Oh, Sweet Marijuana Dreams
J. Marshall
A Short-Short
Barry and Mary were high as kites. Mary put her hand on Barry’s shoulder, her eyes red.
“Are you okay,” she asked.
Barry nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”
He looked around, noticed that the couch they were sitting on was floating.
“Whoa,” he said, looking down. He looked back up at Mary. “That’s crazy.”
“Isn’t it though,” Mary said, taking another heavy drag of the blunt.
“I have this feeling, you know,” Barry said. “This feeling as if I’m about to start laughing, but also start crying.”
Mary nodded, exhaling smoke. “Why is that?”
“Because something feels so wrong about all of this.”
“You mean that you don’t like the way that this feels?” Mary asked.
“Well, it’s not really this right now. I mean, this is the best day ever. Being able to chill with the future mother of my kids while we get high and talk about shit. I couldn’t think of anything greater in the world.”
Mary looked at him quietly for a couple of moments, the expression on her dark face difficult to decipher. Then she bared her teeth in a flawless smile.
“You’re just really high, baby, and it seems that this weed has that happy and paranoid thing working at the same time in you. “
“We’re still going up,” Barry said, looking around. They were above their house now, could see the tops of trees and cars.
“It’ll end soon,” Mary said, passing the blunt back to him. She reached out and touched his face. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here. You know that, right?”
Barry was quiet for a couple of moments, the blunt smoking between his fingers, his heart beating fast.
“The problem is you died too early,” he said. “From cancer before the age of thirty-five. And this is just a dream.”
Mary’s eyes suddenly shone with tears. She wiped one as it trickled down her right cheek. “You didn’t have to say that baby.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Then Barry woke up. Looked to the left side of the bed. Found it empty.
He sat up, rested his back against the headboard.
“If only I could stop saying that to her,” he whispered to the empty room.
