I sit in the desk chair in my room drowned in a hoodie covering my dreads as I roll a blunt to OutKast's Da art of storytellin' Pt. 1. My mom's at some special business meeting which means I'm going back to my old habits, of course there's other reasons for this "relapse," too. Inhale, exhale, feel good, that's how it's been for a nigga since I was 13 and one of Angela's past boyfriends handed me what I thought was some weird looking cinnamon stick. Thanks to that guy who if I'm not mistaken cheated on Angela like 5 times, I've stopped caring about certain things. These things include my older sister still living with us with a 5 years old and a photography job that clearly doesn't pay enough, and other things that just don't come to mind as smoke leaves my mouth. I guess this is why I'm labeled as some pothead which is fucking unfair, you do one thing and It becomes the one thing people see you as, annoying.
If I really stop thinking my mind goes to Daya scrunching her face when I accidentally blew smoke in it at that party. Maybe it's the weed that's got me all soft, but that girl is fucking angelic with her black Icon shirts ,coconut smell, and her big brown eyes she tries to hide. I wouldn't say this hallmark card shit to anyone, but you know a girl is special when she makes you want to stop smoking and being a fuck up just to be with her. Again it's the weed that's got me all soft, but I want to wrap my arms around her, too bad shit gets fucked up.
Interrupting my moment of thought the door swings open and Angela struts in like this isn't my room. "Oh my god you're smoking again?" She asks over the music and does her weird little run over to my desk after closing my door. As usual she's dressed a lot of zeroes over her check, and doesn't have any worry in her face just makeup.
"Nah what does it look like?" I blow some smoke in the air and Angela sits on the stool she pulled from under my desk. Shit she's planning on staying in here.
"It looks like you need a smoking buddy?" A big smile stretches across her face making me roll my eyes. I pass her the blunt and turn down my speakers which are the proper way to listen to music, not through little AirPods. That was one of the many things Daya and I agreed on. Shit.
"Aren't you supposed to be some responsible parent?" I raise my eyebrows and watch her seamlessly take a hit.
She laughs which turns into a cough as smoke comes out of her nostrils. "Responsible parents can't smoke?"
"Where's Sofia?" That's the real and only important question.
"On a play date."
"That's chill."
We go back and forth passing the blunt without conversation over my playlist. I'm not one for words or conversations especially when smoking with Angela who is the combination of a funny, dumb, and hungry high. Meaning every word I say is the funniest thing and she'll ask questions like 'why is there no such thing as a maternity test?" This smoking session isn't even all my sober ass built it up to be, and the good feeling that use to come is only partially there. After like 3 more hits I stop and scroll through my phone to see texts from Lucas.
Lucas: You better not be depressed about this shit, you know I got several girls in my contacts who'd blow you on da spot. Some of them have actual long hair
Me: GTFO
Lucas: Damn this girl and situation got you fucked up
I've known Lucas since elementary school and if I was able to see the future, and see his curly fry looking dreads, and this text I probably would've traded my yogurt with someone else. But the nigga had those chocolate covered chewy bars so who the fuck was I to object. Since then we've been friends, or really I've been his side kick who sometimes helps him get girls at parties. Being the person who helps him get girls I know for a fact I don't want any of his girl referrals.
"So why are you so somber?" Angela says pronouncing every syllable in the sentence.
"Since when do you say somber?"
"Since now, what's up with you you look what's the word." She stares at the ceiling and starts snapping her fingers. "De-pressed," She concludes. I shake my head and continue looking down at my phone as I play temple run.
"Ooh Ziyah's smoking again." The door swings open and my 19 year old sister Bree walks in in a dress that's too short with her hair pressed in a ponytail. Unlike Angela she's actually in college with a major she doesn't car about, and a dorm room she never happens to be in. On the scale of chillness she really is the middle child, and not all hyper like Angela, but not completely chill like me. Making this whole thing a scrapbook moment Bree sits right on Angela's lap and takes the blunt out of her hands. Ain't that cute.
"Doesn't Ziyah look depressed?" Angela asks and they both fixate their eyes on me. Bree cocks her head to the side then swats away the puff of smoke. I look the exact same as usual, maybe the hoodie makes me look like I'm on some emo shit, but the AC is blasting throughout the whole house. They should be dressing like me, but no judgment here.
"He does look depressed, aww Ziyah what's up?"Â Bree stretches her arm out and squeezes my cheeks with her acrylic nails. I move from her hold and she pulls her hand back probably realizing I'm not Sofia.
"Nothings up," I lie.
"Ziyah you know you can tell us anything," Bree says with a straight face. Angela who I shouldn't of given the blunt to burst into laughter and almost knocks her and Bree off of the stool. Bree does one of her annoying gasps. "Is it girl trouble?" Ding, Ding, Ding. I don't respond and just nod and look out my window which means yes.
Bree jumps up from Angela's lap. "Awww Ziyah who is she? What happened? Tell us everything." Getting more comfortable Bree plops on my neatly made bed and slides her flip flops off. Angela is still laughing like there is no tomorrow, and Bree and I exchange looks as her laughing almost makes her lose her ability to breathe.
When Angela gains her composure she lets out a sigh and looks at us. "Oh I know the girl, her name is, her name is," Angela's mind wanders off for a bit. Come on she's the only girl you know with that name.
Helping Angela out a bit I answer for her. "Daya is her name."
Bree scrunches up her face. "Wait like Zendaya?" That's exactly what Lucas's head ass said when I told him. Of course after that he proceeded to go on with a bunch of statements regarding his desires for Zendaya.
Angela regains her ability to speak. "Yeah she works in Sofia's after school program, Sofia set then up." Not really, but ok.
Bree gets more giddy. "So you like her?" Duh, the reason my French grade isn't as good as it used to be is because I can't stop looking at her in class. And as a guy who's probably lost a good amount of brain cells she was the only thing on my mind. It sure as hell would be nice if I could say is, but again shit gets fucked up.
"Yuh." I spin around in my chair which is something I could do for hours and hours.
"He likes her Bree , Sofia said she saw you guys kissing." Shit I remember that, Sofia asked me all kinds of questions that day. Are you guys getting married? Is she going to move in with us? Why were you about to touch her butt?
"So you guys were kissing, is she a slut?"
At Bree's words I spin right around in my chair. "Fuck no." Since when does kissing automatically make a girl a slut?
"Shoot, I was just wondering, I went to your school and there are a lot of sluts there." Bree and I both exchange looks directed at Angela who can't even take a single hint.
"Using the term slut isn't politically correct," Angela argues and gets up out of the stool to storm out of my room. She really switches it up sometimes, I could've swore when she was in high school she was on her Amber Rose shit and being proud of being a girl who had to get tested every once in a while. Whatever or whoever Angela was or is doing I don't care because in the words of some old mother fucker To each it's own.
Bree's smile is now bigger and she moves from my bed to the stool Angela was in. "So tell me about this Daya, who stole my high brother's heart," she says. I let out a sigh and seeing Bree's wide eyes that are a sign of her being genuine I begin to tell her about the girl who "stole my high heart." In the least amount of words possible I tell her about Poetic Justice, French class, watching Seinfeld in the park, the fact she's like me and doesn't have social media, and I try not to let my smirk escape while doing so.
"So she's like your girlfriend now that's cute," Bree concludes. Yeah I only told her the good shit, but that's what makes me feel just a little better. Plus she'd go ballistic if I told her the other 50%.
"Nah she's not." Yeah I'm going to need that blunt again.
"What? Why not she sounds amazing, like too good for a high school girlfriend."
I play with the ends of my dreads a little, but Angela doesn't stop staring at me. "Because I looked right at her and kissed another girl."
"What the fuck!" Bree jumps up off the stool and before I know it a pillow hits me right in the head. I knew that was coming, but Ehh She's thrown worst.
"It's complicated Bree." I know that's the catch phrase for cheaters and people who fucked up, but if I was a gossiping kind of bitch and told her what happened she would agree that this is complicated.
"How so?"
"I can't say." Nor do I want to. Bree sits back in her stool and for once I think she understands that I can't tell her everything like she used to do with Angela. It's fucking crazy how I live in a house with just women and I can't even keep a girl around.
"Well can you at least tell me why your sad?" She narrows her eyes at me and to make the moment just a little weird Underwear by JID is playing in the background.
"I just told you." Bree narrows her eyes at me more which I didn't think was possible.
"I'm upset because I kissed another girl right in front of her and she's not even texting me to cuss me out."
Bree lets out a little laugh. "She didn't cuss you out that's why you're upset?"
"Nah it's cause she doesn't care to ask why I fucked shit up, and this whole thing goes back to him." Bree and I stare at each other and I can tell memories more vivid than mine of our childhood are hitting her. This is why I smoke weed, because my memory is too damn good and there are big things that I wish I could forget and permanently wipe from me and my family's brains.
"How," is all Bree says while fiddling with her hands.
"It just does, things would be different is all I'm saying, and I got homework to do." I don't, but I've spoken too much and I'm not high enough for a therapy session so I continue looking at my music app not making eye contact with Bree.
After our talk Bree goes to the party I expected she would be going to, and I don't smoke and instead play with Sofia when she gets home. After a whole playdate she isn't tired and I take her to the park where she lets out her energy without having to ask me any questions. She smiles and says, "Look Ziyah," like several times and I get why Daya goes to the after school program. Something about a kid's wild spirit makes you want to be happy, or at least try to be happy. But then again I'm a high ass nigga who's just in his feelings, what the fuck do I know?