Lavender Haze

I am currently a freshman at Boise State. I am double majoring in English (linguistics emphasis) and psychology, with a Spanish minor. In my freetime, I enjoy reading, playing music, passing time with friends, skiing, hiking, or anything else outside. I enjoy travelling and one day hope to visit every continent. One day, I want to live in Spain and be a published author of short stories and fiction novels.

Lavender Haze

A thin layer of smoke swirls around the inside of your car, parked in the lot of a run down strip mall, twenty miles from home. The parking lot is empty, the shop lights are off. There is nothing but the muted whine of cars speeding down the highway, underneath the pound of the bass erupting from the car speakers.

12:13 AM. You turn up the volume and brush away the ashes falling onto your jeans from the joint dangling carelessly between your fingers. In the passenger seat, your best friend, Vivian, reclines, languidly takes the joint, and deeply inhales.

You look up through the haze to the sunroof. There are no stars, only a midnight-blue blanket covering the sky, yellow lights on the horizon. But the longer you look, spots begin to appear. Bright and white, they begin spinning spinning spinning. You watch them for hours, until the sky turns lavender and you’re not in the car anymore. You’re sitting on top of a mountain, looking down across a valley of green, with hills rolling back for miles. The air is cold and biting and smells of lavender, with wind whipping your hair around your face. The mountain begins to grow taller and the valley begins to grow deeper deeper deeper until you tower over the valley, you’re too small to hang on, and you fall. 

Vivian’s hand pulls you out of the air and back to the ground. “Dude, you okay? You were swaying.” She giggles at you, because when she’s high, giggly is her personality. 

12:16 AM. You’re back in your car. It’s dark again, stuffy from the smoke and warm from the summer heat. Everything that was lavender is gone.

You close your eyes and deeply inhale the piney, skunk-like scent in the car. You’ve known this smell all of your life. This scent always clung to your dad’s van. Every time he drove, he would pull out a glass pipe and a lighter from the door pocket. It’s just medicine, he told you once. He lit the pipe and breathed in. You believed him, because you were young, and your parents were supposed to be the people you could trust the most in the world.

You open your eyes and look in the rearview mirror.

Your dad. You see his eyes. Green, with reddened whites.

12:43 AM. You turn on the car. Sigh. Squash the remaining bit of burnt joint paper on the bottom of an empty styrofoam cup, a fast food soft drink from three weeks ago. Roll down the windows, an attempt to clear the smoke. Merge onto the highway. Feel the sharp sting of the wind attacking your outstretched arm. Go ten over the speed limit, because at one in the morning, the highway is vast and barren.

Next to you, Vivian is asleep. Without her laughter, you feel the weight of loneliness. Of uncertainty. The night swallows you the further you drive. It grows around you, humongous, pressing into your ears and lungs. You turn up the music to drown out the deafening silence of the night, but it still lingers, suffocates. 

The next morning, you groggily wake up. Yawn. Stretch your eyebrows as high as they will go. Rub the crust from the corner of your eye. Heavily roll over, see Vivian lightly snoring next to you. Smile at the familiar image of your best friend: face smashed into a pillow, long dark hair clinging to the corners of her open mouth, one leg sticking out of the covers. 

What time is it? Oh, it’s already noon. It’s July, the summer after high school graduation. Your July days have all been the same. Wake up late, laze around for a few hours. You and Vivian finally motivate yourselves into getting dressed by 1 PM, then maybe go hangout at the lake, or venture into downtown. Evening rolls around, and Viv leaves for yet another Tinder date. You try to be productive and inspired, maybe tonight you’ll read that new book, or finally pick up your dusty guitar? Instead, most nights, you lay in bed, in the dark, mindlessly watching TV until Vivian inevitably calls you for an out. So you drive to wherever she is, twenty minutes or two hours away. You give her an excuse to leave the date, but not before you con the poor, dopey guy into getting you vodka. You and Vivian rush out, alcohol in hand, doubling over from laughter and pumping adrenaline. You drive back home, and sometimes, go sit on your patio, long after your grandparents are asleep. Kick back, watch the stars emerge like freckles in the sky, and share a glass of cheap vodka cut with lemonade. 

Other nights, you leave the house. You and Vivian drive aimlessly, up and down the highway, sunroof open, music blaring. You find somewhere to park, maybe a playground, or a parking lot, and Vivian gets out her Super Secret Stash. She unwraps all of the layers one by one: three plastic grocery bags, a small box, and another plastic bag before reaching the good stuff. She painstakingly rolls a packed joint, and takes the ceremonious first drag.

Vivian stirs as you watch her. She wakes up the same way you did, groggily and heavily. Rubs her eyes and checks the time. “Want to get some lunch?”

The cracked green vinyl booth scratches the back of your thighs, but you don’t mind. You sit with your back against the wall, one leg stretched down the booth seat. Viv leans the same way, draining her orange juice glass. You love this booth. You love this diner. Everything about it screams old-fashioned, but it’s a beloved staple in south Denver. A family-run diner for thirty years, everyone depends on its fluffy pancakes and greasy hash browns for delicious sustenance. You and Vivian are regulars. You order the same thing every time, no need for a menu. You sit in the same booth, the corner one by the window. Light filters through the prism window, casting faint rainbows overhead. 

As soon as you and Viv settle into your booth, she pulls out her phone.

“Okay, I need your help with something.” She sighs dramatically. “There have been way too many Tinder boys, and no results. I need a checklist outlining my perfect guy so that I can start finding him.”

You raise your eyes with amusement. “And you need my help with creating the checklist?”

“Yes! I mean, who knows me and what I like better than my best friend?”

You know that’s true; nobody knows Vivian like you do, and nobody knows you like Vivian does. The two of you have been best friends since you were pizza-faced sixth-graders bumbling through middle school. You were there for her in her hardest times, like when her dad passed away, or when she didn’t make the varsity soccer team, or when her first boyfriend broke her heart. And she was there for you just as much. The two of you didn’t share the same experiences, but you have so much empathy for each other that you still understand.

You chuckle. “Well, he has to be kind, obviously.”

“And smart.”

“And good looking.”

“And polite.”

“And funny.”

“Ooh, maybe a country boy?” Vivian ponders. She finishes typing the checklist just as the waitress bustles over with two steaming plates piled high with eggs and potatoes and chocolate chip pancakes. 

It smells delicious, but when you glance across the diner, your appetite suddenly disappears.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” Vivian pokes you with her fork. “You’re not eating.”

Big sigh. Keep looking across the diner, at the west-facing window where you can see the foothills sloping up into the Rockies. Wisps of clouds crown the distant peaks, obscuring the view behind them.

She gives you a pointed look.

You think back to your marijuana-induced fever dream. The lavender sky. The mountains. It felt so purposeful, so real. Like you’ve been there before. But where is it? It’s Somewhere. And you can’t get Somewhere out of your head. 

“Viv, I think we should take a trip to the mountains.”

7:35 PM you eat dinner with your younger brother, Noah, and your grandparents.

“No Vivian tonight?” your grandpa asks you jovially as he sets down a platter of BBQ pork chops, two of which Noah quickly grabs and immediately starts eating.

“No, you’ll probably see her tomorrow.” You take a quick breath, ready to ask about the trip, but Noah excitedly interrupts.

“Dude,” he addresses you wide-eyed. “I finally got a job! Ten bucks an hour at Dairy Queen.”

“That’s great, Noah!” Pride for your little brother wells in you. “But wait. Does that mean I have to start driving you around again?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Uhh . . . I’ll let you pick the music?”

“Bro, it’s my car.” You can’t be too mad, though. His puppy dog energy infects you, and all you can do is laugh.

Your grandma passes you a bowl of green beans. “What are you girls up to tomorrow, anyway?”

“Well, I was wondering if Vivian and I could spend a few days in the mountains.” You trail off as you see your grandparents exchange skeptical looks.

It took a lot of convincing for your grandparents to let you go to the mountains overnight. I’m a careful driver, you said. It will only be a few nights, you said. I’ll call you every day, you said. Vivian’s parents said okay, you said. I’m eighteen anyway, you said. All of the typical teenage platitudes that accompanied any request to do anything. 

Fine, they finally relented. The next morning, you hug them both goodbye, and your grandma whispers in your ear, “Maybe you’ll see your dad out there.”

Your dad was always quite the outdoorsman. He was an avid skier, kayaker, camper—anything he could do in wild nature. A mountain man at heart. He taught you to love the mountains at a young age, with all the passion and intensity he had. As you and Vivian drive further into the foothills of Colorado, you feel closer to peace than you have felt in a long time. But there’s something more. You feel a magnetic pull with the whistling wind as it weaves between the evergreens. At every glance you see green eyes hidden in the needles, gazing at you. But you look again, and they’re gone.

The path to Somewhere is a windy one. Vivian doesn’t know where you’re taking her, but she enjoys the ride. You don’t know where Somewhere is either. You start up a canyon, and then another one, and then a third. You don’t have a specific location, just the vivid image of Somewhere. You let your car direct the way.

The two of you listen to music: classic rock, 2010 pop tunes, sappy love songs. You sing out to nature through your open window. Loud, out of tune, but with passion. Vivian purses her lips and sings towards you with sass and a water bottle microphone.

When your voices grow tired, you play quiet indie music and talk.

“I’m getting three cats when I get older. It’s been decided. My future husband can just deal with it, because it’s happening.”

“Yeah, cats are great, but have you considered a ferret?”

Later: “Okay, so, the three superpowers I want most are invisibility, mind-reading, and the ability to always pour just the right amount of salad dressing.

“Salad dressing? Are you serious? It’s not flying, or something actually cool?”

2:03 PM. A few hours into the drive, you pass a shabby blue pick-up, parked on the highway shoulder against the canyon. Your stomach drops, you swerve. Shakily recollect yourself when you see an unfamiliar young couple inside. Vivian unsticks herself from the passenger window in time to see the blue blur, and casts you a sympathetic look.

It was perfect timing when you got your license in the fall of senior year. Your grandparents bought you your very own car in celebration. It was a thrilling time! Every excuse you could find to drive you took. So when your dad’s blue, rusty truck broke down, it wasn’t a big deal. There was still someone in the house who could drive. But slowly, you grew so tired of the responsibility of grocery shopping and driving your younger brother around. Being the errand girl became an exhausting inconvenience in between going to high school and working twenty-hour weeks.

8:10 PM. The sun begins to set. As you drive further west, it sinks into the tall Rockies, and the sky fades into a blend of tangerine and lapis. You pull off at a dingy motel in a town too small to name, saddled somewhere in Colorado’s Western Slope. You and Vivian wince at the nightly rate, which is too expensive for a pebble of a town. Sleep there anyway, because there is no other option, and be grateful for the cash your grandpa slipped into your pocket.

You flop onto the motel bed and stretch your limbs like a star reaching for each corner of the universe. Vivian lies on her stomach and curves her back like a cobra, popping her joints. You hadn’t driven for that long really, five hours, but it was long enough to feel cramped and tired. You rest your eyes for just a moment. 

Open them to find Vivian waving an unlit joint and a lighter in front of your nose with a crescent moon grin. “It’s been a long day, Syd. Let’s wind down.”

You reach out to take it—then hesitate. You see it again. His eyes. Green, with reddened whites. 

It was January of your senior year when it got bad. It was just you and your brother, feeling alone and independent from your parents. Your mom lived three states away, and your dad . . . well, his body was there, but his mind was not. The responsible, loving man that he used to be only a few years ago was quickly fading. He hadn’t been to work as a freelance carpenter in nine months, despite his promises to find a job and pay the bills. He slept all day, neglecting to cook or clean, despite his promises that he’d finally found his “groove.” No, all of these responsibilities fell on you.

He only moved late at night, when his homeless friends trickled in for a place to sleep. They crowded the living room, blasted jam bands, and passed either a bong or a meth pipe around. You stayed tucked into the furthest corner of your room, afraid to approach any of those sketchy, leering men. At the time, you didn’t know about the drugs. Maybe then, you would have told somebody sooner. Maybe then, the landlord wouldn’t have found the meth pipe. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been evicted and forced to move in with your grandparents, your dad’s parents, who lived forty minutes away from school. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have failed two classes during your senior year. Maybe then, your dad, the man you used to know, wouldn’t have disappeared off the face of the planet . . . where is he?

You see his eyes as you reach for the joint, flashing at you like a warning sign. You hesitate, and then abruptly stop.

“No. No, no, no. Oh God, no!” you scream at Vivian and the joint, pushing her hand away forcefully. All of the tears you’ve never cried flood your eyes. How could you how could you how could you have touched it this summer, when you lived through the horrifying effects of it? What were you thinking, trying to find solace at the butt of a joint or the bottom of a bottle? You realize it now, it pours over every inch of your being, that you are not okay you are not healed you do not have closure.

Vivian stands next to you, frozen with confusion from your outburst. As your screams subside to quiet sobs, she kneels next to you, and gingerly puts her arm around you. You know she understands. This is the beauty of a best friend. They always understand. She quietly shoves the joint back into her Super Secret Stash, and then leans in to give you a full hug. The two of you fall asleep like this: curled into each other’s wet arms, sharing the same pain.

The next morning, Vivian asks you if you want to go back home. You sit in the parking lot of the motel, staring at the top of the tallest summit you can see.

“No. We need to keep going.”

Another full day of driving. A few stops for the bathroom, a few stops for food, but it’s mostly driving. Neither you nor Vivian talk much. You don’t itch for music either. You sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Evening creeps closer as you near the tallest summit. The evergreens shrink smaller and smaller until you reach timberline, where they stop growing altogether. Green patches of grass knitted together begin to replace the trees. The sun sinks once more behind the mountains, but tonight, the sunset looks different. The azure sky slowly turns to lavender. The sun has set, but the hills are still bright. The road turns into dirt, and then, at the very top of the mountain, into grass spotted with wildflowers. 

You and Vivian awe at the scene before you as your car eases to a natural stop at the top of the summit. The earthy Rockies are gone, replaced by green rolling hills. You open your door as a gust of wind almost pushes you back into your car. Lavender tingles your nose.

Wander across the grass. Stand at the edge of the mountain. Gaze across the valley below you. This is where civilization reaches its end—right here. Feel your feet root into the soil beneath you. The wind plays with your hair, tying it into knots. You feel the power of Somewhere. You realize now, Mother Earth never left you.

And then. A man. You see him at the bottom of the valley, staring up at you. He looks so small from so far away, a one-inch tall figurine. His feet, just like yours, are tangled in the grass. As you look back at him, you see his eyes glint green.

You step down to say hello.