But then later, Carlie offered me, saying how cool it was, so I said okay, by that time I’d been smelling the chemical cloud a lot and was kind of envious, I guess. Figuring just one time.

Carlie shows me how the e-cig works. You don’t “light” it—it’s battery-operated. Like, cutting-edge technology. Not crude shit like tobacco.

Very simple, actually. One two three.

Jesus! What a brain-fuck …

Guys laughing at me. Must’ve been a weird look in my face. Je-sus!

How I discovered there’s nothing like vaping. Nothing so cool, by far.

Better than sex. (Everybody says. Not like I’d know.) Way easier than sex. And way cooler than sex—you don’t need another damn person.

Whenever you can eliminate the other person, anyone you depend upon, anyone you need, that’s a bonus.

Why vaping is so cool: makes you strong like Spider-Man.

Why vaping is so cool: undetectable.

Not like sloppy-ass cigarettes. Adults can smell the smoke on you across the room—breath, hair, clothes. Can’t keep cigarettes secret like you can vaping.

And Juuling is best. Way cool.

How much?—you don’t even think to ask.

Because whatever it is, it’s worth it.

Because whatever it is, if you can afford it or not, there’s ways of acquiring the means to afford it, like (for instance) your mom’s credit card she isn’t going to be using (much) anyway, sick as she is in the hospital now. Seventh floor.

Notified me on my cell phone, your mother is being admitted to the hospital. Brought by gurney to the seventh floor, room 7731.

So at reception I’m like, hey why’s there an extra seven?—and the receptionist looks at me like I am the weirdest white boy she’s ever seen.

Tried to explain, see there’s an extra seven in the room number, shouldn’t it be just seven hundred, not seven thousand? So finally she got the joke, sort of, and laughed, like women laugh when they see you’re trying to be funny in some dumb-ass way. Because (maybe) (they can sense) you are a little nervous, anxious, and a woman or a girl will feel sorry and play along with you.

Especially nurses, nurses’ aides. Jesus!—they have got to see everything there is to see.

Who is the patient to you, are you a relative?—(eyeing me, like there could be anyone else my age and looking like me who’d be visiting my mom except a relative).

Yes. She is my mother.

(Weird that you would never naturally say Yes. I am her son.)

(Because you only have one mom. While a mom could have more than one son. Is that it?)

Handing me the ID badge, saying Have a good day. Like, if I didn’t know better, I’d think the receptionist was laughing at me.