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Connor Murphy smoked his first cigarette when he was thirteen.
Walking home from detention, surely more than an hour after Zoe had been dropped off by their bus, he came across a discarded but hardly smoked cigarette on the ground. Cautiously, he looked around, picked it up, and pocketed it on an impulse.
Arriving home initially unnoticed, he found himself in the kitchen, searching through the junk drawer and snagging a lighter—clearly serving the purpose of lighting handmade vegan soy-based candles.
***
He snuck out the same night, or technically the earliest hours of the next morning, and began walking. There were only a few places in his suburban area where you could find yourself when walking aimlessly. His aimless journey led him right to the backside of CVS down the road, where, unbeknownst to him, a certain group of high school outcasts occasionally hung out. When he got within a few hundred feet, he saw three figures and, surprisingly, a dog huddled close.
For whatever reason he kept walking, the sight of the three figures—and dog—becoming clearer and clearer. He was still making his way down the sidewalk, no less than 50 feet from the group, when one of them noticed him. A girl with blue hair, very visible brown roots, and a lot of piercings looked overtly displeased at seeing a scrawny, no-older-than-fourteen-year-old child at an hour like one in the morning. She muttered something to the two others, one boy who he’d identified as being lanky and miserable-looking and the other, also probably a boy, shorter with softer features. Lying between the two, a large leashed dog stared up at them intently.
Brown-roots girl stepped closer towards him while the other two hung behind. She studied him, giving him a critical up-and-down once-over. Her company paid no mind as she approached. The shorter one whispered to the taller boy while his face remained in his hands, a cigarette—or joint, maybe—held snugly between his middle and forefinger. He had ripped black jeans and a large black hoodie, which his seemingly thin frame swam in. The other boy was wearing a yellow shirt that had black words, which Connor couldn’t read from his distance. It was paired with a thin black zipper jacket. He was also wearing grey joggers and had a bag on his back. The brown-roots girl was wearing a purposely frayed rose-colored hoodie and the shortest black shorts Connor had ever seen.
She was pretty.
Her tan legs seemed to sparkle, and Connor could only think about how girls at his school definitely didn’t look like her. He pointedly stared at the pavement, willing the girl to ignore him while he tried walking past. His avoidance was futile, and the girl suddenly spoke.
“Isn’t it, like, past your bedtime or something?” Brown-roots asked with an undecipherable look on her face.
She stopped a few feet away from where Connor was standing while the lanky boy lifted his head, only to take a long drag of what Connor had determined to be a joint. The lanky boy kept his eyes shut, the short one still whispering to him and beginning to rub his back. He was extremely pale when Connor saw the sliver of his face. He looked almost... ill.
Connor, surprised at his sudden burst of confidence, shot back, “I don’t know. Is it?”
He had tried to be cool and grown, took the single cigarette out of his deep pockets, and stuck it in his mouth. He took the lighter out of his hoodie pocket and struck it to the spent tip of the cigarette, his inhale far too confident. He looked at the ground and only had two words running through his head, repeating like a mantra, ‘Don’t cough, don’t cough, don’t cough, please don’t cough.’ He knew he messed up when his throat instinctively clenched up. He held his exhale in an attempt to stave off the clearly inevitable coughing fit soon to come.
When he ran out of held breath, he coughed out an exhale and choked on the acrid smoke he let out with it. His face burned with embarrassment as he broke into a coughing fit muffled only by his attempts at holding it in.
The two behind brown roots both glanced up, the short boy doing so in a casual manner, while the other visibly jumped and looked up quickly with glassy eyes. The dog's ears perked up as well, but it stayed calmly sitting next to the short boy.
Brown-roots laughed and spoke softly, “Smoke much?”
Connor finally felt the coughs begin to lessen and promptly glared at her, lightly shaking and breathing hard. He suddenly became very aware of feeling a bit lightheaded and absently tried to remember the last thing he had eaten. Just as quick, a familiar whooshing in his ears that accompanied fainting made itself known. He tried to steady himself, swaying a bit, but stumbled forwards and felt his head begin to throb slightly.
Brown-roots looked confused and slowly took a step towards him.
“Um... are you alright, kid?” She questioned while hunching down to see his face.
”I’m fine. Don’t c—Ugh! Call me kid!” Connor hissed, clutching his head.
Brown-roots stepped closer, now right in front of him, slightly bent over and looking at him at his eye level. He tensed up at first but looked back at her, eyes flashing.
”What?” He spat.
Brown-roots said nothing at first, her face revealing she was thinking about something with concern. After a period of thick silence, she seemingly gave up those concerned thoughts and settled into her previous carefree smirk. Connor finds himself wondering if she rehearses these faces; how could something so normal come so naturally? He cringes noticeably and is pulled further into his own damned thoughts as he feels his arms wrap around his torso subconsciously.
‘Obviously NORMAL people show their emotions without having to practice, without needing rehearsals. You do it because you’re NOT NORMAL…’
”What are you doing out here?” She asked him with narrowed eyes, returning his glare. Her version of their staring stand-off being much softer than his. Though she seemed to have a permanent look of careless apathy etched into her face, he noticed her eyebrows were drawn together, her forehead pinched in something resembling an expression of worry.
”Why do you care? I could ask you creeps the same.” Connor seethed before stifling a final few coughs. He did a once-over of all of them, trying his best to come across like he was sizing them up. He silently recognized his voice had the slightest shake to it, threatening to expose his already glaringly obvious juvenile vulnerability. Brown-roots, infuriatingly for Connor, just furrowed her eyebrows in slight concern and spoke again.
”Seriously, what are you doing? Do you, like, need any help?” She asked.
”Jeez, who are you... my mom?” He coughs again but continues like he didn’t. “Because for a stranger, you sound too much like her.”
Brown-roots let out a soft scoff, obviously finding what he said funny.
Conner’s face hardened again, and he felt the urge to lash out building in his chest.
‘What’s fucking funny, lady?’ He thought bitterly.
”Settle down, I’m not laughing at you. I’m Alexia, and definitely no one's mother. Those three over there are Noah, Kory, and Benji. Were you looking for company or solitude, lil’ dude?” She asked with a slight smirk, stepping away from Connor and moving back towards the boys. The shorter boy shifted his gaze from Lanky-boy to Connor and gave a nervous smile, while the taller, who was now back to his hunched position, seemingly looked through him, eyes just as glassy as before. He took a long drag of the joint and scratched at his upper arm absently.
Connor gave them all a skeptical look and parted his lips briefly, having a response that his voice simply wouldn’t give, before swiftly playing off the fumble with a false clearing of his throat. A minute passed before he decided following Brown-roots—Alexia—over to the back wall of the CVS wasn’t the single worst decision he’s made lately.
Once in earshot, he heard the shorter boy say in a soft tone to Alexia, “Who’s this?”
She looked back at him and opened her mouth to say something but paused. “What is your name?” She asked instead.
“Connor.” He said in a timid, hoarse tone.
“That’s Connor.” She said, swinging her thumb in his direction and smirking (is that the only smile-type she can show?) at the shorter one—apparently Noah. “I’m thinking he should hang with us for a bit.” She looked expectantly towards Lanky-boy and waited a few seconds.
“Benj, that cool?" She added, touching his arm lightly. Connor took note that the taller boy was apparently Benji.
Benji simply shrugged dismissively and took another drag. He was clearly quite the conversationalist. The lack of a verbal response made the shorter boy whisper some more to Benji, and Connor felt a bit intrusive still watching the two boys. A few seconds passed, feeling more like minutes from the fog occupying his mind. He realized after a bloated minute two of the three humans were staring at him. Frantically he averted his gaze towards the dog, noticing it was a German Shepherd. Wearing clothes? He continues to stare at the dog over the three people, willing their stares to shift anywhere else. Maybe if he says something, the prying eyes will drift elsewhere. Betting on spoken words offering enough of a distraction, Connor decides on a shallow, childish inquiry.
"Uhm... So what's with the dressed-up dog?" Connor asked.
The short boy, with an understanding smile accompanied by a knowing look, said, "That's Kory. He’s my service dog. Epilepsy seizures. He can, like, sense when they’re coming."
Connor nodded, not knowing how to respond, and dug his hands impossibly further into his pockets, wishing he could just disappear.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid. What does that even mean? You wouldn't know because you're STUPID, STUPID, STUPID.’
While Connor got lost in his own head again, Benji suddenly slid down the wall and curled into himself on the floor, glassy eyes still staring off into space, joint still fitted between his fingers. Noah followed suit and started rubbing his back again, whispering low and comforting words. Alexia simply leaned down and tugged the joint away from him, taking a drag. The theft didn't even make him flinch. Connor realized the stoic fucker was staring in his direction, seemingly staring at and straight through him.
‘Freak.’ He thought.
"Uhm, is he blind or something? Why is he staring at me like that?" Connor asked. He didn't mean to sound insensitive, but the freak was really starting to freak him out.
"Not blind, but I don't think he wants to see you." Alexia said, puffing out smoke. She blew a smoke ring and smirked at Noah. Some kind of joke between them, Connor guessed. ‘Inside joke.’ His brain mockingly remembered and provided.
"Shut up, Al.” Benji scoffed.
His voice was quiet, raspy, and tired—much like Connor had imagined it to be.
Benji then closed his eyes again, hiked his hoodie sleeves up, and leaned into Noah, who made space for the taller boy, before settling his arm across his shoulders. To Connor, it was awkward and uncomfortable, yet he recognized that somehow Benji seemed to relax and sighed contently. His head fitted into Noah’s neck, and Noah lightly combed through his unruly brown hair. Connor couldn't figure out why this made his stomach burn with jealousy, but it did. His eyes panned down from Benji's face to his arms, and his gut twisted, no jealousy involved. Before he could think better of it, he spoke way out of turn.
"What happened to your arms?" He grimaced as he realized the blunt tone and unnecessary volume of his voice.
Benji jolted out of Noah’s embrace, eyes wide, and shoved his sleeves back down before saying in a venomously defensive tone, "Fuck off."
Connor cocked an eyebrow and waited for someone to say some sort of explanation. When no one delivered, he looked to Alexia for an explanation, but she simply took a final drag from the joint, which she had stuck in a bobby pin, and flicked it onto the floor. She then stuck the bobby pin back into the knot on her head and pulled out her phone.
"Hey, uh, Connor, right? It's nearly five. You should maybe head back home; I’m guessing your folks'll be mad as hell if they catch you.” She said, with a hint of knowing behind her words.
'Had it really been almost two hours?' Connor thought to himself. He looked at the two boys on the floor with the dog and then back at Alexia.
"Oh, okay, yeah. Bye." He mumbled.
She waved and told him to be safe while sitting down onto the ground with the others and scratching the dog's ears.
He felt that familiar feeling of jealousy burn his stomach and wring out his organs.
‘Why can’t you just be fucking normal?’ He thought bitterly.
He turned around and started his walk home. He considered how utterly surreal his previous two hours had been, how bizarre the whole experience was, and just didn’t know how to feel. Who invites a lame, scrawny thirteen-year-old to hang out with them while they get high?
Somehow he ended up feeling bad.
By the time he's back on his street, it’s 5:40.
He sees his house and feels his stomach drop.
The lights were on.
"You cannot keep acting out with stunts like this, Connor! It's unacceptable!"
His father's words echoed in his head as he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling fan.
Ungrateful.
Disappointment.
Needed to get his act together before he really messed up.
Of course when he walked in, his mom was crying and Larry was fuming. She always cried, and he always fumed when he did stuff like this. “Stuff” being any and all the bad things he does. He makes his mom cry a lot.
That probably makes him a bad person.
Larry was red-faced and furious as his mom ran up to him, bombarding him with questions. He looked like one of those angry cartoon characters, steam billowing out of his ears, a train whistle accompanying it. He could have laughed if it wasn’t for the fact that he already was spiraling down into a pit of self-hatred and guilt for making his mom cry. Again. Or more like again, again, and again. In the past month.
Great kid he was, right?
Larry ended up yelling and yelled until he woke Zoe, who came downstairs bleary-eyed, questioning why they were yelling. His mom simply walked over to her, embracing her before she led her back up the stairs, leaving him to his father's angry wrath. The yelling outlasted the sunrise this time.
A knock at his door pulled him back into reality, and a voice he didn't recognize as his own answered with, "Who is it?"
The door cracked open, and Zoe peered out from behind it. She looked like a fearful child admitting to breaking something made of glass. Having rolled over in bed to face the door, Connor saw her face and made a show of rolling back over, away from the door. He knows why she’s there.
‘Low-risk pawn to try and make him leave his room, possible high reward of him leaving his room.’ He thought bitterly.
"Mom says breakfast is read—"
"Tell her I'm not hungry." He replied, cutting her off.
“Are you sure? Because Mom seems to really want you to come out of your ro—”
“I said I’m not hungry.” He snapped.
"Okay..." She replied cautiously, pulling her head away from the cracked door and shutting it.
He sighed and turned back to the ceiling.
Connor felt his stomach growl, and he shoved his fist into it, rolling on his side. He fell back asleep, hunger pains almost unbearable.
Feeling completely and utterly empty everywhere.