“Lindsay?” madly yells Henry.
“Lindsay! Breathe!” I shriek in the most formal manner; formal in the sense that it’s the only way one can respond in such a circumstance.
“Josh! Clear her airway!” Henry commands of me.
“Breathe—wait. What?! What did you ask?! No you! You do it!” I ravage back in total dismay.
“Pull that stuff out of her throat with your fingers! She’s choking on something” says a bystander. Slowly administering his finger down Lindsay’s throat—pulling out vomit that blocks her airway—Henry hopes for the best. Summer after senior year of high school and no one wants to start the adult world in prison due to a stupid girl taking too many stupid drugs.
Lindsay lies there on her back, with a pool of blood and vomit flowing underneath her body. The crack behind the head seems to not be life threatening, but it doesn’t diffuse the worry. Not until she breathes will I overcome my anxiety.
Some people form great attachments to people in such turmoil. I can just imagine what she probably is thinking, ‘What is going on? What have I done? I don’t even remember what I did.’ She would black out during this moment—like she does.
Suddenly a white room would await Lindsay. She would lie in her white bed to face white walls at the hospital to receive her condition from the white doctor.
The doctor would explain to Lindsay, “You overdosed on fetanyl. Nurse, check her pulse. Sorry Lindsay, we are still checking your vital signs. You’ll be here a little longer, but I see nothing significant that tells me any harm here has been done. You’ll be alright. I promise. ”
‘I’m losing my mind!’ Lindsay would think, with cold sweat still dripping down her face. She would then begin to refigure what happened for her to get that awful drug in her system. ‘I was at the party, Jenifer’s party. We were in the basement sitting in a circle for all of us to share some of the fetanyl that a college friend of Jennifer’s brought. I do remember. Yes, Jennifer’s boyfriend—can’t remember his name—I was sitting next to him. He said something like, “would you want to try some?” And I had said, “yes, but I’ve never done this before. Could you help me?” “Sure.” he had said. He tied that rubber band—that tourniquet around my arms and made my veins protrude. I looked away as he allowed the syringe to release the heroin. I had seemingly melted away from existence’
Why would I, Lemon who is Josh, think so heavily of Lindsay, because I obsess over women with blonde piggy and big braces tails like Lindsay.
Henry’s far off from the commotion of the hospital. I’m talking to him. We chat all the times—this is what buds do. It’s 2:00 am and he’s shooting hoop in the suburbs of his family’s driveway. He took 20 milligrams of cycoflex, a skeletal muscle relaxant. He wants to see how well his shooting capabilities are when his muscles begin to feel limp. Nothing seems to be happening to him, so he goes inside feeling extremely drowsy.
Something very unusual happens. The day after Lindsay’s calamity Henry’s new day is infringed on by Lindsay calling and waking him up at 4:00 pm. My bud had to call me again, just to show me his rage with being woken up during a hangover. Apparently Lindsay’s parents want to cheer up Lindsay by having friends over for a small get together. We find rushing friends over to your home as not suited for a day after a major drug overdose. Supposedly it will be one of those small gathering with plenty of chips and dip and soda and cancerous diet soda. But, nonetheless it is absurd; just as the play where men are running around trying to figure what time it is, but the clocks have no hands. It is just as absurd to have such a party.
Yep, it’s that kind of party. We were right. “Hey Lindsay!” yells Henry over to her. “How’s it going? You feeling fine…? I mean…it’s weird having this party after such a calamity.”
“I’m fine. Why don’t you go see what your bud Josh is up to?” it seems that Lindsay is trying to deviate away from cliché conversation. Oh Josh is me, Lemon is my nickname and I stick by it rather than calling myself Josh right now. I’ll explain the origin of the name later.
“Where is he?”
“Here,” I say from the side of the house as I sit on the bench with Ayumi.
“He’s on the back porch talking with Ayumi, saying that she needs to be comforted after such a traumatic event, like she’s the victim. I overdosed!”
“Hey, guy’s I’m here,” I swear these people are as dumb as can be.
Trying to avoid this awkward situation, Henry heads to find me with Ayumi, the foreign exchange student that stayed with Lindsay two years ago. This young lady is visiting for a month, as she had been a senior during the year she attended school in the U.S.A. Ayumi and I felt a strong attraction towards each other ever since we first met during a basketball game back during my sophomore year. It is probably something to do with the cuteness that I find in Japanese girls. Ayumi is so tin
srry.... it cuts off
“Lindsay! Breathe!” I shriek in the most formal manner; formal in the sense that it’s the only way one can respond in such a circumstance.
“Josh! Clear her airway!” Henry commands of me.
“Breathe—wait. What?! What did you ask?! No you! You do it!” I ravage back in total dismay.
“Pull that stuff out of her throat with your fingers! She’s choking on something” says a bystander. Slowly administering his finger down Lindsay’s throat—pulling out vomit that blocks her airway—Henry hopes for the best. Summer after senior year of high school and no one wants to start the adult world in prison due to a stupid girl taking too many stupid drugs.
Lindsay lies there on her back, with a pool of blood and vomit flowing underneath her body. The crack behind the head seems to not be life threatening, but it doesn’t diffuse the worry. Not until she breathes will I overcome my anxiety.
Some people form great attachments to people in such turmoil. I can just imagine what she probably is thinking, ‘What is going on? What have I done? I don’t even remember what I did.’ She would black out during this moment—like she does.
Suddenly a white room would await Lindsay. She would lie in her white bed to face white walls at the hospital to receive her condition from the white doctor.
The doctor would explain to Lindsay, “You overdosed on fetanyl. Nurse, check her pulse. Sorry Lindsay, we are still checking your vital signs. You’ll be here a little longer, but I see nothing significant that tells me any harm here has been done. You’ll be alright. I promise. ”
‘I’m losing my mind!’ Lindsay would think, with cold sweat still dripping down her face. She would then begin to refigure what happened for her to get that awful drug in her system. ‘I was at the party, Jenifer’s party. We were in the basement sitting in a circle for all of us to share some of the fetanyl that a college friend of Jennifer’s brought. I do remember. Yes, Jennifer’s boyfriend—can’t remember his name—I was sitting next to him. He said something like, “would you want to try some?” And I had said, “yes, but I’ve never done this before. Could you help me?” “Sure.” he had said. He tied that rubber band—that tourniquet around my arms and made my veins protrude. I looked away as he allowed the syringe to release the heroin. I had seemingly melted away from existence’
Why would I, Lemon who is Josh, think so heavily of Lindsay, because I obsess over women with blonde piggy and big braces tails like Lindsay.
Henry’s far off from the commotion of the hospital. I’m talking to him. We chat all the times—this is what buds do. It’s 2:00 am and he’s shooting hoop in the suburbs of his family’s driveway. He took 20 milligrams of cycoflex, a skeletal muscle relaxant. He wants to see how well his shooting capabilities are when his muscles begin to feel limp. Nothing seems to be happening to him, so he goes inside feeling extremely drowsy.
Something very unusual happens. The day after Lindsay’s calamity Henry’s new day is infringed on by Lindsay calling and waking him up at 4:00 pm. My bud had to call me again, just to show me his rage with being woken up during a hangover. Apparently Lindsay’s parents want to cheer up Lindsay by having friends over for a small get together. We find rushing friends over to your home as not suited for a day after a major drug overdose. Supposedly it will be one of those small gathering with plenty of chips and dip and soda and cancerous diet soda. But, nonetheless it is absurd; just as the play where men are running around trying to figure what time it is, but the clocks have no hands. It is just as absurd to have such a party.
Yep, it’s that kind of party. We were right. “Hey Lindsay!” yells Henry over to her. “How’s it going? You feeling fine…? I mean…it’s weird having this party after such a calamity.”
“I’m fine. Why don’t you go see what your bud Josh is up to?” it seems that Lindsay is trying to deviate away from cliché conversation. Oh Josh is me, Lemon is my nickname and I stick by it rather than calling myself Josh right now. I’ll explain the origin of the name later.
“Where is he?”
“Here,” I say from the side of the house as I sit on the bench with Ayumi.
“He’s on the back porch talking with Ayumi, saying that she needs to be comforted after such a traumatic event, like she’s the victim. I overdosed!”
“Hey, guy’s I’m here,” I swear these people are as dumb as can be.
Trying to avoid this awkward situation, Henry heads to find me with Ayumi, the foreign exchange student that stayed with Lindsay two years ago. This young lady is visiting for a month, as she had been a senior during the year she attended school in the U.S.A. Ayumi and I felt a strong attraction towards each other ever since we first met during a basketball game back during my sophomore year. It is probably something to do with the cuteness that I find in Japanese girls. Ayumi is so tin
srry.... it cuts off