OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/41 like nervous birds. "Swear what, Jake?" He stops under a tree, traps his hands in his pockets. But his arms and shoulders move like boughs shaken by birds. "I think I'm addicted, Marty." She hears organ music from the chapel, and imagines her parents, just sitting down in their pew, looking around for the rest of their family. "Addicted to what?" "Oh, fuck. I don't know. Everything. I take speed in the morning. I trip at night. Every night, almost. When I don't, I keep thinking about things. Things just keep coming into my head, and I can't understand. So many things that it's like it hurts. So I drop. And then they are all still there, but it's like I can understand them better." "What kind of things?" "Oh, I don't even know." H^s hands escape again, flutter against the tree trunk, dart up and down his sides. "Sometimes," he starts, and then looks down at the ground. "Sometimes." He looks'up at her, and then stops. "I just want you to promise me something." - "Ok." The music in the chapel changes, and she is willing to promise anything. They should get inside. Her parents will be mad at her. But they will be madder at Jake, and then Jake and her mother might lose the strange peace they had established lately. "Promise me that you won't ever take drugs. I don't mean like smoking dope. Or even hash. But don't ever do anything stronger than that." "Ok. I promise." |