[For Chris]
After spending a good portion of the morning with Jim and his daughter, Lennox had eventually decided he couldn't possibly help them anymore and he'd stumbled home blindly, patting down his pockets the whole time, looking for a joint. There were none there, because he'd been on his way to see a little girl and her mother and although Lennox didn't have many lines, that was one. He preferred to be sober around the little kids of the island if he could be.
He almost tripped and fell as he climbed the stairs to his hut, where, very carefully and methodically, he greeted Hal and then shut her into the main room, closing the door to the bedroom he shared with Chris. His dog was part of his family, but that was exactly why he couldn't be around her right now.
Opening the small wooden box they generally kept Lennox's bong in, he found nothing. No pot, no papers to roll it with, just the bong. Shutting the lid with exaggerated calm, he began to search the shelves. The movements were careful at first, almost mechanical, but by the time Lennox was down to the third shelf, things were flying off into the air behind him, clothes and papers and books strewn across the room as he looked for the bag of pot he knew had to be somewhere.
"What the fuck?" he shouted, slamming his fists against the shelf, rattling the whole structure. It was there somewhere, it had to be.
Moving over to the second bookshelf, more of their belongings were tossed into the air, the bedroom a growing mess behind him. Eventually, his fingers found the little plastic bag and he pulled it out victoriously, then sunk to the floor in the middle of the mess and tried to get it open so he could roll a joint.
His fingers were shaking so badly that the bag just fluttered uselessly in his grip and Lennox's frustration mounted again, until he was near crying over the fucking bag. In the end, he knew it wasn't about the pot, it wasn't about the bag, but he couldn't deal with anything else. He couldn't deal with someone disappearing again.
He almost tripped and fell as he climbed the stairs to his hut, where, very carefully and methodically, he greeted Hal and then shut her into the main room, closing the door to the bedroom he shared with Chris. His dog was part of his family, but that was exactly why he couldn't be around her right now.
Opening the small wooden box they generally kept Lennox's bong in, he found nothing. No pot, no papers to roll it with, just the bong. Shutting the lid with exaggerated calm, he began to search the shelves. The movements were careful at first, almost mechanical, but by the time Lennox was down to the third shelf, things were flying off into the air behind him, clothes and papers and books strewn across the room as he looked for the bag of pot he knew had to be somewhere.
"What the fuck?" he shouted, slamming his fists against the shelf, rattling the whole structure. It was there somewhere, it had to be.
Moving over to the second bookshelf, more of their belongings were tossed into the air, the bedroom a growing mess behind him. Eventually, his fingers found the little plastic bag and he pulled it out victoriously, then sunk to the floor in the middle of the mess and tried to get it open so he could roll a joint.
His fingers were shaking so badly that the bag just fluttered uselessly in his grip and Lennox's frustration mounted again, until he was near crying over the fucking bag. In the end, he knew it wasn't about the pot, it wasn't about the bag, but he couldn't deal with anything else. He couldn't deal with someone disappearing again.