Storytime: Drugs and Fu3kb0ys

 Azat and I had been seeing each other for three months. It’s usually around this time that people either part ways or huddle into coupledom. 

Things with him were not looking good. “We see each other too often,” he’d told me.

“No, we don’t,” I told him, “We see each other once a week.” I’d know because I’d been calculating.

“We do?” he asked, “Well, I guess that’s too much for me.”

My 28-year-old ass did not pick up on that. Living in Turkey I was so desperate for love that I was willing to put up with his fuckboy behaviour in exchange of the otherwise pushy, macho selection that awaited me. 

As luck would have it, we were each going on our respective vacations soon. I was going to Pakistan to visit my family and he was going to Israel. This would give him time to miss me. 

I don’t smoke up but Azat does. LSD is the easiest drug to transport through an airport, and hash is the most difficult. But it’s what I was going to do. I wrapped it in three layers of plastic, five layers of tissue paper, shoved it into the pockets of my thickest jeans, layered my clothes so that they’re deep in the middle of the suitcase, and went off. I made a point to keep a straight face throughout security, grabbed my suitcase and ran up the escalator once I had my boarding pass and all. 

Coming home to someone is the nicest feeling in the world. It reminds me of the sun tarot card. The feeling of abundance. It’s truly what makes a home. 

This is not what I had with Azat. It was how I’d summed up our relationship, and I would learn from it in the future. Imagine you leave work after a long day, and you don’t know if your house will be there when you return. Nowhere to rest your bones and belongings. “It’s not a big deal,” people would say, “You’ll see him when you see him.” I’ll be honest, he was the most joyful thing in my life at the time. Eventually, this would change. I won’t reprimand myself for accepting so little because the beggar’s mentality was not an illusion. I was lonely, I was starved for intellectual conversation, for escape from the mundane. 

I couldn’t sit still at the airport. I dragged my evil suitcase from one to the other. This airport doesn’t exist anymore. It was the second smallest airport I’ve seen in my life. The first one is in Gaziantep. It’s a bus stop. This one was more like a train station. The duty free was a kiosk. As bold and friendly as I am, I was too shy to enquire the price of the Benson & Hedges carton. That’s what Pakistan does to me. That’s what Turkey tried to do, too. But I was a stranger there, and could disappear into a fictional character if need be. In Pakistan, I very much existed. 

I made it home and didn’t write back right away. I waited to sleep one night before getting in touch with him. The mastery of acting coy. I waited a whole 15 hours after my arrival to call him. He was going to LOVE my present. I couldn’t wait for him to unwrap it. I imagined the different expressions of surprise, of gratitude, of being touched over my thoughtfulness. 

The blood in my veins sped up as I saw his name on my phone, returning my missed call. I picked up the phone and delivered my most casual, “Hello.” I hoped he could see my sultry smile through it.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Oh, quite good,” I told him. I’d been taught that men are attracted to happy women. So I’m always supposed to be having an excellent life. That’s why way to win over my crush. “I had a great time in Pakistan. What about you, how was Tel Aviv?”

“Oh, really amazing,” he said, “You should definitely visit.” He knows what a pain in the ass it would be for me to get a visa.

“I plan to! So,” I was itching to get to the point, “Wanna hang out soon?”

“Yeah, um. We could, but we might need to wait a few days. I brought a friend back,”

“Oh,” my soul shivered,

“Yeah. Ekstrem birsey oldu. We were getting along really well and I invited her to return with me. She’s here for a week.”

“Great.”

“So yeah.” 

“Is she just a friend, or…?”

“A friend.”

“Alright, then,” I hadn’t quite given up yet. “I brought a present for you,” I said meekly. I may as well have prepared a PowerPoint which showcased all the ways I’m beneficial to his life. 

“Oh, how nice.”

“U-huh. Anyway, I’ll let you go,” I didn’t know I had the right to be upset. Cool girls are the ones who get the guy. Remember? 

I let the phone drop on my bed, and watched myself in the mirror as I delivered heavy sobs. Somehow, my fingers managed to find my sister-in-law’s contact and dial her. 

“He met another girl,” I blubbered,

“Wait, wait, wait,” she slowed me down, “What happened?”

I told her what happened.

“Ghost him,” she told me, “Do that thing you all do. Ghosting. Do the ghosting.”

I’d never ghosted anyone before. “Okay,” I obeyed between sniffles. 

That night, I went to Esin’s house. I gathered our mutual friends. One of them turned on a chill playlist. Another mixed tobacco with the hash. Another provided the lighter. It was years after I’d smoked hash. This drug was a hit-and-miss for me. Tonight, it made me feel calmer, less sentimental, more logical. The manic Yasmin had taken a backseat. 

“Let’s go out dancing,” Tim said.

“I don’t want to,” I told him. 

“Why not?” he asked. 

Why not, indeed? “Because,” I told him, “I am high and I’m afraid of getting disoriented, lost, losing my items, accidentally spending too much.”

“I’ll take care of it all for tonight,” he offered.

“Really?! So I can leave all my belongings at home?”

“Yes. Just bring your ID in case they need it here. Here, I’ll keep it in my wallet for you.” 

Esin gave me a sexy black top and some silver earrings. I don’t know where they took me, but there was a view of the bridge over the Bosphorus. Everyone was very sexy. I don’t mix marijuana and alcohol often. The alcohol made me enjoy dancing, and the hash made me fascinated with watching myself in the mirror, almost as a third person. 

That night, Omer didn’t let me sleep alone. He spooned me while his boyfriend sandwiched him from behind.