thirty seconds of silence

I wobble out of the backseat of the "cab" and turn to the driver.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where I could buy some weed, do you?"

He smiles, "Yah, right here. How much do you want?"

"Awesome! Not much, just like twenty bucks worth."

"Alright, you want me to roll it for you?"

I smile and sway, "Yah, I'm a little white girl. I'm shit at rolling."

"Alright, alright," he and his friend laugh as he rips off a random piece of paper and lays a thick line of weed across the top. "Now you know this is Caribbean weed, right?"

"I hope so, we're in the Caribbean." I smile. I'm drunk and flirting. Or at least I feel like I'm flirting.

He laughs again, licks the paper and seals one of the biggest joints I've ever seen. I hand him the sweaty twenty in my palm, take the joint with a smile and thanks, and start skipping down the dock to our dinghy.

Everyone is patiently waiting for me, my friends are slightly aware of my breaking international law (albeit a casual one considering the whole island smells of weed), while the older couple on our boat are too drunk to really notice or care. I gather my skirt in one hand and carefully step into the tiny boat while trying to not drop my prize.

Leaning over the bow I pull the line from the dock, slide back in and yell out, "We're good to go, Captain!" He backs out from the dock and starts quickly making our way through the harbor. The moon shines down and I bump hard against the little ocean waves, smiling while we cut around other boats until we're back at Maria Carey (a close and humorous renaming of our home for the week).

"Hey Captain, can I take the dinghy out by myself?" I flash him the joint in my hand.

"No, but I will take you out for a bit."

"Cool, hey H, do you wanna come?" Another quick joint flash. She says no, and the captain and I zip off. We pull up to an old rusty fishing boat and tie off on its cleats. The air is warm and little waves get caught between the plastic dinghy and metal boat, slapping in an inconsistent rhythm.

"Do you have your lighter?"

He fishes it out from his shorts and passes it to me. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to smoke tonight."

"Ok." I light it and inhale deeply, coughing after I exhale. I'm almost immediately high, but take a few more hits anyway, jabbering the whole time about complete nonsense.

"E. I need you to be quiet for just 30 seconds. Please." His voice is stern like he's teaching a lesson, and I literally pinch my lips closed with my fingers as I count to thirty.

...27...28...29...30. I free my mouth. "Can I drive the dinghy?"

"Are you sure you can?"

"Fuck yes."

We switch around and I take the tiller in my right hand, pulling it to a start with my left. I slowly wind around the moored boats until we hit open-ish water and let it rip, arcing through the water at the mouth of the harbor. I go through starts and stops, occasionally stopping to look up at the moon, stars, and single light at the top of the highest island hill. As I drive I marvel at how black the water is, how close the other islands seem, the sweet yet salty air, and never want this moment to stop.