Smoke up

The smell of pleasurable chemicals permeated the air. Dim lighting cast shadows on our eyes and beneath our lips. Occasionally a face would light up, and then disappear, replaced by freshly exhaled smoke. Laughter.

We talked about nothing and everything. Spewing memories and insults with equal ease. Anything was permissible. We even smile at jokes that aren't that funny. We roar at the ones that are.

A hookah arrives. At first, I get nothing out of it. A half-hearted effort, an empty pair of lungs. And then, she tells me how. I let go, and 'pull'. I fight my lungs, trying to keep them from collapsing. I realize I'm going to lose, soon, and exhale slowly. The rush isn't that patient with me. The hookah hooks me.

Pockets of silence. We sip our beers meditatively, gazing into space. I glance at the others, they glance back, our faces blank. Our eyes mirrors. I wait for them to say something. Or something-to-say to strike me. Nothing does, and so we smile and resume our meditations, or sing along with whatever is playing. Something hit''s one of us, and the conversation rolls on. Shock. Laughter.

I glance at her. She looks back. Her eyes are different. They have changed from mirrors... to windows. I can see deep into them, hidden things. But in doing so, my eyes must change too. As we look into each other, two worlds are exposed, connected. We try to learn this new world. What is it we see? Tiredness, mischief, longing... judgment?

We look away, distracted by conversation. We look back, in hope of a confirmation of what just passed. We just smile, and lose ourselves in the rest of us.