Sipping on the better half of a lazily rolled joint. The sour diesel gunning express for my subdued attention. I relax into an almost forceful memory, retelling it’s visceral impact all over my body.
There was Loso. Tall, dark, well built. He moved in such a way that would make a girl’s groin ache. Tattoos littering his taut caramel skin, cascading over subtle muscled architecture, dancing invitingly under his oversized, white kitchen uniform. Such symmetry framed his unassuming demeanor. With a stained look of lethargy, he was one that seemed to perpetually sigh. The hanged man; exuding total peace, while silence consumes the dangerous caverns of his mind. His presence cast an impenetrable net, swallowing passerbys whole. A prolonged stare or visible drool was not rare in his wake. If one was lucky enough to catch his sea glass gaze, it didn’t last long. He exuded a fatigue towards such unspoken social responsibility. For, after all, he never chose to be so pretty (and privilege is a fickle bastard). They’re to be pitied, people like him. They must move and speak with infinite care, lest adoring eyes make wax kites out of their promises.
Our encounter began one night over the kitchen counter at an all-together overpriced “American” eatery. Smells good, I say in his direction, my eyes diverted to avoid electrocution. A flowery, purple haze perfumed the air around his manly shape. Out in my vast periphery, I see his red-rimmed Boston baseball cap wind upwards in my direction. My chest drums. I look up at his emerald eyes fixed to mine. Lightning. You ciph? He mouthed, teasing a smile on his lips. I nod. Yoooo.. His mouth moved. My hardon rises. I’ll hook you up he says without a sound. The rest of the kitchen clambered on as I wrapped my racing mind around our electrical interaction. Real time catches up to me and I quickly wipe the drool from my lip.
Later that night, stocking a fridge in a narrow hallway, I smelt the arrival of his fragrance right before his body heat encompassed me quickly. I felt his hand slip into my tight pockets. Big hands, I noted. Yo.. I felt him exhale into my ear. His motions gave way to an almost imperceptible goosebump graze of his endowment against my ass. Fuck. In one dash he continued down the hall. Before escaping down the stairs he shot me the most beautifully choreographed wink over his shoulder. A move perfected, used and abused since his early days no doubt. Just as my knees were about to buckle under my deep throb, I became aware of my pocket’s plastic lump. It happened so quickly that it seemed to have materialized on it’s own. I brought the plastic wrapped bundle to my nose- Purple haze, That sexy fucker.
It didn’t take long to realize Loso was our restaurants’ dealer. Like a miniature pin I suddenly realized everyone had been wearing. A secret society of gaga-eyed drug doers. Loso and I shared shifts hanging on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. What’s your tattoo mean? I blurt out after a long, quiet shift. Which? Some don’t mean anything. I point, ‘Lost Time’? In an imperceptible shift, a catatonic glaze overcame his eyes I lost…some time. If you know what I mean? I was physically frozen, like any sudden movement might scare him away. Shit, I looked down. Ya, he nodded and surveyed the area subtly nine years. Shiiit. Ya. From where I stood, his eyes seemed more opaque than I remembered. Seafoam glass, effervescent, solid earthen rock. Those eyes had seen more than I’ve imagined. And there’s more than one story calcifying behind them I thought to myself. I inhaled sharply, Need a ride?
I waited until my car was parked in the dark evening shadows of the church parking lot. The air full and dewy for February, suspicious of greater catastrophe on its way. I let the windows slide down. An incredible silence swelled under our breaths while I fiddled with a king sized raw and that sweet purple grass. Then, as if picking up mid-telepathic conversation, Loso penetrated the air- I was in a gang. Silence. oh, as I lit the end of the joint. I kinda thought it was cool, he chuckled gently at his adolescence. What was? - Bein’ ‘thug’. He stared out the windscreen at whatever series of memories followed that train of thought. His images were invisible to me, although I still found myself squinting to find his projection. The silence that followed told me that Loso had seen his fair share of unimaginables. How’d- I stopped myself, unsure of how to ask, I passed the joint in lieu of continuing. Our middle fingers brushed and I felt my entire arm catch wildfire....’how’d’? he prompted. Uh, how’d you- I sheepishly pointed at his tattoo. A smile caught on his mouth and he exhaled a laugh onto his branded wrist. I didn’t kill anyone! I couldn’t help my silence. Yo, I’m a good kid now. But, shit, I was a baaad boy...I felt pulled by a fear of the infinite things he may or may not have done, and simultaneously melting into the hemp haze as I felt my legs separate involuntarily. ...I stole. A lot. From banks, drug dealers. Yo, I prolly couldn’t explain the things I seen. I noticed a deadness in what he said.Were you ever in solitary?Ya. - What was that like? It’s, like, an insanely inhumane practice. Which you probably know.. - Dude, you have no idea. Once, I was in there six months. - No fucking way. - Ya dude! It was torture. - Did you start hearing stuff? How’d you stay sane? - You don’t even know what time it is mostly. I tried to keep routine- workout, read a lot, you get one free hour a day to do whatever, shower, rec, phone call.. - Wow. - Nah but dude I got off easy. I knew this guy who was in there fifteen years- - Years?! - Mhm. Man, sometimes I see people I knew inside and it’s like something's missing. They fried or somethin. Bein inside messes with you. - You seem, well. I mean, like, in spite of your experiences. I mean, what do I know- - Ya. thanks. I guess. I just decided I wanted to be better. I saw his breath deepen. A certain quietness became him. He let the smoke slip easily out of his nostrils as his emeralds shot up at me. A mystery man, a suitcase packed tightly. In that air between us I wanted him to unpack his unmentionables all over me. He leaned back against the passenger door, upper body facing me. There was a coy, menacing permeation of our magnetic tension that hung off the sides of his eyes, tilting his head in playful dominance. You. are so tragically sexy. I exhaled a deep drag. Duuude, his eyes shifted upwards as his fist covered his mouth. You. are fine as all hell. Our faces levitated closer. When I felt the heat of his breath hovering my mouth, I traced his lips with mine and whispered:
How...does one get out of a gang…
He exhaled that purple magic into my mouth.
They don’t.