The only difference between Curly's house and a junkyard was the fact people actually lived there. The front yard was covered with glass bottles, broken lawn chairs, old car parts, cigarette butts, an old toilet, broken bicycles, and whatever else appeared there over night. The front door was hanging on by one hinge; slamming against the house with every strong gust of Tulsa wind. There might have been a time when the house was painted white. But now it looked wet and brown; like mud.
The only beautiful thing about the house was the overgrowth of roses on the curb. They seemed be the only decent thing the Shepard's had; a couple of rose bushes. They only grew in the summertime though. Even when the rose bushes were in full bloom, they weren't the first things you'd notice about the house. There was a big, blue reclining chair resting on top of the roof. Nobody could tell you for sure how it got there; not even Tim. I would have asked Curly then but he was busy.
His fingers held the joint steady as he sealed it with his tongue. He smiled, admiring his work and looked up at me. "An' that's all there is to it Curtis," he said holding the joint out towards me. I shook my head.
"Ah, that's okay it's yours. I really don't ne-" I started.
"Don't be queer Pony, just take it." He slipped the joint into my coat pocket. "I'm just helping a fella' Greaser out is all. You can go crazy being wound up as tight as you are." I knew he was cocked, but wither it was from the weed or the bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter, I couldn't tell. Hell, maybe it was both.
Curly was out of his mind. He's out of his mind when he's sober too. You just could tell more when he got fucked up. It was his eyes, all dark and glazed over that gave him away. They made him look like a madman; but as much as I hate to admit it, the madman was making a lot of sense.
I have been ridiculously stressed out lately. Turning sixteen had come with a lot more than just a deeper voice. I was a junior this year; one year closer to college. I was drowning in AP homework, extra credit assignments, track practices, belligerent Socs and now a part time job. Maybe I did need to relax a little.
He may have looked like a madman; standing in his kitchen, clad in an old pair of jeans, drinking Jack straight from the bottle, but boy did he look relaxed.
"Just re-remember where you got that from, Curtis. I won't have Brumley stealing anymore of my cust'mers." Curly slurred.
"I'll remember. Curly I wa- " He didn't seem to notice my pause. He was busy flying high in his own little world; staring his feet. "Thanks Curly." I slammed the screen door behind me as I left. I didn't even bother looking at my watch I knew I was late. I smiled though, as my fingers grazed the joint in my pocket.
I don't know how to explain it but, I felt like a different person leaving Curly's that afternoon. Maybe I would give it a try. Can't hurt right?
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- Grace Epiphany