Read SR hN: Buds :: Ch.7: Wrapped

In Grey
Oct. 11th

- Audio Transcript -

I went down to the school park to hang out cause I thought nobody would be there on a Sunday. I was wrong, though. In a nearby alcove, a mysterious fog was billowing out from the darkness. I leaped from a swing at its highest point (that I was comfortable with) and landed deftly on the grass past the sand, and went to investigate.

Elder Lady:
Yeah, I got the stuff. What you want, skip?

Kid:
You got that uhh... I'm looking for strawberry or cherry. I love red stuff.

Elder Lady:
I got red stuff, check this out.

In the alcove, fiddling with a small, handheld machine of some kind, stood a woman with long white hair and glasses, and a grey skateboarding outfit. It looked like it came from the seventies, with wacky black and white patterns all over it. Her elbow and knee pads were comparatively modern. Through the smoke, it looked like they were making some kind of deal. The kid was in my grade, but not my class. He was a short African-American boy with dreads, slicked back to his scalp. Standing at four and a half feet, he looked like he could take twelve of me in a fight, and then some. I went unnoticed for a time, hanging around the corner.

Kid:
I love red. It's my favourite color.

Elder Lady:
I don't care, dude.

Kid:
Yeah, uh. Right. I love blue, too.

Elder Lady:
I mean I don't care what your favourite color is, just pick a couple flavors and let's hit the road here. I've got other customers.

Kid:
Okay I'm gonna take a... a red one, and a blue one. Do these got menthol in 'em?

Elder Lady:
Hey, you tryna'ccuse me of somethin?

Kid:
No, I WANT the menthol.

Elder Lady:
The blue ones have menthol, so I'll give you a red and a peach.

Kid:
That's bullshit, I'm paying you.

Elder Lady:
And I want a repeat customer, not a fucking corpse. You're gonna die if you smoke that shit, it's twice as addictive as the ones without. I don't want you on my doorstep like you're out of smack.

Kid:
Oh, way to be responsible, dealing cigarellos to minors.

Elder Lady:
Gotta draw the line somewhere, Bradley. And it's 'cigarillos'.

Bradley:
Whatever. I'll take a white one. Is that marshmallow?

Elder Lady:
Damn straight. five bucks.

Bradley:
(Taken off-guard.) W-what? They're like fifty cents at the store!

Elder Lady:
So go buy them yourself.

Bradley:
(Sour.) "Go buy them yourSeLf..."

The kid pays her, packs his bag, and walks out of the smokey alcove. He turns to me, and I'm terrified. He just snorts and spits on the ground in front of my feet.

Bradley:
You rat on me, I'll come back here and blow some smoke up your ass, you got me?

Dryce:
What, like a date?

Bradley:
Shut up, loser!!

[Bradley's running footsteps trail off in the distance. The sound of wheels roll out from inside the alcove.]

Elder Lady:
Wesh, skillet de maison?

Dryce:
G-grandma?!

The adult in question turns out to be Grandma Crystal, decked out in spot-themed skater gear and now sporting a big round helmet. The helmet's rose-bramble skull pattern looks sick. I mean, just fucking awesome. I'm honestly kind of jealous, because skateboarding is something I can't do, and that's exactly the kind of helmet I'd love to wear. The only weird part of her ensemble was the compact black umbrella she'd hooked onto her backpack.

Crystal:
You know it, mon frérot.

Dryce:
Why are you selling cigarillos?!

Crystal:
Just keeping it fraîche. This shiny dump is full of rich brats craving my juice.

Dryce:
I don't understand.

Crystal:
Voila, Drive-By, tu es un bon homme. You don't smoke. But there's a lot of kids here that do. They can't be older than twelve! You know how old I was when I started smoking cigarettes? I was only eleven.

Dryce:
How are cigarillos any better?!

Crystal:
How is it better?! I dunno, DEE-RICE, why don't we ask BRAIN CANCER?

Dryce:
Brain cancer?!

Crystal:
Thaaat's right, mon frérot, and a ton of other bad things. Those are all caused by smoking! But cigarillos are better because it's pure nicotine juices. All hit, no shit.

Dryce
That doesn't even make sense!

My mind was addled. I couldn't believe anything I was hearing. Last week this woman could barely walk or remember a short list of errands, and now here she was white-knighting cigarillos into the hands of smoking children everywhere. She'd gone from dementia to defender.

Crystal:
Anyway, if you got no biz with me, I got no biz witchu-

Dryce:
(Alarmed, barely coping.) Grandma, what's gotten into you? You're acting completely different!

Crystal:
Well, I guess you could say you helped. Talking with me, it reminded me of what it was like to be young and smart. You're so mature, Dryce, and full of light. You have so much to give.

Dryce:
(Smiling.) Oh, uh. Aw, thanks.

Crystal:
Also, one of my helpers accidentally blew some smoke in my face and I guess it woke me right up! I was just going outside to see the birds, and they were taking a little pause fumée, like I used to do until I had my kids. And for a while after, cause y'know, grandkids, c'est bien ça?

Dryce:
You mean Daisy visited you?

Crystal:
Anyway, I've gotta leave some skid marks before the cops show up. Au revoir, boloss!

Dryce:
(Upset.) Hey! Grandma, don't call me names!

Crystal flicks the flint-wheel on her lighter, and puffs her cigarillo to life with its little orange flame. She unfurls the umbrella, steps on the pavement and propels her board for'wd, and around the corner. She held that umbrella up, blowing out the smoke in a jet engine trail, steering mostly with her hips. It was beyond cool, yet completely strange. Why did she need an umbrella? It was sunny out.

I stood next to that alcove and sampled the wares. That flavor was good, no doubt. But the feeling it gave me was awful. I knew that smoke was supposed to make you feel alive, but all it did was kill me slowly. I stepped out coughing and hacking, my lungs on fire and my forehead sweating. I was dizzy, and sick. I almost puked again.

Almost.

Widespread
Oct. 12th

Cigarillos are everywhere today. I know my grandma's handiwork by its telltale puffs of smoke, more acrid than harsh. They do actually smell better than cigarettes, honestly. So why am I still so anxious? Maybe because they actually contain MORE nicotine, for starters? It was bad enough that the oil rigs down the road bleed smog into the fields. Now I've gotta deal with this shit, too.

Jaijit has one, he's been sitting in a tree puffing away at it. I'm trying not to look jealous. To tell the truth, it makes me want one, really bad. So why don't I just... do it? My own grandma is the one selling them. Maybe she'll have a spare, or give me a discount. I could even get the kind without any nicotine. Then again, that's not as much fun. It can't hurt, can it? I'm turning thirteen tomorrow. It can be my birthday gift. I just... need it. I don't have one, and I NEED it. Everyone has one. I should have one too! I can just-

what the

It's for your own good, you little speedball.

You slapped me!

You hit yourself, technically.

How did you do that?

Little late to start asking questions like that, isn't it?

I get it, you must be some kind of living voice. This is a vampire thing, isn't it? Like Dragula.

Why are you always referencing some fictional bullshit every time you make a point? Like, "Oh the government is putting flouride in our water, like that movie with Trapp Nikolai."

Don't talk shit about Trapp Nikolai. He's a national treasure.

I'M DOING IT AGAIN.

Cut it out!!!!

I'm just gonna keep slapping you with the hand that isn't writing until you start making sense!!

You're the one who isn't making sense!!

Let's just go talk this out.

Yeah, "let's".

- Audio Transcript -

Dryce:
Hey, how about shut up!! Where are you even coming from?

Dryo:
Look down.

I looked down at my feet, and saw feet.

Dryo:
Turn off the light and leave the window open.

[A switch flicking.]

Dryo:
See me now?

I looked on the wall, at my silhouette from the light of the afternoon sun.

Dryce:
No.

The shadow moved, independently of me.

Dryo:
How bout now?

I jumped, sweating hard and thinking harder, moving back to the futon but curled up, with my feet tucked in. Vampires and zombies were one thing, but this had to be some kind of hallucination. The shadow turned to face me, and waved.

Dryo:
Dryo Genix, at your service.

Dryce:
Wha what the fu-fucckkk arrre you??!

Dryo:
Your shadow. It's probably a vampire thing, right?

Dryce:
Y-yeah. Probably.

I let my feet down and sat up straight. Magical phenomenon were the domain of shitty special effects. A trick to hypnotize a willing audience into a temporary, waking dream full of symbolism and metaphors interacting in a way that creates catharsis and sparks new ideas. I read it all in the books that Daisy had lent me about storytelling. Yet here I was, witnessing a paranormal, unexplained event like it was real. Happening right in front of me. Was I dreaming? [SLAP!]

Dryo:
Okay, that one was all you.

Dryce:
I know, I was just... checking.

Dryo:
If you're awake?

Dryce:
Y-yeah.

Dryo:
Technically speaking... you're not.

Dryce:
I'm not?

Dryo:
No, think about it. I only show up after someone close to you smokes or vapes, right?

I thought back. That seemed to be the case.

Dryo:
So, it's obvious that you're under some kind of hypnosis. A state of mind that eases you into symbolic concepts while laxing on the real ones.

Dryce:
What, like a peace pipe? Then why can you be recorded?

Dryo:
I don't know. Maybe everyone's in the same dream.

The door starts rattling, but the knob won't budge. It isn't locked. Dryo is holding it shut somehow.

Jaijit:
Are you blocking this door?! Let me in!!

Dryce:
Just a second!

Jaijit:
It better be!

I flick the light on and open the door. Jaijit stands with his arms crossed.

Jaijit:
What were you doing?

Dryce:
Changing. What's your deal?

Jaijit:
I thought I heard someone else in here.

Dryce:
Yeah, I was on the phone with a friend.

Jaijit:
While you were changing?