"So, this bitch, kept accusing me of trying to steal her man. Dude was dirty, built like a two by four, and had rotten meth mouth. Like, no bitch, no, I don't want that thing." Macey narrates one of her previous encounters.
It's so funny, that I choke on my sweet tea, and it shoots out of my nose. Crap, it burns.
"Dude, you, ok?" She asks.
"Yeah." I choke out a reply.
Anytime she starts a story with, so this bitch, I know it's going to be good.
"Do you need me to crack a window? I'm trying not to smoke too close to you. But, you know, we're kind of in a truck" She asks. lighting up a joint.
"Cracking a window is fine, I don't really care." I shrug my shoulders.
"It's just your dad was a cop…" She trails off.
Dad was a cop, a damn good one. Biologically, he wasn't my dad. My biological father abandoned me and mom when I was three and a half. I had just been diagnosed with Asperger's autism, he said he didn't want to be burdened with a "retarded" child. So, he left us. Karma being the bitch she is, forced him to pay child support.
Mom bounced back quickly, she met my stepdad, Carl, at IHOP during his lunch break. She was his server that day, he left her a fifteen-dollar tip and his phone number. The first time we met, he took us to the county fair parade. I remember him holding me on his shoulders so I could see over the crowd. Clowns and horses paraded down the road to music. It almost caused a sensory meltdown, as beautiful as the parade may have been. When he married mom, he legally adopted me. Far as I was concerned, he was my real dad.
"But you know, weed could help your autism." Macey snaps me out of my thought.
"How so?" I ask, taking a light sniff of the weed. It's a bit of an abrasive smell at first and I start feeling lightheaded.
"Well, your autism sometimes causes you to be over stimulated sometimes. I've seen you have a meltdown before, and you are not yourself. Autism also includes anxiety. I smoke to help my anxiety. Hard to be anxious when you're stoned." She explains as she takes a hit.
"Yeah, but I don't have my card." I point out.
Legal or not, people all across the states still smoke it.
"I'm sure you qualify for it." She says as she takes another puff.
The smoke is lowering my inhibitions, honestly kind of feels good. I lean against the door and stare out the window. Big, luscious trees cuff the road we're cruising. We're on some back road, literally in the middle of nowhere. Only Macey knows where we're at because I have absolutely no sense of direction. I frequently try to go into men's bathrooms because I'm a space cadet who forgets to read the signs before entering.
Wanda starts wobbling and spinning out on the dirt road. With that I become stone cold sober. If she gives out, we're screwed. We're back roading in the boonies, houses are miles apart, and we have no cellphone signal. Not to mention we're in boar territory, and those things are mean as hell.
"Yeah, wobble Wanda wobble, ya stupid bitch." Macey cusses, somehow making the truck obey.
Yes, good old Wanda, Macey's red 1980 Ford F-150. It's older than either of us. She inherited it from her favorite grandpa, it's her baby. She's had it reupholstered, the paint touched up, and much more.
"Well, hell!" Macey exclaims, slamming on the brakes.
"What?" I ask.
"You don't see it in the middle of the road?" She asks as she grips the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles turn white.
There, in the middle of the road, a copperhead snake is slowly slithering across it. My skin starts to crawl, I hate snakes and spiders.
"Tell Satan I send my regards." She says throwing the truck into drive and running it over. Then she backs up and runs it over again. She repeats this process about three times before driving off down the road.
"Alright, we're going to turn around and come back to make sure it's dead."
We reach a dead end that leads to a narrow-inclined hill. As she's looking over her shoulder to back up, I look up the hill and freeze. An iridescent silhouette stands at the top of the hill, it's shaped like a big cat.
"Um, what is that?" I ask quietly.
"Don't do that, I'm too high for that shit!" Macey hisses.
"I'm being serious, look." I point.
Whipping her head around, she looks to where I'm pointing. "There's nothing there!" She exclaims.
To my horror, she's right. It was just there! What the hell was that? Am I high? Are ghost cats a thing?
She gets Wanda turned around and barrels down the road, back to where she ran over the snake. Both of us are stunned to see empty road. I had expected to see snake chunks all over the ground, smithereens. Bits of brown scales and blood. Something.
"Um, are you sure this is where you ran it over?" I ask.
"Yep." She replies as she visually scans the road.
"Maybe the tires slung it into the ditch?" I ask.
Macey's eyes widen in horror. "I think it's in the trunk!" She starts panicking.
I've heard that weed can make a person paranoid, but how she came up with that theory is beyond me.
"Uh. Sis, our doors were closed. How could it get in here?" I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"I've heard of cases of them getting up in the engine, then slithering out while a person was trying to get out of the car and biting them." She rambled on.
Great, now she's high and super paranoid.
I start chuckling.
"What's so funny?" She asks.
"That snake is like the Chuck Norris of snakes." I joke. "Snake Norris!" I snort sarcastically.
"Fucking Snake Norris." She busts out laughing.
We pull into my driveway, the motion lights flicker on. At this point Macey has fully convinced herself that the snake is hiding somewhere in the truck just planning its revenge. I feel bad for laughing at her paranoia, she's usually so calm and collected.
"Be careful getting out, just in case." She says.
I chuckle. "I'll be fine." But to soothe her worried mind, I leap out of her truck, like a monkey jumping from tree to tree. I land on the ground in a very unceremoniously manner, I'm lucky I didn't twist my ankle.
"Want to back roading again tomorrow night?" She asks.
"Sure, as long as Snake Norris doesn't get you later." I tease, flickering my tongue out and hissing like a snake.
"That's not funny." She hisses back.
Smiling, all I can think is, God, you're beautiful. I wish I was as beautiful as you are. Her hair is ebony black. That's not her natural hair color though. To be honest, she probably doesn't even remember her natural color, she alternates between red and black so often. Usually, if she's dying it red, she's in the middle of some sort of mental break down. Honestly, the black suits her better, it emphasizes her pale skin and emerald eyes. Her favorite thing to wear is anything black.
In short, she's a mentally unstable, porcelain doll with a witch's personality.
Mushrooms, mossy rocks, crystals, non-venomous snakes- anything nature related she loves it. She literally calls herself an old swamp witch sometimes. Macey loves taking detailed pictures of all thing's nature. Insane as she may be, I still love her.
"Tomorrow?" I ask.
"Tomorrow." She confirms.
"What time?" I ask.
"I get off work at five. I'll get you about five-thirty. Let's go eat at Dairy Queen, then go back roading."
"Alright." I agree.
"Text me when you get home, so I know Snake Norris didn't get you." I tease as I pull my purse out of the truck.
"I will. Love you." She says, watching me walk into the house. No matter what, she's always waited until I get in my house safely before driving off.
When I open the door, I'm greeted by an eighty-pound, judgmental German Shepard.
"Don't start, dad." I tease Stitch as he smells me over. I know he smells the pot.
A year before dad passed, he bought me a pure-bred German Shepard puppy as a graduation gift, that he had intended to be my service dog. Stitch seems like a weird name for a dog, but it's an inside joke. When I was about seven, I was obsessed with the Disney Movie Lilo and Stitch, dad and I would go back and forth talking like Stitch.
Right after I graduated, dad's partner. officer Thomas Hudson came to our house carrying an eight-week-old, pure black German shepherd puppy. On the pup's head was a small graduation cap, its small body was cloaked in a graduation gown.
Dad scooped him up, and put him in my arms. "Congratulations on graduating, sweetheart, I hope you like your present."
I squealed with delight, it had been two years since our Doberman Pincher, Beast, had passed. Dogs have always been my favorite creatures.
"What will you name him?" Tomas asked.
It's custom to wait a few days to learn a pup's personality before naming them. Beast was named Beast because that's what he was, seventy pounds of muscle. He wasn't aggressive, actually quite opposite, he was a big chicken.
I looked into my new pups' eyes. I knew his breed usually got names like Butch or Brutus, but that just didn't seem right. Out of the blue, dad started talking like Stitch from the movie, and the pup whimpered in response.
"Well, I guess he's a Stitch."
Mom chuckled. "Well, welcome to our Ohana, Stitch."
We all trained with him vigorously, molding him into his best self. He's house broken, gentle, but protective of me and mom. Stitch can sit, stay, speak, shake, roll over, and play dead. Most impressively, dad taught him how to bring him beer. We always left a dish towel wrapped around the refrigerator's door handle, Stitch would tug on it, take out a beer, and bring it to him.
Stitch sniffs me, studying me with his chocolate eyes. Mom and I swear that dad channels through him from the other side. We're Baptists, but we're not very conventional. We believe in salvation through Jesus like most denominations do, but we also believe that the spirits of our passed loved ones visit us through vessels. Dad's vessel just so happens to be my dog.
I roll my eyes, "Chill dad, it was only a second hand high."
Walking to my room, I sigh in exhaustion. Dropping my purse on the kitchen, I walk to my room, grab clean pajamas, and take a nice hot shower. Mom works until three in the morning, but I'm too tired to wait up.
My phone pings, it's Macey. Home safe. Snake didn't get me lol. Good night, love you.
I grab my sign and hang it on my doorknob. Safe, Sound, Stitch. The sign allows mom to know that I'm safe, asleep, and Stitch is with me.
I like to keep my room nice and cool with a couple of standing fans. My bed is so cozy, Stitch wastes no time in taking his place next to me. Stroking his soft fur is like counting cows to me, it puts me to sleep softly.