Smith and Jacob

Jacob rolled down his window. He didn’t say anything. His eyes were closed, and the wind was blowing back his light brown hair. We passed by the house where I had snorted heroin for the first time, about two years ago, though the house was on the market again, now that Nick’s family moved to an even swankier neighborhood. I’d had an argument with Dad about something I can’t remember, probably my ripped-up jeans or my haircut, even though I wondered how he could notice anything about me while Mom was dying. He’d pulled out the gun, and described in detail what my brains would look like once he’d blown them out. As I ran out the door, I told him my brains weren’t worth blowing out. I thought about seeing Mom at the hospital, but that was when Nick texted me and told me to come right over. Nick’s dad was screwing our friend Brandon’s mom, and Nick’s mom worked late hours as a nurse, so the house was always empty on weeknights. By the time I came home from Nick’s, Jacob was there. Dad had been working on the paperwork all along. Six months later, me and Nick were shooting up.