Abby was working smoothly, rolling the joint with practiced ease with some early 90’s record playing in the background, a towel rolled up and wedged under the bedroom door. In the space of only a few moments, she’d put the joint between her lips and lit it, then took a long inhale and passed it to you.

You take it and hold it, a little apprehensive. You can hear the gentle sizzle of the paper.

"You don't have to," Abby said, gently. "Totally up to you."

You had asked to come over. Not to smoke weed, like. But still. And there was no way you wanted to get to Columbia and be the only person in the entire freshman class who had never smoked a joint. This was the perfect place to try. No one around, with people you know. With your girlfriend.

You put it to your lips and inhale— and promptly cough it all out in a gagging, reflexive manner. You expect Abby to laugh at you, but she doesn’t.

"Happens to everyone the first time," Abby says, leaning back against the pillows. She takes the joint from you, pulling you against her chest and holding it to your lips for you. "Try again. Slower, hold it as long as you can. There you go, atta’girl.”

The praise sends a jolt through you. You inhale once more, the smoke is acrid and it burns a bit, but you hold it for several seconds before coughing it out again, though less violently this time. After a moment, you feel little change. An easing.

You tuck yourself under Abby’s arm, resting your head on her shoulder.

She leans up and retrieves a Coke from the bedside table, swigs it, then passes it to you. It’s warm, but welcome, sliding down your throat, sticky and sweet.

Things weren't so bad— actually, they were inexplicably hilarious. You feel your muscles ease and you settle back into the pillows on Abby’s bed as she takes another drag and then offers it to you again.

"This is ...stoned?" You ask.

"Yes," Abby says, a little laugh in her tone. "Just… take it easy, listen to the music. Nowhere to be, nothing to do. Relax.”