Bad Trip

Morris wasn’t sure if the girls had seen him or not, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Pivoting, he moved with haste through the metal support beams to get out from under the bleachers, his long legs eating up real estate with each stride. Crossing the distance leading back into the school, he passed through the doors, heart pounding. Turning back to look through the window, he could see the girls coming, moving casually in his direction but still a way off. Skipping up the stairs to the right, he darted down the hall to Mrs. Pembry’s class.

The aged teacher with curly silver hair frowned when he burst into the room and glanced up to the clock. “You’re late Mr. Jablonski,” she admonished in her monotone voice.

Some of the students snickered as he crossed the room and walked up the row to the end and dropped into his desk beside Tom Garfield. Tom and he were best friends, had been since they were in Ms. Dickenson’s grade three class. Like Morris, he shared a love of heavy metal and pot, but he was far more discreet in the declaration of his adoration. Standing an even 6’, medium build, short brown hair parted neatly to the side, he was dressed in a light green button-up shirt and jeans and white leather running shoes. The only outward indication of his shared love of old rock, a small AC/DC lightning bolt drawn in blue pen ink on the outer side of his left runner.

“What the hell dude?” Tom asked, scowling, grey eyes narrow.

Morris shook his head, heart still racing from the exertion of running and mind still trying to grapple with what he may or may not have seen.

“I thought we were going to, you know, lunchtime,” he hissed.

Mrs. Pembry turned around, sour expression on her withered face. “Please be quiet Mr. Garfield,” she instructed before turning back to the chalk board.

Tom frowned. Morris spent the remainder of the class head down, the Kush inveigling his senses.

The lunch buzzer sounded. Tom stood up. “Come on man,” he said, patting Morris on the shoulder.

Morris looked up, eyes bloodshot.

“Fucker,” whispered Tom.

Morris used the desk and pushed himself onto his feet.

Walking out of the class, “You should’ve waited man, I don’t have any more of that stuff,” griped Tom.

Stepping out into the hall, they could see Kimber standing abut twenty feet distant. She saw them, her lips curled into a smile as she moved toward them, capricious grin still on her face. The students separating the girl from the boys parted before her like deer before a wolf as she sashayed her way toward the duo, long hair swaying from side to side opposite the movement of her hips. The air itself seemed to heat up and her every move oozed sensuality, almost like that slow motion approach you sometimes see in movies. Both boys stood agog, in awe of the creature approaching.

“Morris, right?” she asked, reaching her right hand up to cup his left cheek.

He swallowed hard, an audible noise, eyes wide, unable to find his voice.

She raised an eyebrow, little coy smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“He’s Morris,” croaked Tom, mouth agape. “Jabberwocky,” he added, sharing the nickname he and Sly used for Morris.

She turned to look at Tom and held his eyes a moment in her azure gaze. Intimidated, he broke eye contact and examined the condition of his running shoes.

She slowly drew her hand back, manicured blood red fingernails barely grazing his downy cheek as they passed over his skin. She chuckled softly, a pleasant sound as she turned from the pair. She seemed to glide away and meld back into the throng of students, as quickly as she had arrived she was gone.

“Dude, did that just happen?” asked Tom, an incredulous expression on his face. “What happened?” he asked again, looking after her, then to Morris, eyes searching his friend’s face to explain the event.

Morris nodded, heart in his throat.

“Kimber St. John just said your name and put her hand on your cheek, DUDE!” exclaimed Tom, looking back down the hallway in the direction of Kimber’s departure.

Morris also stared down the hall after the girl.

“Do you need like fresh underwear? Because I would have come like three times if she had done that to me, just saying,” Tom stated, facial features miming an orgasm.

Morris turned to face Tom, “Serious Tom, I think I saw something man, something crazy earlier,” he said.

“Yeah, like Kimber walking right up and putting her hand on you, like that is crazy. The only thing on earth that might have been better would be if Eddie Vogel gave you a guitar pick straight from his own hand,” Tom said, still not believing what had just transpired.

“Come on, I need to talk you outside,” urged Morris, tugging at Tom’s arm, and now looking in the direction opposite Kimber’s departure. Had he actually seen the Graces shrink Len down and swallow him whole? He was no longer sure. Seemed real enough at the time, but…  He frowned.

Tom nodded. “Sure,” he said, allowing himself to pulled along.

Maneuvering out of the school, Morris took Tom to the far side of the band room, near the faculty parking lot.

“Why would Kimber do that? Like did you win the lottery or something, like I don’t understand,” Tom said, head shaking.

Putting his hands up between them, “Listen, I saw, I think I saw something totally fucked up, like some Twilight Zone shit or something,” he said.

“This must be the Twilight Zone because in what world does Kimber smooth up on a guy like you, I mean, no offense, you’re my friend and all, but one of the hottest girls ever to put feet on God’s green earth, why would she do that?.”

Morris grabbed him by the shoulders, “Dude, just be quiet a minute and let me explain.

Tom nodded his head, “Sure, whatever, go ahead.”