I have a leftover baggie of cocaine in the cup holder in my car. The image is a spotlight that illuminates the darkness in my mind. Gone is the pressure of not knowing what to do. To Jason, I simply say, “You ready to go? I am.” He chugs the rest of the drink in the nearby red cup, and we start the six-block walk back to camp.
With a block to go, I tell Jason the good news. I don’t know if he’s really okay with the drug, but he says he is, and that works for me. With the car’s dome light on, I grab the scrunched-up plastic bag. The white substance is grouped at the bottom and amounts to the size of half my pinky. It’s not much, which is both bad and good. Bad because I know I’ll want more, and good because I know I’ll want more.
I look closer at the contents and see the consistency is off. The once-dry powder is gummy. In the center console, a too-long fast food cup’s liquid has seeped through. This detail makes me panic, and I scramble to think what to do. I gather a bit on my finger and put it in my mouth, hoping for a tinge of highness. It’s bitter and doesn’t do anything. I walk over to Jason and tell him the news. He shrugs, sits back in a lawn chair with a beer, and tosses me one.
The beer is warm and tastes disgusting. Declining a chair, I unfurl my blanket and settle on my belly with my elbows propped underneath me. Talking to Jason, I pretend to drink the beer but pour it onto the lawn when he’s not looking. When he finishes, he tells me he’s going to bed, so I grab my blanket to do the same.
Unzipping my tent, I hear Jason say “Come sleep with me,” at a volume one could easily not hear, so I pretend not to. Continuing with what I’m doing, I unzip my tent fully and start in. “Please.” This time, it’s unmistakable that he’s talking to me, and I stop. “Come into my tent. Please.” My body tenses, and I don’t know what to say. “Jason, I don’t—” but he interrupts, “Please,” he says again.
Zero percent of me wants this alternate universe where begging is reality. So I say, “No,” before shimmying in and zipping myself up inside. As I settle into my sleeping bag, I hear Jason rustling and settling into his.
In the quiet, I think, rapid and worrying thoughts. I try telling myself everything will be fine in the morning. That he’s drunk, and that he won’t remember any of this anyway. As my thoughts twist and turn anxiously, I see a text from the bassist that the show’s over. The next text is an ETA with an address. Imagining myself standing, bunching all my stuff into my arms, opening the trunk, jamming it in, and going to meet them would be exciting. But I can’t. I’m too tired, and out of sorts. I need sleep.
Going On 40 
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