Underachieving

The red button flashed on the end of my vape as I inhaled. The packaging for the new cartridge, which I bought from a coworker, displayed a cartoon lemonade pitcher with a limp smile and drooping, red eyes. The vapor tasted of metal and concentrated artificial lemon as I exhaled.

I began scavenging in the kitchen for food, deciding to crack open a jar of habanero salsa that my mom bought in Austin, Texas. It wasn’t until I had eaten half of the jar that the slowly developing spice had intensified, becoming unbearable. Fire alarms sounded in my head, sending me into a state of panic.

I began eating fistfuls of tortilla chips and, when that didn’t work, found myself with my head in the sink drinking water directly from the faucet. The idea of milk entered my head. My body doesn’t process dairy correctly, but I figured that nothing could be worse than my current pain. I walked to the fridge.

The overhead lights in the kitchen began to flicker as I touched the handle of the refrigerator door. I pulled it open. Light shot out from the bulbs above and into the blackness of the open door. Soon all was black, and I couldn’t see. Then the ground disappeared beneath my feet, and I couldn’t feel.

For a while, I drifted in nothing before finding the kitchen lights stretched in front of me. They stretched over what appeared to be miles. I could now see the outline of my hands in front of my face. My fingers had begun to stretch away from my palms.

The rest of my body, in a similar fashion, splayed out until I had become like a rolled-out piece of Play-Doh. The lights ahead of me began to swirl as if heading down a drain. The last of the lights vanished, leaving me, once again, unable to see.

The force released. Like a slinky at the bottom of the stairs, my body returned to its original form. The lights were once again ordinary bulbs hanging from the ceiling. I closed the refrigerator door, ran up the stairs, and curled into a ball beneath my comforter.

When I woke up the next morning, I decided that I would need to buy a new vape cartridge. I texted my friend Craig, who agreed to meet in the city after work. Craig and I met in high school. Although we don’t hang out regularly, he has been a good friend for many years. He also had access to much better pot than me in the suburbs.

I boarded the train at 5:00 PM and arrived at Suburban Station at 5:30 PM. Stepping outside, I immediately recognized Craig walking on the other side of the street. His short stature and overly confident walk brought me back to our days playing high school soccer together. I crossed the street to meet him, and the two of us shared a smile and a handshake-hug.

“Yo man! How you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been good. How’s work going?”

“It’s been busy, but I like it well enough. Do you want to come check out the office? It’s just across the street.”

We crossed the street. Craig, using his keycard, swiped us into the building and led us to the second-floor offices. I pretended to listen while he explained his company. My focus gravitated toward the colorful walls and vibrant aesthetic of the office.

“So?” asked Craig. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” I admitted. “It’s not what I had pictured.”

“It is nice. Work here is tough sometimes. It’s not a low stress job like yours, but it pays well… Do you want a beer? The fridge is stocked.”

“I find my job’s lack of stress to be stressful.” I took the can of Yuengling from him and pulled the tab to open it.

“What do you mean?” He removed a spiked seltzer from the fridge.

“There’s nothing rewarding or fulfilling about stocking shelves.”

“I feel that.”

He quickly finished his seltzer and grabbed a second from the fridge. Trying to keep up, I chugged the remaining half of my Yuengling. When I finished drinking, Craig tossed me a second, which I opened and quickly took a sip from.

“Why don’t you do something else?” he asked before taking a massive gulp of seltzer.

“I don’t know what to do with my life.”

“What was your GPA?” He finished his second seltzer, which prompted me to finish my second Yuengling.

“3.5.” I fumbled with the tab of my now empty beer can.

“Oh, dude, what are you doing?” He grabbed a third round of drinks from the fridge and handed me one. “You know, this isn’t a guarantee, but I should be looking to add to my team here in a couple of months.”

I looked down at my worn Adidas sneakers. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want to commit to Philly long-term.”

“That’s because you’re not in the city.” He opened his third seltzer. “You should give it a shot. Try working and living down here for 6 months. You’d make more money and wouldn’t have to take the train all the time.”

“I’ll think about it.”

We continued to drink in the office until the sun had set. Craig filled his backpack with a few more cans from the fridge before leading us out of the office toward Rittenhouse Square. Once the office was far enough behind us, he began digging through his bag. He pulled out two small black boxes, handing one to me. Unlike my last cartridge, which came in a small plastic bag, this new cartridge came in a protective case with a locking mechanism.

After a short struggle, I managed to pry open the box and attached the new cartridge onto my battery. I took a hit before handing it to Craig, who had just inhaled from his own. He laughed.

“See, that’s what I like about you,” he said. “All my buddies around here are a bunch of mooches. I’m good though, that’s yours.”

“You sure you don’t want to try it?”

“Okay… here. We’ll trade. This one’s an Indica.”

We continued to walk and vape, trading cartridges back and forth until finally arriving at Rittenhouse Square. We sat on a bench in front of a pale tree. Craig placed his backpack onto the ground and opened it, handing me a seltzer and a t-shirt.

“Wrap them up so we don’t get an open container,” he said.

“I don’t get why you like these things so much.” I wrapped the can of Yuengling in the shirt and opened it.

“Listen, man. That’s a delicious, low-calorie beverage right there.” He motioned his drink toward me. I laughed and drank from his shirt-wrapped seltzer can before handing it back to him and hitting my vape.

“Jesus Christ.” Craig laughed as I coughed. “That was pretty big.”

“You know what, man?” I asked, giggling. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “That’s some pretty good tree right there.” I pointed to the pale tree before us. He laughed.

“Yeah. That is a good tree.”

“Yeah. There’s some sweet tree action out here.”

We sat on the bench, laughing about random nonsense until it became late. Eventually, he walked with me through the cold night back to Suburban Station.

“I’m just saying though,” he said when we had arrived back at the station. “I think you should consider moving here and getting a real job. You don’t want to live at home forever.”

“I don’t know, man.” I looked at the jagged sidewalk beneath my worn sneakers. “I don’t know if this would make me happy."

"Because you’re so happy now? Well, I guess that’s for you to decide… Anyway, it was good seeing you.”

We shook hands, and I walked into the station. Standing on the yellow caution strip before the tracks, I removed the vape from my pocket and examined it. After a moment, I unscrewed the cartridge from the battery and threw it onto the rail below.