose me to do all this with?” Girl: “That’s not important. While we’re here, just feel the vibes.” With the same drugs in my system, I understood her. Me: “How long have you been partying for?” Girl: “As long as I can remember.” I wonder why the night lasted so long, maybe she was right. Girl: “I don’t hate myself for all of this. I consider myself a rockstar.” I envied that level of positivity, to just let go and get high without all the guilt and fear of death. Me: “Then I just wanna be a rockstar like you.”
The roads became longer and curvier and the lines of expensive pearly white houses became thick woods. We were miles from the city and before us was a field. It was so dark that the grass didn’t even look green. The field went on for what felt like miles, but we kept walking across the soft grass, this time in silence. The darkness was soon broken by clusters of small lights which turned into a lush array, humming peacefully. Me: “I’ve never seen this many fireflies before.” She turned and faced me. Girl: “These aren’t fireflies, they’re angels.” They were too small for me to tell, but their faint angelic song made me believe her words. I stared at them until time vanished, watching them dance against their murky background, forgetting where I was, forgetting my own name, forgetting about the girl. Me: “Isn’t it beautiful?” I turned my head and she was gone.
Soon after she left, the night ended, the sun gave us a new day, and I never saw her again. I’m not sure whether I hope she was real or just my imagination. I just can’t help but wonder why.