Disclaimer: I of course do not own anything OC. I just like it :)
Please R/R
That shot lasted for what seemed forever. It lasted my whole childhood. That shot smelled like Marlboros and the stuffy, humid air over Fresno in May.
The first time I smoked a cigarette it was of course, Trey who showed me how, who clapped me on the back as I coughed, who smiled as he inhaled and blew it out. I was ten. Three days before, our father had been sentenced to 10-15 years in prison for armed robbery. Two days before my Mom had left the house for orange juice, and hadn't come back. Trey told me not to worry, that she would, as soon as she found enough vodka to put in that orange juice.
So Trey and I, just sat there. On our couch, in front of the TV, starring listlessly at it, and eating cereal out of the box. I woke up the next morning, to the smell of the my father, it amazing how strong the sense of scent is. I imagined him over me, telling me to wake up. "Yeah, yeah" I mumbled. "I'm up." But when I woke up, I was not in my own bed, my Dad was not here, I was in the living room, and my Dad wouldn't be coming back. It was simply Trey, smoking Dad's cigarettes. A carton, and an ashtray was sitting amongst the cereal, and juice containers that had been accumulating.
"Trey what are you doing?" I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
He looked over at me, with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you want one?" At this point, I was not in the right mind frame to say no.
He handed me the Marlboro, and I stuck it between my lips, determined not to show that I was scared, after all it was just a cigarette, everyone smoked, it was no big deal. He brought the lighter close to me.
"Now breathe in." He told me, and I did, with early morning zest, and ten year old fascination. The result was me thinking that perhaps my lungs were on fire. I leaned over, coughing. Trey clapped me on the back.
"Hot damn boy, you're an Atwood!"
Once I was finished that one, I stubbed it out, and stumbled to the bathroom, dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the experience, dizzy from the diet of cereal for the two days. I looked at myself in the mirror, and smiled. My hair was falling in my eyes, my eyes were a little bloodshot, a little out of focus. I smiled, I looked a little mysterious, I looked a little bad.
So I smoked another. Then after that one another. Trey and I simply laid there, our legs strewn over each other, lighting cigarette, after cigarette. It was a spot in our life, when things were about to change drastically, we had to mark it somehow. And one carton of cigarettes were how we did it. Even when we both got sick, even when the air above our heads was blue, we couldn't stop.
Four days later, having long ran out of cereal, we emptied the fridge of the last scraps, and Trey opened the last pack of cigarettes, someone knocked on the door.
Trey looked over at me, wild-eyed. "Shit." His eyes observing the mess, the food ground into the carpet, the juice congealed on the table, the overflowing ashtray.
"Mom is going to kill us!" Neither of us thought to wonder why our Mom would be knocking, neither of us thought to even surrender to the possibility, that it could be anything but Mom drunk and unable to find her keys. I ran to the door to hold her off, distract her, while Trey hurriedly shoved six days accumulation under the couch.
But it wasn't Mom at the door. It was a woman with a clipboard, and a policeman.
I looked to each one, not saying a word.
"Ryan Atwood?" The woman asked.
I looked back at Trey, panic in my eyes, he looked up from his hurried cleaning. "Shit." I heard him breathe.
"Trey Atwood?" Trey nodded.
"Can you tell me why you haven't been in school?"
Sure enough, it was Tuesday, we hadn't gone to school since last Monday.
"We've been sick." Trey said with the ability of a lie I had never had, Mom's ability. Mom's lies that I swallowed every time. It probably did look that way too, neither of us had showered, or changed, or eaten a real meal.
"Where is your mother?" She asked, this time stooping slightly to address me.
"She went to the store, we were out of orange juice."
"How long ago was that?"
"Like an hour." Trey said, nodding at me.
"Yeah like an hour." I echoed him.
"Do you mind if we come in?"
I looked panicked at Trey.
Trey shook his head. "Nah, its kind of a mess, my Dad just went to prison, my Mom's a little upset, but if you want to leave, you know, a card, I'll get her to call you." I nodded along reassured.
But our lies, simply did not work. Obviously they had came, knowing some ounce of truth. Knowing we would be there alone. So we each packed a bag, as the woman with a clipboard surveyed our house, with a touch of disgust. We left the last pack, sitting on the counter.
She would be on her bender for three weeks, but it would take her two months, to get herself together enough to come get us. By that time, things were ruined anyway.