Trash of the Gods.  Chapter 5 Goodnight, Dude?

One night, a few days before Andy last visited Robert, Robert actually came over to my house.
I never liked having people over, my parents were never rich but we did have more money than my friends, most of whom came from single parent homes and lived in crowded apartments. Robert didn’t seem to care though, in fact he seemed to enjoy being in a more stable environment.
We engaged in our usual activities, literature talks incorporated with a barrage of strong pot and stolen alcohol. We even stole a couple of my father’s vicodins and snorted them. Because of the constant narcotic haze of the evening, the only thing that I truly remember clearly was the last thing before i went to bed.
Robert was to faded to go home and his aunt wouldn’t pick him up anyway. So he crashed at my place.   
As he walked out of my room to stay in our guest room, I said “Goodnight,”, as was the custom in my house, with my family, and I assumed was the normal custom everywhere.
Robert did not respond with the fond “goodnight” as I thought was customary, he merely laughed once, smiled to himself and said, “Okay.” 
Then he closed the door.
I couldn’t tell if he did that because what i said was unexpected, sentimental, or both. Robert was never one for sentiment, our other moronic guy friends probably helped see to that.
But I never could understand why saying goodnight, was something weird to him.  
Soon after Robert got all of andy’s heroine. No one saw Robert for a while. When he resurfaced he was never the same, and he always had bruises all over his arms and legs.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.