Page 51 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“Okay, maybe when I was little.” I laugh quietly. “But I’m grown now, and I’m not exactly looking forward to selling my soul to capitalism. I don’t have your passion for running a business.”
“Fair enough,” she says, taking a long inhale before saying anything else. “I just want to make enough money for my dad to admit I can do something other than music. I don’t want to let the money run my life the way he does. Like, I want my dispensary to be employee owned and shit. Let me know if you need a job after I turn twenty-one.” She grins.
“I doubt I’ll still be here by then,” I say, my filter completely dissolved.
“You planning on moving?” she asks. I just shrug, not wanting to elaborate. Luckily, she doesn’t read into it and just moves on. “Okay, subject change. I’ve been meaning to ask... What was that thing Abuela took you to on Tuesday? Was that, like, a doctor’s appointment or something? Are you sick?” She hands the blunt back to me. “I can get you medical grade.”
I laugh. Moniwoulduse my supposed sickness as a business opportunity. “Would I get a family discount?”
She looks at me all offended. I’m in the middle of taking another whiff when she responds. “As my cousin, don’t you want me to fulfill my dreams? This is one of my main income streams!”
“What do you mean, ‘one of’?” I say in the midst of trying not to die from cough laughter. She pats my back until my lungs settle down.
“Seriously, though. You’re not dying on me, are you?” she asks, ignoring my question.
“I’m fine,” I say as I try one more inhale, coughing less this time. “It was just therapy.”
“Ahh... ,” she says it like it all makes sense now. But why would it? Do I come across as someone who needs therapy?
“My therapist thinks I have bipolar,” I blurt out. It’s like all my walls are melting away with this high.
She just nods, for once out of words.
“What? That doesn’t surprise you?”
“Not at all,” she says, plucking the blunt from between my fingers since I forgot to hand it back to her.
“Why not?” Moni barely knows me anymore, so why would she think I have bipolar?
“Because Abuela has that too. That can be genetic, right?”
For a second, I start to think that maybe this makes a lot of sense. That it explains a lot about me that I thought was just wrong. That maybe Abuela can talk me through some of this stuff. But then I remember Mami, and how she talks about her mom. How crazy she is, and how you can’t trust anything she says. Mami even used to tell me not to listen to her.
Is that why she never listens tome? Why she always assumes she knows what’s best for me, because she thinks I’m too crazy to know for myself?
No. She doesn’t know I’m bipolar. Hell,Idon’t know I’m bipolar. Dr. Lee could be wrong.Iswrong.
“Doesn’t matter,” I finally say. “Dr. Lee doesn’t know shit. I’m not fucking crazy.”
“Don’t talk about Abuela like that,” Moni says, oddly defensively. “I never said either of you was crazy.”
“Well good, because I’m not. Whatever Abuela has, I don’t, okay?”
“Whatever you say, primo.” She sucks on the blunt for a moment, then hands it back to me.
I roll my eyes and take another puff, letting the smoke fill my lungs and empty my irritation, and it works.
“I’m worried about Abuela, though,” Moni admits.
“Why?” I ask.
“She’s lonely, I think. Both times I got sent here, she puts on an act like I’m in trouble, but it never lasts. She likes the company, I think.”
“Can you blame her? She’s retired and lives here by herself. She’s probably bored out of her mind when we’re not here.”
Moni inhales, then hums on the exhale, smoke blowing out of her nostrils. “Too bad she hates romance, or I’d be trying to set her up.”
“What do you mean she hates romance?” I ask. The way she talks about how in love she used to be and how getting her hair braided helped her fall asleep, I thought she’d be pining for that kind of love again.
