Outside the Manor on the wooden steps he curled up in my lap and the dog curled up in his. His body, smaller than mine but greater in experience and pain, was soaked in Guinness. The dog was soaked from the rain. I said, ‘Come on, let's get up. I’ll drive you home.’
The rain dropped dead tree leaves across the windshield. He wiped them with his sleeve, also wet from the rain. I helped him over a puddle into the passenger seat, a puddle that felt like a lake. I didn’t turn on the radio. It was only a few minutes to the parking lot in front of what he would tell you was his home, though that was really on the other side of the country, where there isn’t rain but snow. The small, fluffy white dog fell soundly asleep in my lap, so I drove with high elbows and careful turning.
I stopped the car, pulled the handbrake and flicked off the lights. It was completely black around us, besides a lone hanging light over a door in the distance.
‘Do you think everyone got home alright?’
‘We were the last ones to leave, I’m sure we would have heard something by now if they didn’t.’
He played with his flip phone, flicking it open and closed with his calloused thumb.
‘It was a good night wasn’t it?’
‘The goodest.’
‘I know it hasn’t been long,’ his big round eyes looked up from the floor and into mine. They were so young compared to the skin around them.
‘You don’t need to say anything.’
The review mirrors flashed and reflected as a truck rolled to a stop behind us. It parked there, blocking the entrance that was also the exit. The dog stirred at the sound. She moved over to the passenger side and took some space on the floor by his feet.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked
‘Not a clue.’ He sank a bit lower.
I rolled down my window as the man approached. His boots crushed the gravel under his steps. He wore a cap from the rodeo and a dirty t-shirt. Cold air rushed into the car.
‘Took ya long enough.’
He poked his head into the car, ignoring me. His goatee dripped carelessly on the inside of my door. He smelled like long cut Copenhagen.
‘Was I supposed to meet you?’ my passenger said.
‘That’s what Jason said back at the Manor. I wouldn’t have come so early if I knew you’d take this long.’
Through the window he slapped a briefcase onto my lap. It soaked my jeans, my skin chilled underneath.
‘I’m gonna need you to open that, can’t match my mind to my fingers right now.’ He was looking at me now, suddenly I was there.
‘420-420.’
‘Your kidding me.’
‘What?’
‘Why even lock the damn thing?’ I said.
‘Just open it, I wanna get out of this cold.’
I rolled the numbers until they matched and popped open the case. On top of a pile of loose papers was a ziplock bag full of mushrooms, a gallons worth.
‘That’s for you.’
‘For who?’
‘For him.’
‘What the fuck is he suppose to do with that? He can’t even walk.’
‘That’s not my problem. I’m the delivery boy. But I’m gonna need that case back.’
I closed the case and handed it through the window. The man scurried back to his truck and drove away. We were alone again in the dark; this time with a hefty bag of hallucinogens.
‘Why did he bring you those?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘What’re you going to do with them?’
‘Eat them, I guess.’
I took the bag in my hand and shook it, examining all the different shriveled sizes and colors. The bitch below the seat whined so he picked her up and she began licking his face.
‘You think he expects you to sell these? You think he expects money?’
‘Jason is always expecting something.’
He opened the door just as the rain picked up. I rolled down the window to see him off, a dog in one hand, mushrooms in the other. When I got home I noticed he had stashed a handful of dried dreams for me in the corner of the windshield, a thanks even though he knew I didn’t need it. In the morning I knew he would wake up having lost a few days. He would reach around his bed checking for that white, furry ball of love, but his hand would land on a bag of debt. His phone would be dead—no clues there anyway. I would be the only one with the missing pieces to yet another unfinished puzzle.
It’s curious: a night between two that only one will remember. Memories that can’t be reminisced because you’re unsure they even happened. Sometimes all that’s left is a handful of mushrooms and towels sopping up rain stained seats.
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