Lavender

Last Thursday night, at around eight o’clock, I got into a car with a boy I’d never met. He said his name was Charlie Woo or Choo or something of the sort and that he was heading to New York for the winter to see the snow.
“Hop in.” He smiled. He patted the side of the van like it was an old friend and blew a ring of smoke towards me.
I got in the van with two grey duffel bags and twelve dollars, eighty-four cents.
Charlie likes to light candles and put his hair into tiny braids. He wants to cut it all off, he says, but he just doesn’t know if it would frame his face the same way.
He drinks frequently. Almost as if he’s forgotten that its alcohol and it’s become just like pineapple juice or water. He pours anything he drinks into a tiny flask with his name etched into it. Charlie, it reads, in huge, looping spirals.
We’re sitting in the back of his van, with blankets drooped over our shoulders. Charlie takes out a pack of cigarettes and a wooden cigar box painted with little flowers. Stogies, he calls them, Cuban.
“It tastes like a bad cup of coffee,” he explains.
“That doesn’t sound good.” I say.
“Just take one.” Charlie says. He adds after, “They take the edge off.”
I’ve smoked only once, with my mother. I remember her coming into my room, herhair tied back neatly in a bun. She smiled only with her mouth, never with her eyes, and tucked a piece of curly hair behind my ear. I can remember my head throbbing and her cold touch against my skin. Her hands felt nice. Like cold water on a burn.
“Darling,” I can hear her saying, “darling, have a Camel.” She held one herself, her long fingers trembling, “Mm, Jacob? Just one.”
I smoked one then, in my room with my mother, on my bed covered in quilts and soft comforters.
I take the cigar and stare at the end of it. Charlie strikes a match and lights it. The van fills with smoke and an overpowering smell. He hold the match, staring at the flame. The flame seems so small in his hands.
“I don’t have an edge to take off.”
The corner of his mouth curves up into a smile and he laughs, “Sure you do. Everybody does.” He blows the match out.
“Do you?”
Charlie’s eyes brighten, it is almost so fast I don’t see it. Like a flash of lightning or the flicker of a candle. Then, he smiles and says, “Everybody does.”
“Is that why you drink?” I ask.
“Ah.” He twists open the cap of his flask and peers into it. “Drink because you are happy, never because you are miserable.”
I’m confused again. “What?”
“A quote, darling. It’s a quote.” He pauses and laughs, “But I say, drink until you can feel happiness nor sadness. Eh?”
“I used to keep a bottle of vodka under my bed,” I confess. That’s not true, it was actually only a bottle of beer, but I feel I should say something.
“I kept a wine bottle hidden in my sweater drawer.” He chuckles. His thumb runs down the edge of the flask.
This is the first time we’ve really talked. Charlie is always too deep in thought to ever notice me. He’s smart, and I like that. Educated conversations interest me, not like at home where all anybody talked about was hunting and beer. And sex.

“Jake, Who’s your favorite author?” he asks. His lips form an “O” when he finishes his sentences. He has a woman’s lips. I wonder if they are his mother’s.

“I like James and the Giant Peach.” I say.

A crooked smile slowly makes its way across Charlie’s face. “That’s a book, kid.”

“But I like the story.”

Charlie lets his head fall back and he laughs. His voice is like sweet tea and sugar.

“Oh Jake, you are a fascinating.” He says, “Absolutely unique.”

“Can I ask you something,” I fiddle with the cigarette. I weave it between my fingers. Index. Middle. Index. Middle.

“Always, Darling,” he responds.
“Why do you live in a van?”
He sits and thinks for a moment, crossing his long, thin legs and looks up at me. “I guess a home maybe isn’t so permanent.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hands and wish they were as beautiful as Charlie’s. Those are hands that have experienced and seen wonders, cities, I have only seen on billboards off the highway.
“I am a lot like a bird, Jacob. I need to go places. I was not born to simply sit and watch.”
“Do you want kids?” I ask. I blow smoke from my mouth and watch it dance around the inside of the van like a beautiful ballerina. Twirling, twisting in the air.
He says simply, “I am much too selfish.”
“I don’t think so.”
Charlie’s lips curve again and he smacks the side of the van, “Mm, I would never bring my children into this world anyways.”
I look outside, around. “I don’t know, I don’t think it’s too bad.”
“Then you, my friend, are living in a world of perfect bliss.” He takes another cigarette and lights it.
“Are we friends, Charlie?” I say.
Charlie grabs my hand slowly and runs his fingers down my palm. I feel a shiver move through me. He says, “Of course.”
He weaves his fingers through mine and smiles. I have nothing to say to him. No words.
“Jacob, are you scared of home?”
“Who’s not?” I chuckle, and take my hand from his.
“Mm,” he says, and nods. He looks away, to some far off place that I don’t think anybody but Charlie could ever go to.
“Have a drink, Kid.” He says after a few minutes. He hands me his flask and I take a swig. I’m not scared of alcohol. I like the way it rips me open like a hot knife.
I think that if I kissed Charlie now, his lips would taste like peppermint chapstick and rum. Honey from the tea he drinks.
“You look puzzled.” He states.
“No.” I say, and lay down. Charlie sprawls his legs out and ties his hair up into a bun.

“You know, Jacob, I think it might be time for me to do something substantial with my life.”

“I think your life is very substantial.” I smile and practice how to blow smoke rings, like Charlie taught me.

“Maybe a record shop, yes. Mm. I could open a record shop.” He takes out his journal and begins to sketch something, chewing on his eraser.

“What are you drawing?” I ask.

“A moon and a sun.”

“What?”

He says, “A moon, kissing the sun. It’s my most common doodle.”

I light a candle next to me and lay down, listening to the sound of Charlie’s pencil against the paper.

“Goodnight, Kid.” he says.

Charlie sings softly a song about a boy getting swept out to sea, who’s saved by a serpent. That night, I dream about the snake, coiling its way around me until I suffocate.