Numb.

It was those chilly autumn nights that always drew my best friend and I into a state of relaxation.
We'd sit silently on her back porch with the wrap around seating by her closed pool, breathing in fresh air and focusing on whatever we chose on our own. There were no words needed here.
Sometimes, she's quietly ask me if her parents were nearby in the house, which was my signal to go inside and check. If they were around, I'd pretend to go into the bathroom for a minute just so they wouldn't be suspicious. If they weren't, I'd go to the fridge to grab us both a beer. When I would return with the beers, she's take out her rolling papers and baggy of the best stuff she could afford. Slowly, with perfection, she'd roll herself a joint while I laid back and drank. She would light it up, toke, and always offer me some, but I knew better than to let myself get into something else that altered my state of mind. She'd shrug, and do her thing. I'd watch her take deep breaths, and when she would exhale, I'd watch her face quickly go from depressed and stressed to relaxed and numb. Sometimes, I'd want to be that way as well, it seemed so nice compared to where I was in my own mind, but then I remembered I could make that go away as well. So I would get up and grab another beer.
Sometimes, with our minds altered, our own thoughts would come out vocally, instead of in our own brains. Soon, we'd both be babbling in tears to each other, completely oblivious to what secrets were being let out.
This is how we got to know one another, and how we became best friends.
We only were best friends when we were both numbed and stupid. The next morning, we'd both wake up on her bedroom floor, unaware of the time, or how we got there, or what we missed. We'd try to control our Sunday hangovers without breaking loose on one another, but sometimes it was just too hard. I'd find myself sitting on her porch with some boy's baggy sweatshirt she let me borrow, putting up with the drizzle and the gray skies to just get some fresh air and keep myself from falling apart.
My parents would pick me up eventually, or I'd walk home. By 5 pm, I'd be in bed for the night, sleeping away what I got rid of the night before.

Slowly, my partying with her lessened. She found new friends, new drugs, and new bad decisions to make. She had every boy's promises to her, but all it was for was sex, and soon enough she winded up pregnant at 17. I found new hope, new escapes, and new friends to do what I needed to do with, and talk about what I did when they weren't around. Now, at 17, I'm not pregnant, or a drug addict, or a slut. I don't look for a way to numb myself anymore, because I've placed the past in the past. I wish I could have given her the same advice I took down the road during those cool autumn nights.