Higher, Better, Faster, Stronger by Laisy Faire

ADMIN NOTE:  This is a story written by a good friend of mine.  She is a very good writer and I hope you enjoy:)
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Smoking can be a way of life. It brings people together in the most amazing ways. Friendships are formed, commonalities are discovered—anywhere in the world, one can light up and be sure that they will find someone with whom they can share a powerful experience. Marijuana, pot, weed—it has many names, and many uses. It can alter one's mind, calm the nerves, and relax the soul. It can cure and inspire, but most of all it just feels good. Simon's love affair with the green began when he was a teenager, struggling to deal with the embarrassment of losing his hair thanks to a skin condition. The smoke delayed some of his hair loss, but more importantly it connected him to friends that didn't care that he was going to look like Professor Xavier by the time he was twenty. Since then, it had become a ritual, something that he could do every Saturday night during his gaming sessions. Whether he was with a group of friends around the kitchen table playing tabletops, or playing some online game with complete strangers, the ritual remained the same.

It was another typical Saturday night and the sickly sweet aroma of pot permeated into every nook and cranny of Simon's one-bedroom apartment. His stoner friends had left for the evening, but he was still enjoying his buzz and there was Rocket League to be played.

Nice shot! Nice shot! Nice shot!

The canned comments plastered the upper portion of his screen as he scored a goal thanks to a perfectly timed pass from his friend, Casey.

Great pass! Thanks! Simon sent back.

Revving motors, the thundering cheering of fans, and the explosion caused by another ball in the net followed. The blue aura of his computer screen lit the room as Simon racked up goal after goal. It might have been a team sport, but leading the team in goals always felt good even if it did lead to Casey complaining about him being a little bit selfish with the ball. His friend's complaints were only a mild annoyance though. In the end, if the team won they both had a good time.

What a save! What a save! What a save! What a save! What a save! Simon spammed the chat as a member of the opposing team narrowly missed stopping a last second goal that would have tied the score.

“Great sportsmanship there, buddy.” Casey's voice echoed in Simon's headset as the game shifted back to the lobby screen.

“It's not like I told them to get cancer or something. It's part of the game.” Simon said indignantly.

“Whatever you say, man. I just thought that someone that's high all the time would be a little more mellow in the way he plays.”

“I'm not high all the time,” Simon shot back, “just whenever I'm stressed out, having trouble sleeping, and every Saturday night. Oh, and when I want to watch a really trippy movie. It's pretty much required then.”

“Can't argue with that. You're practically sober,” Casey chortled. “I don't care what you do as long as you're awake in time to hit the fair tomorrow. You know it's sweater weather and there's going to be some real cuties there. I don't want to miss my chance to find a Mrs. James because I couldn't get you out of bed.”

Simon harrumphed. He needed a best friend more supportive of his extra-curricular activities. He had plenty of friends that he smoked with and considering Casey's penchant for giving him shit about it, they all seemed like better choices. What made it worse was the entire reason for Casey's antipathy towards marijuana was that he did not smoke, thus logically it was a stupid activity.

Simon's increased irritation with his friend was a good sign that his buzz was wearing off. This was not how the evening was supposed to go. His little habit was supposed to help him forget about the fact that he was in his twenties and could not grow hair in more than little patches atop his head, or that he was of average height at best and certainly far shorter than most of his friends, or at the very least that his job was far more stressful than it needed to be. Would it kill the world to give him his one night a week that he could truly unwind?

“Simon, are you still there?” Casey broke up the self-pity party.

“Yeah, I'm still here, and don't worry about tomorrow. You damn well know that I'm not that kind of friend.”

“I know, but I still like to give you shit. Want to go another round?”

“Yeah, I have a few more in me, but not until I take one more trip down the Ganges.” Simon smirked and lit up, inhaling the stress-reducing smoke before queuing up for another game.

* * *

Another grey sky morning met Simon as they stepped out of Casey's late 90s model Range Rover and into the gravel parking lot outside the fairgrounds. The air still had that Northern chill—the kind of crisp air that would snap the senses awake and just cold enough to make Simon want to retreat further into his black hoodie. Grey seemed an all-too-familiar color lately. It was the color of his eyes and the color of his overcast disposition as of late. Sunday mornings were for sleeping in, not for spending the day hitting on out-of-town college girls. He was not opposed to girls, of course, but he just thought he had very little to offer them with his short stature and bald head that he kept hidden underneath the hood of his sweatshirt.

Casey slapped him on the back.

“Cheer up! We have a big day ahead of us. Just think about all the cuties that are going to be here.” Simon's taller friend smirked. “I'll even give you the chance now to call dibs. Who do you want first crack at—blondes, brunettes, maybe a redhead?”

“I want to go back to bed. The fair is going to be here all day long. Couldn't we come later in the afternoon?” Simon pleaded. “There's hardly anybody here yet.”

Casey gave Simon an incredulous stare.

“Do I really need to explain this again? We get first pick if we're the first ones here. Besides, how many girls are going to feel like being hit on after they're all bloated from stuffing funnel cake in their mouths?”

Simon slumped, mentally defeated. There was no arguing with Casey. His logic was so baffling at times that it defied argument. Then again, it was easy being Casey. He had everything going for him that Simon did not. He was tall with a sort of athletic look about him and had a thick mane of dark scraggly hair. Most of all, he was confident. Confidence was the one thing that Simon lacked above all else. He might have been a little frail, but there were other men that could take what he had and get a lot more out of it than he did. There was no Napoleon complex here. Simon felt about as big as he looked.

The morning hours went about as good as could be expected. Simon followed Casey around the fairgrounds like a zombie. The rides seemed even more of a blur than they normally were. Simon was barely coherent on the tilt-a-whirl, nearly sliding off his seat onto the floor more than once. He nearly fell asleep on the Ferris wheel, especially when they were stopped at the top to let on another pair of passengers. By the time they reached the bumper cars and Casey had yet to hit on a single girl, he was ready to go home. It was just his luck then that there was a fairly cute redhead in a purple skirt waiting in line and watching them as they stepped into their respective cars. 

From the start, Simon's plan was to keep moving. If he drove around the floor like it was a race track, it would be fairly difficult for someone to pin him down. Not long into their time, however, Simon noticed that Casey was getting rather competitive, crashing into any other adult male riding the track at full speed, doing his best to emasculate them. That's when he saw the redhead waving to someone on the floor. Seconds later Casey's car had t-boned him right into the wall and as he jostled about his friend backed up and then smashed into him several more times. The grogginess that had held him prisoner all morning faded away with each crash of rubber and metal. When the buzzer finally sounded, he was left frustrated and ready to get in a fight.

“What's your problem?!” Simon shouted at his would-be friend.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, no hard feelings man.” Casey seemed a bit distracted, scanning the crowd as they made their way to the exit. “Didn't you see that girl? She was totally waving at—”