Page 57 of Knotty, Nice, & Holiday Lights
“Good,” she hums. “What do you feel?”
My head swivels toward her, the pressure easing, though not gone. “Your hand in mine.”
She smiles at me, and realization smacks me in the face. I haven’t been here more than a couple of hours and I’m already falling into panic in front of my entire pack.
“Matthew.” Will draws my attention to my other side. “My therapist would tell me that my body and mind were out of alignment when I’d have panic attacks. Living in a fear-state made my brain go down dark roads the moment I’d feel like something strange was happening to me physically. The smallest thing would set me off, like a pinched nerve in my hand making a finger go numb, and that would make me think I was in terrible medical danger. My brain was always lying to me.”
“Yeah, mate,” Asher says as he travels further into the room. “For a long time after I left Hollywood, I’d start gasping for airif I thought a pap was around. Thought I was having a heart attack.”
I look from Asher to Will, a strange, warm sensation filling my chest. “Thank you, guys. I mean it.”
“We’re in this together, Matthew.” This from Iz. “I do need to ask you, though, if you’re taking any medication we should be aware of.”
I shake my head, no. “The pills they gave me would make me sleep for more than a day. Even half of the smallest dose available made me unable to drive. They were the ‘as-needed’ kind. I found out pretty quick that if I took them one day, the next day my attacks would get worse.” I frown, take my hand back to rub both my palms down my face. “It was like they worked, but they dulled too much and the panic would come back with a vengeance once they wore off.”
“I had a similar experience,” Will chimes in. “But they did help me get through the early, tougher days. I was eventually able to come off of them.”
“What about CBD?” Iz asks.
“That’s what I used,” Asher says as he leans against the dresser across from me. “I would get the tinctures or gummies.”
The conversation eases my mind a bit more. I nudge Iz. “This one used to be quite the ‘gardener.’”
She lets out a“Pffft,”and cuts me a sassy look. “What do you mean, ‘used to be’?”
I gawk at her. “You still grow?”
“Seasonally.” She tips up her chin.
“I had no idea,” Asher says with a crooked grin. “Our very own herb connoisseur.”
Iz sighs before plopping onto her back beside me. “It’s a lot of work, especially in a small space.” She twists her head toward Asher. “My apartment is kind of a shoe box. I had a tent with a hydroponic setup and LEDs. Despite that, I haven’t grownanything since last winter. I don’t know if it’s the same up in the north, but electricity costs less in the winter months in L.A.”
“Not a whole lot,” I mutter, remembering the sweltering heat and trying to keep my electronics from overheating without declaring bankruptcy. Then, a smile crosses my face. “Do you still grow McGreggers?”
Iz laughs as Will blinks, one brow rising. “What’s a ‘McGreggers’?”
She grins wildly. “So, my Uncle Greg always used to complain that today’s weed was way too strong and that the herb of the 70s was so much better. And since I took my little private grow op very seriously, I looked into why that would be, and found out that growers today are basically going hog-wild with the amount of THC they breed into their product. That increases the psychedelic effects, but also causes all the bad side effects, like paranoia and shit.” Her head shakes. “People don’t understand, or maybe just don’t care, that there’s a scale.”
“What do you mean?” Asher asks, looking like he is really interested in this.
Iz purses her lips. “Weed is made up of THC, which is what gets you high, and CBD, which holds all the beneficial medicinal effects.” She frowns a moment. “There are a lot more compounds than just those two, but we’ll keep it simple. Anyway, Let’s say the THC and CBD make up one hundred percent of the bud. So, the more you have of one, the less you have of the other.” She makes a scale with her hands, weighing them back and forth. “All these growers who breed for high THC are cutting the beneficial CBD from their strains, creating buds that make people trip hard while not really getting any of the good stuff.” She pauses to check we’re still with her, and I laugh.
“Anyway, I made a high CBD indica strain for my Uncle Greg and gave him all my cured herb for Christmas one year. Told him about it, so he knew it wasn’t the stuff you find out there today.I’d named it ‘Greggers,’ but two days after Christmas, he called to thank me, raving about the strain, but told me that any time he smoked it, he’d start craving fast food really bad. So I changed the name to ‘McGreggers’ as a little joke.”
“I never knew about any of that,” Will says, sounding pretty fascinated.
Iz laughs, but it’s that nervous laugh of hers when she geeks-out about something she’s passionate about then get embarrassed after. “I’m a bit of a nerdy weirdo.” She looks at me. “Do you want to set up your stuff now?”
Good deflection, Iz.
I consider for a moment, then shake my head. “Nah. Why don’t you all let me order us some delivery as thanks for helping me today? This way nobody has to cook tonight.”
I’ve only ever seen Will do the cooking, sometimes with help, but still.
With everyone on board, I put a plan into motion that sprung to life in my head in a blink.
First, I load up the Foo-D app on my phone and place a massive order from Wei Wok, the most spectacular Chinese takeout place on the planet. When the delivery estimate loads in at over an hour, as I’d expected, I get to work like a stealthy thief in the night in the downstairs living room while everyone else is doing their thing before dinner arrives.
