I put a pinch of tobacco in my pipe so I can be like my father. He used to smoke a pipe as my sister and I, both no more than seven years old, sat on a shabby couch in our cabin watching Bruce Lee movies. My mom was there, too, her arm around my sister or me, laughing at the silly voice overs.
I sit here now and smoke a pipe, not to look cool or to start a buzz, but to feel like my father must have as he watched over us, his family. I want to see through his eyes, to look back into the past when to me, Bruce Lee seemed as almighty as Christ himself, and all we needed was each other.
Think of the forces in life you cannot see.
Think of the forces that give you good dreams. The ones that land gently in your thoughts with snow flake feet and the best intentions. Think of the forces that touch your forehead with one finger and make you play wonderful films in your head, films that make you feel like changing the world isn’t some foolish notion created by fairy tales and motivational speakers. Think of the forces that make you feel like the color in a world of black and white.
And I feel great.
And all my friends are here. The living room is packed with people. I don’t know most of them, but that’s ok. We wanted it this way.
There’s a rap song playing. The bass is loud. It’s shaking the windows.
My best friend is right there talking to some girl. He looks happy, like he just had a really good dream, and for once, he didn’t wake up too soon. He’s laughing, and so is she. He laughs at a lot of the stuff I say, which is why I like him so much. I don’t know if he laughs to make me feel better, or if he actually thinks I’m funny. But I guess I don’t really care.