Lexie's Latitude

Bunch was in the process of rolling a blunt when Lexie and I walked into the living room. The green buds scattered on the coffee table practically glowed with THC as he tore them into smaller pieces. Lexie didn't smoke weed and didn't appear happy at the prospect that I probably would. I'd never officially quit getting high, but had drastically cut back since she'd moved in with me. Now we had a guest. Accomodations would have to be made.

Not that anyone would've heard her objections had she voiced them over the din of Shinedown's "Sound of Madness" on the stereo. Bunch's head twirled and jerked to the music but his remaining torso was a tree trunk. His head snapped up and he saw us standing there. He smiled and rose to greet me.

"Keller, what's shaking, man!" he said as we hugged.

"All the shaking's going on in here it sounds like," I said.

Lexie turned the music down before seating herself in the recliner across from Bunch. Bunch and I sat down together on the couch.

I picked up a bud to sniff as Bunch continued to roll the blunt.

"Keller never told me you were a pothead," said Lexie to our guest.

This remark would've provoked eye contact from any other new guest -- or at the very least a courteous glance. Not from my cousin. Bunch's concentration on the joint was complete. Maybe he hadn't heard her.

"Keller never told me you were a pothead," she repeated just in case.

His eyes never strayed from his task as he said, "Why would he tell you something like that anyway?"

"He'd tell me if we were gonna have a rapist or some other kind of felon staying with us for a couple weeks, so why not a pothead?" she said.

"Your argument is flawed," said Bunch, finally glancing up. "He'd sooner tell you I was a pothead than a rapist. Or some other kind of felon."

Lexie bristled at having her logic corrected. "What I meant to say was that he tells me everything."

"I'm a felon. Did he tell you that?"

"A felon? What for?"

"Raping overly-antagonistic women."

Lexie's glare fixed on me when a snicker escaped my mouth. "That's funny to you?"

"No," I said.

"Look, if you have asthma or something, I have no problem smoking outside," said Bunch to Lexie.

"You've already seen me smoking cigarettes," she said.

"Then what's the problem?" he said.

"Who said there was one?" she said.

"I get crazy ideas like that when someone starts out a conversation implying I'm a pothead. I guess it's just the connotations of the word pothead. If you had said something like weed aficionado, it might've felt less like the time I first went to my high school girlfriend's house and got interrogated by her mom about the extent of my drug habits," said Bunch.

"I don't sand the edges off my words," said Lexie. "And I could give a shit what you do when we're not living under the same roof."

Bunch fired up the weed and hit it. He looked at her, nodding as he held it in his lungs. The expulsion of white smoke streamed out towards her. "I like your honesty," he said. "Now if you could just temper it with a little tactfulness, we'll get along fine on this visit."

I saw Lexie coil like a threatened rattlesnake. "Listen motherfucker, I don't know who you think --"

"Come on, Lexie, let's not go to motherfuckerville just yet," I interrupted, hoping to ease the tensions.

"Motherfuckerville. That's good, cuz," Brunch said as he passed me the blunt.

"Keller, don't even pretend that I'm in the habit of taking shit off anybody," said Lexie.

"Turns out we have that in common," said Bunch.

I hit the blunt quickly -- more quickly than I wanted to -- and handed it back to Bunch. I gestured for Lexie to leave the room with me and, with obvious reluctance, she followed me into the kitchen.

"Who does that motherfucker think he is?" she said to me.

"He thinks he's our guest. I was under the same impression until a few nerve-racking minutes ago."

"He fires up weed in our house without even asking permission?"

"He's my cousin, Lexie. I used to do the same thing all the time at his house. Look, I need you to be cool," I said.

"So now we've moved on to your needs, huh?"

"I would just be so embarassed. I mean, after I swore to him how fucking cool you were, I don't think I'd ever be able to live it down if you made me out to be a liar."

My delivery and tone had the desired effect. Lexie slapped my shoulder as punishment for making her smile. "I'm sorry, but you know how I am. You should stop me before my bitch meter goes into the red."

I kissed her. "I know. Do you feel like apologizing?"

"I never feel like apologizing. But I will for your sake."

"Thank you."

We returned to the living room where Bunch was now doing pushups, his hands on the carpet and his bare toes perched on the edge of the coffee table to provide an incline. The burning blunt was still in his mouth.

"Listen, Bunch, I want to apologize," said Lexie.

Bunch pushed off the table, flipping his legs up over his head to land on his feet, and all without dropping the blunt. I'd always envied his acrobatic prowess. He looked at Lexie.

"So, I'm sorry," she said.

Bunch took another pull off the blunt and passed it to me but said nothing.

"Well?" she said to him. "Aren't you gonna say anything, superstar?"

"Like what?"

"Like you accept my apology?"

"I like to go through a cooling off period before I accept an apology from someone," he said. "Unless you would prefer a hasty, insincere acceptance of your hasty, insincere apology."

Lexie's mouth hung open in disbelief. Bunch returned to his seat on the couch and began doing air guitar to "Same Old Thing" by the Black Keys, which had just begun playing.

I caught her staring at me, presumably expecting some support. All I could do was shrug. The withering look she gave me before returning her attention of Bunch was meant to make me feel pathetic.

"Take all the time you need, asshole," she said to him. "Just so you know that it's been retracted. I'm out of here," she said and marched upstairs.

"Still into playing head games, I see," I said to my stoned cousin.

"I'm trying out this deadpan thing where by joking with people without smiling or telling them I'm joking, I get genuine responses to my sense of humor," he said.

"Anyone actually laugh yet?"

"Strangely, no. But the hostile responses have been genuinely hostile."

"Look, man, I know you like to push people's buttons, but can you do me a favor and not screw with my girlfriend's head? Not everybody gets you like I do. Not everybody realizes how much you get off on being an asshole," I said. I sat back down beside him on the couch as he prepared to roll another blunt.

"I don't get off on being an asshole," he said casually. "I used to. Now I'm experimenting with ways of interacting socially that don't involve excessive, unnecessary politeness."

"Oh, that sounds completely different. My mistake," I said.

"I've gone back to studying Nietzsche again recently...."

"Here we go," I said with a slight laugh.

"There's something to be said for not surrendering yourself to meaningless rituals, customs, social norms," he said, busily breaking buds.

"Having good manners isn't meaningless."

"Some of the most successful people in history lacked good manners."

"Yeah, I'm sure they lacked friends too," I said. "Don't you just ever wanna be nice? Make someone else feel good? You know, just for the fuck of it?"

"Sure, but I make it a point to limit the impulse. Me getting you high is my selfless deed for the day by the way," he said. "It's good shit, huh?"

"Don't ask me. I could be getting stoned off parsley now and not know it."

"Been that long, has it?"

"Long enough," I said.

"You must've been happy to see me about to do this when you walked in."

"Man, is overjoyed too strong a word?" I said.