“Are you the valet?”
The man takes another drag and nods.
“Yep.” The smoke puffs out of his mouth with that one word.
“Is that the good weed?”
“Yep.” He nods again, holding the joint out to me. “You want a hit?”
My hand reaches out just as my father makes his way outside to me.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind? Put your fucking clothes back on. You are embarrassing me!” my father whisper-growls from right behind me.
“I don’t want to go to law school. It doesn’t make me happy. In fact, it makes me pretty damn miserable,” I quickly blurt out with my eyes squeezed closed.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, as soon as I say them out loud for the first time, that feeling like I’m going to throw up instantly disappears and I finally feel like I can breathe. I turn around to face him just as a loud bark of laughter comes out of him, but it’s not a sound filled with comfort and joy.
“I don’t give a shit about what you want. Get your clothes back on and stop acting like a child.”
His predictability just makes me smile brighter as I reach out and take the joint from the valet’s outstretched hand without dropping my father’s angry stare. Bringing it up to my mouth, I take a long, deep drag and hold it in my lungs for as long as I can before letting it out. Followed by a good solid two minutes of bending over at the waist, coughing so hard I’m fairly confident one or both of my lungs will fly up out of my mouth and land with a splat on the grass in front of me.
“Daaamn, that really is the good weed.” I cough and laugh as I finally stand back up, hand the joint back to the valet, and find my father looking at me like I just pulled a knife out of my pocket and stabbed everyone in attendance. Who now all have their faces pressed up against the windows just inside the house, watching our every move.
“Bodhi Preston Armbruster, what in the hell has gotten into you? Do you have any idea what kind of damage control I’m going to have to do after this stunt?”
“I don’t really give a shit.”
My father’s gasp can probably be heard from space it’s so loud. I’ve never talked back to him. It’s always yes, sir. Right this minute, sir. Because my father has always demanded respect, and I have always obediently done whatever he’s asked of me. And for what? So he can continue not giving a shit about me or my happiness?
While he stands in front of me, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, I turn back to the valet who is still casually puffing on his joint while he looks back and forth between me and my father. Taking another drag when the guy offers it to me, I only cough for about thirty seconds this time before I can speak again.
“What are you doing after this?” I ask the valet.
“Me and a few guys packed up a van and we’re heading to Florida, then off to Costa Rica. Got a bead on some jobs being caddies to professional golf players on the National Tour.” He shrugs as we pass the joint back and forth, and my father’s face gets so red someone should maybe call 911.
“I hate golf,” I tell him, holding the joint between my lips for a few seconds as I unbutton my tuxedo pants.
“Everyone does. But it pays okay, and you get to travel. Plus, free hot dogs.”
“Right on!” I smile, taking one last hit before handing what’s left of the tiny joint back to him. “I’m in. Just need to do one last thing first.”
Turning away from my new friend, I quickly shove my pants and boxer briefs down my legs and kick them off to the side as I stand back up and smile at my father. “I quit. Fuck you for never taking me to see Santa.”
With that, I turn and walk away from my life with my dick flopping around in the ocean breeze and half of Hollywood staring at my bare ass as I make my way down to the sand.
“You’re going to be nothing but a joke! A loser with no future and no one will ever take you seriously! You will have nothing!” my father shouts after me as my feet pad through the sand, and every weight on my shoulders disappears the closer and closer I get to the water.
But I’ll have my freedom, and matching Christmas pajamas, and that’s all that matters. Maybe someday I’ll find someone who takes me seriously, but until then, I’m going to do whatever makes me happy.
Picking up the pace, I run the rest of the way through the sand, laughing as I go until my feet hit the freezing cold water, shouting at the top of my lungs when I take a running leap to dive headfirst into a wave, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good toke!”