Cortez's Story: Part 5

It was a beautiful summer night. I clearly remember looking up at the constellations in awe. The light from the full moon hid the smaller stars, but seemed to stir up some kind of emotion in the larger ones. The stars of Orion’s Belt twinkled and flickered, trying to communicate their Universal wisdom to me. I smiled at the sky, stretched my arms wide and spun in circles on the sidewalk. After three rotations my smile had grown to a grin that hurt my cheek muscles. I felt free and in charge of my life. I sent Cortez a text to let him know I’d be there in about twenty minutes, and asked him to meet me outside of the Trout. He agreed, saying he would put on his shoes and head out the door to meet me halfway.

Two separate men had offered me a ride downtown in their mud splattered and rusting trucks on the increasingly spooky walk to downtown, which I had politely declined. My texts to Cortez were going unanswered, and a phone call had gone straight to a voicemail box that was no longer accepting messages. I stood in front of the Laughing Trout, waiting, for ten minutes without a sign of my new friend. I wondered if I’d missed him somewhere along the route, concerned as I was with avoiding eye contact with the few people I’d passed. I walked the perimeter of the pub, thinking maybe he’d misunderstood me. Forty minutes later and I was still sighing in disappointed frustration. I wondered if it would be better to try to get back into the house or wake up David and Isabella two blocks over.

Just as I was turning to leave, I saw Cortez’s thick goatee shining red in the moonlight as he sauntered towards me. He was as completely relaxed as always, showing no sign of being late or having received any of my attempts to get a hold of him. I was momentarily annoyed before hearing his voice whisper in my head, “Relax. The dishes aren’t going anywhere.” I’m not on a schedule, I reminded myself. I didn’t have to be at work until six in the evening. I shook it off and started walking towards the man, smiling so sweetly I forgot what my issue had been in the first place. Had he really said he’d meet me, or did I just dream that up somewhere between the third and eight bowls?

“How’s it going?” I asked coolly. In a state of denied puppy-love, I was terrified to say anything negative, critical or otherwise uncool for fear he’d label me as immature or judgemental and vanish from my life. I felt more whole than I had in a long time since we had become friends, and I didn’t want to lose that. I plastered an unassuming smile on my face.

“Great! Have you seen the moon? She’s gorgeous tonight,” he said brightly, throwing back his head to howl at the luminous sphere. I continued to smile politely as we walked through the deserted downtown streets. We made very slow progress with Cortez setting the pace, stopping to inspect this flower or admire that tree. “Sorry I was so late,” he said finally, “I was waiting on buddy to come get his paawt.”

“No worries,” I heard myself say, my voice high pitched and girly. I forgot wanting to ask why he didn’t text or call me, why he didn’t mention waiting for someone when he was supposedly going out the door. We had stopped in front of The Ivy, a popular bar and music hotspot. I didn’t have enough fingers to count how many times I had wished to go in there just to listen to big artists like K-OS or K’naan. “Uh, you know I’m not nineteen right?” I asked playfully, poking his taut stomach.

“Of course, Madame,” he smiled mischievously, giving my long hair a short tug. “I guess I forgot to tell you… I moved! Got away from the roommate from hell just in time.” He unlocked the heavy wooden door, chuckling quietly to himself.

“Won’t I get…? I don’t know, thrown out or something?” The naïve words hung in the empty air and I wished I could snatch them back. Cortez just grinned, showing the broken tooth. He waved me inside and I didn’t hesitate again. I ran up the steep stairs leading to the second floor feeling like a VIP.

Cortez’s new ‘pad’ was a three-bedroom apartment occupying half of the third floor. It smelled unmistakably of fresh weed and stale cigarette smoke. There was something else too, that half-clean smell from being inhabited solely by males. That being said, the place didn’t look particularly bad. Sure, the kitchen was a disaster zone overtaken by stacks of dirty dishes and the surface of the coffee tables were a mystery, but I knew I sure as hell didn’t want to wash dishes after having done that for eight hours at work. There were ashtrays on either of the tables and one in the kitchen, keeping two very grimy bongs company. Books on Norse mythology, gardening, conspiracy theories and the Simpsons covered the living room table, distracting the eye from the stacks of books on window sills and the ignored dinosaur TV. Countless hand-drawn maps, tattoos, cartoons and pot leaf doodles spread across the dining room table, inching their way towards the chairs. I inspected a support beam between the dining and living area, coated in stickers. The place had a welcoming, lived-in feel.  

I followed Cortez into the first room off of the black-light lit entrance hallway. It wasn’t much, but at least it had real walls. My perma-smile grew at the pile of clothes occupying almost half of the room. I noticed with delight that the bed was still simply a queen sized mattress on the floor. A stereo surround system huddled off to the side at the head of the bed and a long, rectangular table sat between the mattress and the wall.

“I love it!” I gushed, tossing my backpack beside the door and rolling heavily on to the bed. I had mistaken the brightly coloured Mexican blankets for sheets and they were rough against my skin.

“It’s a cozy little cubbyhole,” he sighed, bent backwards in a standing back bend. I loved that he was into yoga and his ‘om’ symbol wrist tattoos. “Shall we have bowl, Madame?” Cortez gestured grandly to the branches hanging above a National Geographic poster at the head of the bed. “Some pretty good stuff from the last harvest. Oh, and some hashish too; check out this stuff.” He hopped over a pile of t-shirts, scooping up a mould-coloured chunk from the top of the stereo. He inspected it with pride before handing it to me. Practiced in stoner etiquette from the yearlong haze with Erica, I followed protocol: hold it close to your eye, sniff, inspect it, turn and inspect the other side, the top, and bottom; sniff again, drop your hand to give it back, sniff, inspect and take a deep inhale of the smell once more.

“Wow, I can’t wait to try it,” I said lamely, placing it delicately into his large palm. I didn’t know anything about hash, or about pot really, except how to smoke it and how it made me feel. I didn’t want to make an attempt at a compliment and expose my lack of knowledge or expertise.

I fiddled with the stereo while Cortez heated the nug with a lighter. When it was sufficiently pliable, he broke off a couple granules and mixed them with half of a bud straight off of the branch. I was practically bursting with a feeling of ‘cool’. Here I was, in an older, very smart young man’s bedroom above the town’s most popular bar, about to smoke as much free pot/hash as I could handle. I thought of the days with Erica, when a pot dealer or grower was who you not-so-secretly aspired to date. I think the reason is fairly obvious: endless supply. I guess there is the ‘cool factor’ too, though I’ve long since lost sight of why I ever thought dealers were cool.

A few hours went by, during which I told Cortez all about my experiences using chemical drugs. We talked about how to recover from the loss of dignity and self-respect that resulted from sleeping with whomever caught my eye at the time. I surprised myself by telling him how I was scared to have sex now, feeling like I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it sober, if at all. He reassured me that over time I would move past the disgust I felt for most guys. It was a few hours later when Cortez wrapped up his own tales of teenage promiscuity and drug abuse. So high I could hardly see in the dim room, my eyelids felt as heavy as sandbags. I had had two more tokes after saying I was too high, not wanting to be rude and refuse the ever-full bowl.

“What time is it?” I asked slowly, the words stretching out like taffy. Unable to understand most of what Cortez was saying anymore, I needed to sleep.

“Uhh, let me see…” He leaned over me to pick up his phone, plugged into the stereo. “It is … four-forty-three.”

“Seriously! I’ve gotta sleep.”

At my request, Cortez had brought in an unzipped sleeping bag for me to use. I placed my glasses on top of the stereo and burrowed into the blanket. The thin sarong with a big pot leaf in the middle wasn’t thick enough to keep me warm.

“Yea, I’ve got to hit the hay too. Gotta work to pay the bills right? We start at the same time tomorrow—or today I should say.” He shrugged, yawned and pulled off his t-shirt. He had the lean muscles and golden tan of a roofer, and it was all I could do to not touch his sexy stomach. He slid the ever present dirty bandana off his head, placing it on the rectangular table beside him. “Oh, and I should warn you that I’m a cuddle-er. Don’t be surprised if I’m spooning you in the morning.” He smiled innocently and batted his eyelashes, igniting an excited feeling in my stomach, like a kid who knows Santa is coming very soon.

“No worries,” I laughed lazily. “I love to cuddle! I’m a great little spoon.” We shared a long look, grinning at each other.

“How would you like your eggs for breakfast?”

“I get breakfast?” I gasped in mock shock. I flashed back to a list of pick-up lines and funny responses I’d read online, bored and in the peak of insomniac nights. “Unfertilized” was one of the replies, and for a split second, I thought I would say it. “If you’re making me food, I’m happy with pretty much anything. So long as the yolk’s not runny!”

 “Well then, scrambled it is.” Cortez lifted the edge of the sleeping bag, shimmying over to cup his body against mine. I could feel his attraction to me through his worn flannel pajama bottoms. I blushed, feeling complimented rather than cheap; I trusted Cortez and felt he wasn’t just another horny boy out for a bedpost notch. Previously sluggish and slow, I suddenly felt wide awake like I’d been injected with caffeine. “Sorry about that,” he said, embarrassed. “What can I say, you’re a beautiful girl.”

“I thought you just saw me as an irritating little seventeen year old,” I whispered, turning my head to look at him. I realized I’d been wrong to pick vibrant blue or green eyes as my favourite, noticing the swirls of green and gold in his gentle eyes. “You’d be my mentor or something.”

“You don’t need a mentor, Taylor,” he whispered, his quiet voice dropping even lower. I could hardly hear him and I leaned closer to not miss a word, unlike during our philosophical discussions when I often just got the gist of what he was saying. “You’re a very smart girl – young lady actually. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and I can see very good things happening because of that in your future.” He smiled softly, pausing before leaning down to kiss me ever so gently. He pulled back quickly, looking at me quizzically, no doubt wondering if I was going to take off in a panic. My mouth curved into an innocent smile by way of answer and I pulled his face back down to mine. The back side of my body melted purposefully against his front.

It was one of the best nights of my life. Sensitive and experienced, Cortez was incredibly gentle, and I felt I understood the term “making love” for the first time. He took it slow and was unbelievably attentive to my needs, ignoring himself. Unfortunately I can remember only a few key highlights, being stoned so far out of my tree I could touch the stars, but it felt just as special as when David and I had lost our virginity to each other. In the morning I woke to him nuzzling my neck, our sticky bodies still tangled together. He was a complete gentleman, letting me use the only clean bath-towel first to dry myself.  

“How many sugar and milk would you like, Madame? And would you care for me to add a square of pot butter?” He asked in a haughty French accent, stirring a pot of coffee. I laid curled up on the living room futon sharing bong rips and cigarettes with his two roommates while my hunky hippy cooked a colourful organic omelet. The four of us lazed the day away discussing gardening, pot, high school and what the world was coming to. No one asked how old I was or if my parents knew where I was.

Cortez reproduced the same feeling of safety and comfort during our sleepovers every other night, during which we slept little. We would wake up around noon, have one last round of ‘cardio’, cuddles and tokes before I went home to get ready for work. I’d smile to myself all evening, brightening when Cortez was nearby. It was just a friends-with-benefits arrangement and I was okay with that; I didn’t want a boyfriend then.

Still I couldn’t wait to tell Jacky, my one remaining female friend, about the evolving friendship with Cortez. She was ecstatic for me after I recounted every detail of “the best I’ve ever had,” and hopeful that it would blossom into a relationship.

“It’s high time you had another boyfriend,” she said, sucking so hard on a cigarette she was practically eating it. “I love David, and it’s so great that you guys are best friends, but you deserve to be in love again.”

“But Cortez doesn’t want a girlfriend, and I don’t think I really want a boyfriend either,” I kicked her playfully under the table. I knew I wasn’t exactly being honest, but I’d been lying to myself about craving the theoretically safe confines of a relationship for a long time. I wasn’t going to stop now. “He was with this thirty-six year old for like, six years. They just split up in February. He helped take care of her kids and refers to her as his ex-partner. He’s not interested in being in a monogamous relationship for a looong time. Hey, you’ve smoked half of that thing. Sharing is caring!” I held out my hand, pretending to be mad though the half-full pack was well within reach.

“Mmkay, so is he sleeping with other chicks?” asked Jacky, making a show of passing on the cancer stick. “Or is this an exclusive friends-with-benefits type of deal?” She watched me intensely.

“Uh, well, we agreed that if we meet someone we want to sleep with or whatever, we can, but we’d let each other know that was happening.” I watched her smile droop.

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, lighting another cigarette. I quickly finished the shared one and sparked another. It occurred to me that I was never a half-pack a day girl until I started sleeping with Cortez in my worst smoking days, but didn’t discourage me. I felt very grown up as bohemian Jacky and I refused soup, opting instead for an iced-tea and cigarette lunch. After we’d each finished, she stood up and wrapped me in a big hug. Her bony shoulders jabbed my neck. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, so be careful okay? Are you guys being safe?”

My insides squirmed and I felt nauseated. It wasn’t something that had intentionally happened, but Cortez and I had used protection maybe once in the past two weeks. Reflexively I started counting days in my head, wondering if I’d be saddled with a baby after having miraculously made it out of the raving year without so much as a scare. The look on my face told my friend all she needed to know. She smiled knowingly and started digging through her purse.

“Here,” she said, dropping a handful of neon-coloured condom packages on my empty plate. “These ones glow. Oh Taylor, you look like you’re going to cry. It’s okay hon, we’ve all been there. Anyone who says it feels the same is a liar.” She laughed lightly, brushing my arm comfortingly.

“How do I… ask him to use them now? I don’t even know how to put one on right.” My cheeks were burning. An old lady walking by gave us a mean look and I scooped the condoms into my purse.

“C’mon, you’ve never had to ‘remind’ a guy to use protection? Just be like, ‘hey I don’t want to have your babay, put this on or you don’t get none.’” She laughed, snapping her fingers and wagging her head all over the place. “Trust me, once you mention the b-word, they’re more than happy to put these one of these puppies on. And if not, run as fast as you fucking can, girl.”