Mar 2013
Every time, I pass by an In-N-Out I remember that night we went to a show in Sacramento.
You, driving your van full of people and hopes and laughs and drugs,
pulled up in front of the school around 5 o'clock on a rainy January afternoon.
I hopped in, immediately overwhelmed by the love I took the back seat to myself.
In front of me was Jena, wearing her blue and purple sweater that I always will remember by.
Next to her was Fritz, dressed in his usual attire consisting of a hoody and jeans.
Next to him was Shelby, a girl I had not had the pleasure of spending time with before that night.
She didn't say much throughout the whole night nor has she since then.
Riding shotgun was Dylan, another person I had not hung out with before. He was busy mixing shisha and hash oil and I don't blame him for not saying hello.
And you, Tyler, you were driving. And as we drove with the windows down, your hair whipped around.
Almost as soon as we were on our way, I was packing spliff, courtesy of Shelby into a pipe, courtesy me.
We got it burning, just as we reached the highway and not long after that the hookah, courtesy Fritz, was slowly burning the hash-shisha concoction, courtesy Dylan.
I remember not saying much, except when we sang along to some rap song that I could not tell you the name of now.
And at one point, after the spliff had all been smoked and quick hooka session had concluded Dylan turned around and asked me something I could not make out.
I replied back to him with a what and he again asked an non-understandable question, only this time I said "Sorry, I can't hear you, I'm really high."
Everybody in the van laughed and Tyler said she loved me and Fritz patted me on the back and Shelby turned around and smile at me.
Maybe a half hour after we left we stopped at In-N-Out for some beautiful Double-Doubles.
Once we got our food we began to understand that we had ordered not Double-Doubles but regular hamburgers. Albeit we were very put off by this, it did little to ruin our night.
I can only remember brief portions of that night.
I remember being dropped off at the curb of a punk rock show Shelby and I were attending.
I remember meeting our friends Lukas and Dakota, who are dating, inside.
I remember standing watching the bands, thinking of God knows what.
I remember walking two blocks to a parking lot the van was parked in.
I remember getting in, again overwhelmed by the love and this time, smoke.
I remember Lukas and I went outside to smoke a cigarette.
I remember a local coming up to us and asking us for a light.
I remember talking to him about something. The weather, perhaps.
I remember hugging Lukas good bye and getting in the van.
I remember falling asleep.
I remember waking up at a gas station where the tank was filled, courtesy Fritz.
I remember getting home.
I remember the laughs
and the smoke
and Lukas
and Fritz
and Tyler
and Jena
and Shelby
and Dakota
and Dylan.
I remember the love.
You, driving your van full of people and hopes and laughs and drugs,
pulled up in front of the school around 5 o'clock on a rainy January afternoon.
I hopped in, immediately overwhelmed by the love I took the back seat to myself.
In front of me was Jena, wearing her blue and purple sweater that I always will remember by.
Next to her was Fritz, dressed in his usual attire consisting of a hoody and jeans.
Next to him was Shelby, a girl I had not had the pleasure of spending time with before that night.
She didn't say much throughout the whole night nor has she since then.
Riding shotgun was Dylan, another person I had not hung out with before. He was busy mixing shisha and hash oil and I don't blame him for not saying hello.
And you, Tyler, you were driving. And as we drove with the windows down, your hair whipped around.
Almost as soon as we were on our way, I was packing spliff, courtesy of Shelby into a pipe, courtesy me.
We got it burning, just as we reached the highway and not long after that the hookah, courtesy Fritz, was slowly burning the hash-shisha concoction, courtesy Dylan.
I remember not saying much, except when we sang along to some rap song that I could not tell you the name of now.
And at one point, after the spliff had all been smoked and quick hooka session had concluded Dylan turned around and asked me something I could not make out.
I replied back to him with a what and he again asked an non-understandable question, only this time I said "Sorry, I can't hear you, I'm really high."
Everybody in the van laughed and Tyler said she loved me and Fritz patted me on the back and Shelby turned around and smile at me.
Maybe a half hour after we left we stopped at In-N-Out for some beautiful Double-Doubles.
Once we got our food we began to understand that we had ordered not Double-Doubles but regular hamburgers. Albeit we were very put off by this, it did little to ruin our night.
I can only remember brief portions of that night.
I remember being dropped off at the curb of a punk rock show Shelby and I were attending.
I remember meeting our friends Lukas and Dakota, who are dating, inside.
I remember standing watching the bands, thinking of God knows what.
I remember walking two blocks to a parking lot the van was parked in.
I remember getting in, again overwhelmed by the love and this time, smoke.
I remember Lukas and I went outside to smoke a cigarette.
I remember a local coming up to us and asking us for a light.
I remember talking to him about something. The weather, perhaps.
I remember hugging Lukas good bye and getting in the van.
I remember falling asleep.
I remember waking up at a gas station where the tank was filled, courtesy Fritz.
I remember getting home.
I remember the laughs
and the smoke
and Lukas
and Fritz
and Tyler
and Jena
and Shelby
and Dakota
and Dylan.
I remember the love.
