Saturday's Storyteller: "Stacy and Annie watched as their car slid down the hill and disappeared over the cliff. 'Bonerkiller,' whispered Stacy."

 by Belinda Roddie

Stacy and Annie watched as their car slid down the hill and disappeared over the cliff. "Bonerkiller," whispered Stacy.

"Totally," Annie replied, wrinkling her nose and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her camo pants. "So what do we do now?"

Stacy shrugged one shoulder beneath her sleeveless jean vest. "Get high, I guess?"

Forgetting at least for a while that they no longer had a way to get to the fireworks show - or back to civilization, for that matter, not to mention the fact that the car had been Stacy's brother's car and to buy a new one was equivalent to donating both your kidneys - the two girls lit up and sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. They stared down at their beaten up jalopy, which had landed into an abandoned sandy dune, resting on its side with its tires spinning slowly to a lazy stop on their now bent up axles. Stacy passed the joint to Annie, who took in the fumes and felt her eyes glazing over like she were submerging them into a tub of very warm water. Nearby, they heard other trucks and vans breeze along  the solitary road back to town, and she caught the first tuning session of the crickets as the sun began to sink into the ocean.

"So how do we get home?" asked Annie, stifling an involuntary giggle as the euphoria began to set in.

"Don't worry 'bout it," grinned Stacy. She flipped back her long black braid and pulled out her cellphone. "I got a couple bars out here. I'll call Edgar, and he'll come out here and pick us up."

"What about the car?"

Stacy snorted. "It had a shitty transmission, anyway," she said. "My parents have been begging my bro to get a new car for months. I did 'em all a favor."

"Parking the car on a shitty part of the hill was doing us a favor? Dude, we're lucky we weren't still in there."

"Annie, keep toking. Clearly, it's not hitting you hard enough."

Stacy was always about letting things roll off her back, sometimes to a fault. Still, the literal and figurative haze around Annie's head was trying to convince her to leave things be. As Stacy texted Edgar, Annie stuck the joint sloppily against the left corner of her teeth, inhaling and wishing she had her pipe instead. Going for a rolled smoke was fine, especially when in Stacy's company. but she always preferred her own accessories when doping. 

Massaging her short curls with her free hand, Annie settled her gaze on her friend, who was sitting cross-legged on the sand and rocking back and forth somewhat, humming some made up tune to herself. Her phone pinged, and sure enough, Edgar was on his way. He'd be there, unfortunately, in no less than one hour,

"Well, shit," Annie mumbled. "What do we do until then?"

Stacy gave her a look. "The high not enough for you?"

"Nope." A smile crawled along her face as Annie reached for Stacy's hand. She enjoyed the way that the leather of Stacy's fingerless glove felt against her palm. "We could make out."

Stacy arched an eyebrow before leaning it and giving Annie the first kiss. The next thing they both heard was the horn of Edgar's truck, as they lay together on the ground, stoned as all get out with their lips locked and their hands slithering up each other's shirts, with the damaged car several feet below.

This week's prompt was provided by José García.