Smoke. A sweet smell that’s obviously unnatural and synthetic. The molecules spread through the air and invade the lungs of everyone in the area. It’s a concert, it’s meant to be a fun night. It feels more like a warzone.
I give everything in me to fight it, but it’s too late. I’m trapped in the past. Senior year homecoming, to be exact. Stuck on the top bleacher, packed among strangers, and evidently, everyone in my grade, spare a handful, is inebriated in some way. With every cheer, or new person coming into the area, or even breath, I’m once again thrust into the chain link fence keeping the audience upright. A drunk girl comes up to my best friend and I, turning to my best friend and saying that she and my boyfriend are the cutest couple in school. He’s my boyfriend, and the only reason I bothered going to homecoming was because of his status as a lineman.
She isn’t in a good state whatsoever, with her eyes glazed over and her walk unstable. One of her friends, who’s also high or drunk, asks if she’s okay. She flashes a giant smile and says she’s doing great, then stumbles down the steps to get back to her clique. I take a deep breath, glad she’s gone, but still surrounded by smoke and beer-soaked smiles, despite the police presence at the gate. It feels like the people around me keep inching closer, the smell of illicit substances lingering within their clothes. My asthma hasn’t been really active since I was little, but I can’t help but cough, my heart racing and my ribs tightening. The girls are wobbling, the boys can’t think straight, and with each shove of the crowd I’m sent back.
I’m back to sophomore year, two years earlier. It’s two in the morning, and I’m lying in bed texting a friend who’s two years older than I am. He’s drinking and smoking, more than what would be safe for even someone of age. There are spelling errors in every word he types. He tells me the room is spinning, and he’s seeing cartoon murders any time he moves his head, but he revels in it. He’s not safe, but he won’t listen to me when I tell him that. He’s got a new group of friends, and he would’ve cut me off long ago if I didn’t care as much as I do, but I’m still tacked onto him.
Another night, weeks later, and he’s hanging out with the same bad influences. I ask where he is, hoping he’s at home playing video games, or cooped up in his room where he can’t get hurt. Nope, he’s out driving with his friends. They’re all drunk and still smoking, speeding through a suburb a few towns over. I consider calling the police. I go online and find a tip line, but he won’t tell me where they are so it’d just be a waste of time. Not only are they putting themselves in danger, but they’re endangering random citizens, whose lives they had never encountered until their ends.
We were much better friends months before then. The second or third month of school. I’m sitting in gym class waiting for him to get there. He’s one of the two friends I had in that class, and the other is absent. I’m the only person sitting alone on the bleachers, and I’m anxiously looking around, wondering why he’s late. The teacher has us start playing basketball, so I get my own ball and just throw it into a hoop a few times. Around halfway through class, I turn my head, looking through the door, and see my friend enter the nurse’s office, clutching his forehead. He spends five to ten minutes in there, then the nurse sends him to gym.
I run up to him, pleading that he tell me what happened. He got in a fight with someone in the senior lounge, one that’s a known drug dealer. I didn’t know it at the time, but now that I do, it seems important to include. He never got in a fight before, and he was a peaceful, respectful person. I question what kind of line the person must have crossed to get him to react in such a way, and I still do to this day. He’s not himself, and little do I know, I’m gonna lose him sometime soon.
I feel my boyfriend nudge my shoulder. I’m back at the concert, and he asks if I’m okay as my head snaps up to face him. Although I’m rattled and shakened, I say yes, and he smiles at me. I smile back, then turn to look at the band onstage. They’re playing a song I don’t quite know, but I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere. The lights brighten, and it’s hard to look at, but I know they need them as the sky darkens. The lights illuminate a cloud of smoke, some thirty feet away from us. My breath catches in my throat.