Swim Until You Can't See Land
Page 28
Han Solo looks down at me from above the TV. The poster is peeling away, one of the top corners is hanging down and the wall has a greasy stain from the blu-tac. Even though the woodchip wallpaper has pressed through the paper, giving Han a pock-marked effect, he still looks cool as fuck as he leans forward holding his blaster.
I'm Han Solo. I'm a scoundrel and I don't give a shit.
Not wound up like me.
Alfie passes me the joint and I hesitate. I've been trying to stop doing this, but ever since that queue last night I've been dying for a smoke. Plus, Alfie's right, I need to loosen up.
It's a quick fix, Davie, but it's not the answer.
It makes me feel better.
Yes but the effects wear off, they don't last, and in the long-term, you're making things harder.
It can't get any harder.
Fuck it. I inhale deeply. Count in my head. One finger. Two thumbs. Three arms. Four legs. Then breathe out again. The smoke curls in front of me and I feel lighter. My brain is floating around inside my skull like a helium balloon and I'm sinking deep into the couch.
My stomach growls and I hand the joint back and help myself to a caramel digestive. I dunk it in what's left of my tea until the chocolate melts. As I bite into it the caramel stretches like elastic and sticks to my teeth and the roof of my mouth. I lay one hand down on top of the MP3 player. It feels like it's buzzing, like there's a magnetic charge flowing through it. If I tried to stick it to the fridge door, it would cling on. I felt this earlier. This energy. It was what made me put the headphones on in the first place. My fingers tap the side of the player, it's pulsing with energy. Alive.
I stare down at it and realise that I can't see the scratch anymore. My eyes are rolling from the weed, but even still, it's gone. Vanished. Rejuvenated.
I can hear Alfie's words in my head. Syntax error. Chuck it out. Syntax. Error.
A flash of anger and the need to protect the MP3 player surges through me. I squeeze it in my hand, then push it down the side of the couch. Away from Alfie. Away from Alfie who wants to hurt it. It's mine. I'm keeping it. It's special.
I've got a strange feeling about this wee box.
I've got a strange feeling.
I'm Luke Skywalker. The chosen one. Destined for higher things. The only one who can restore freedom to the galaxy.
Alfie hands me the joint again and I take another draw on it.
That'd just be my fucking luck actually. I end up playing Luke Skywalker, while Alfie gets to be Han Solo. The scoundrel.
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