The first night began thirty miles away from the shop, buying packets of cough medicine at an Albertson’s in Hollister during the last handful of days in December. We’d started going there because of the self check out machine - it was the only place where we wouldn‘t be carded. In California, you have to be eighteen to buy the kind of cough medicine we wanted, and at the time none of us were; either we used direct cash in the machine or we had an ATM card to pay for it. We’d figured out the system on how to buy it without calling any attention to ourselves, too - you could only buy three boxes at once, as stated by law. An average visit would be two of us going into the pharmacy area and casually picking up whatever we could without looking suspicious, then while walking through aisles where security cameras couldn‘t completely monitor you, one of the girls would shove the boxes into a bag. Whatever additional items we needed for the rest of the night would be picked up (usually lighters and some sort of drinks) and put in a basket that whoever was paying would hold, and then we‘d go to the self check out. We’d scan and bag the items, pay for them without being asked for identification, and take our receipts before casually walking out of the store. Most of the time the mandatory store security guards at the entrances would thank us for shopping there and tell us to have a good night, and we always muttered to ourselves outside that we knew we would. It was either two or three boxes legally purchased from that store every time, but we usually ended up leaving without paying for three to six additional packs. That was the other beautiful thing about Albertson’s - they didn’t have any alarms at the doors.

We’d get in the car and leave the parking lot, all relieved and ready to do it again if we had to, and we‘d drive from the store into the residential areas until we met one very frequently used back road that would take us back up into Gilroy. More times than not the trip to Hollister wouldn’t have everyone who would be getting high later that evening, so it wasn’t uncommon for us to call whoever else would be coming with an update on the success of our latest run. It took about forty minutes to get into Gilroy, and from there, there were two ways to get to the shop in San Martin - we could either take the back roads further up and then turn right and go through about ten minutes of residential area before reaching the house we were going to, or we could follow a curve in the road that took us left and almost immediately into a shopping center that was conveniently located next to the highway. We usually went out to the highway; the ride on the highway probably takes just as long as the residential route, but being that our only driver was sixteen and still had six months before she could legally drive anyone under the age of twenty five, we weren’t willing to have one of the plethora of cops we knew were hiding in the back roads catch us. The highway was always a safe bet, because there was always somebody that would distract any officers from potentially seeing us - at any given time there was someone going twenty five over the speed limit. We’d take the San Martin Avenue exit and hang to the right, then following that road far down to the stop sign. Turn right, make another and then go to the back. There we’d be, parked in front of the shop, opening up the sheets of pills from the boxes and, on this night specifically, washing the tablets down with Martinelli's Apple Cider before going in and settling on the couches.

The reason why we were always calling that building “the shop” was because of something Liz said about how before her parents bought the house almost twenty years ago, the building behind the actual residence was only used for repairs and maintenance. The building was never meant for anything but that - one huge workspace, two small rooms, and an attic for storage. Even when Liz’s people had decided to remodel the inside to make it like a small living room, some of the cabinets stayed attached to the walls and the concrete floor was always frigid. Before her parents got divorced, her dad had a machine that he made his own bullets with out in the shop, and even though that machine had been gone for almost seven years, you’d find a stray bullet shell on the floor every now and then. There was never any insulation in the building either, so we were always keeping the windows shut and sitting close to each other on the couches in the shop, trying to stay warm with a space heater and blankets as the tablets dissolving sent chills up into our spines. On the nights we knew we were all staying, we’d set up the pull-out bed in one of the couches and push all three together, essentially making one giant bed with a few additional feet from a large couch and a loveseat. It was never really that comfortable to fall asleep out there, but when you’re in the process of coming down, you’ll take sleep however you can get it - especially when you‘ve been buzzed on cocaine for a good two days or so.

We had all been hanging out today because on the Friday that our winter break began, by seven that evening we all found out the majority of people we would’ve normally spent our time with were leaving either that same night or the next morning, the numbers split between school club trips and family outings. We were left to do whatever we could find to do in town, whatever wouldn’t bore the shit out of us. We didn’t have any finals to study for or essays for class to write; all we had to do was show up on a Monday that seemed much farther away than two weeks really is. But, that was good enough for us. The realization hit all of us right around the same time that maybe now we’d end up actually getting to know each other. We’d all met sometime before, whether through mutual friends or at parties or on campus. When we’d started getting high together, friendships formed, but for the sake of trying to keep what we did after school as a secret we didn’t all start hanging out immediately. So here we all were now, a few nights into our vacation without anyone to see. One text message was sent out, asking if someone was busy, and eventually everyone had settled on hanging out that evening. We’d made the trip to Hollister after meeting up and talking about if we only wanted to smoke that night; shortly after we were heading south on the highway.

None of us really knew each other that well, but over the night, as the dextromethorphan kicked in, we all started talking. That night, there were six people there - Milo, Liz, Regina, Anthony and Cynthia. Milo had turned seventeen in October and had moved a few months ago, but he was always visiting on weekends and he planned to stay up in town until Christmas Eve. Liz lived on the property we were gathering on; she was sixteen and a year ahead in school, planning on graduating a year early. Regina was mainly Liz’s friend; she and Liz went to the same private school before Liz transferred, also age sixteen. Anthony was sixteen and went to school in Gilroy, currently working at a juice store in the shopping center we’d pass through coming back from Hollister. Cynthia went to the same school as Liz but was failing out, working at a clothing store in Morgan Hill on seasonal hire. A little while after everyone had introduced themselves, Cynthia started getting nauseous, prompting Milo and Liz to go into the main house to get a garbage bag for her. While inside they grabbed pillows and blankets, and when she returned, Liz switched on the space heater and pulled it closer to the couches.

“It’s pretty fucking cold,” she muttered.

“It could be worse,” Anthony said. “It could be snowing.”

“Yeah, but it still sucks nevertheless. You know it’s cold when you’re indoors and you can still see your breath in the air.”

“Yeah, speaking of that, does that heater even work?” Milo asked, pointing to it.

“It should, but it’s not like it’s gonna start getting warm in here in a second, it’ll take a little while. It’s a big room, got to get warm in a lot of places before the heat stays stable. Know what I mean?”

“We got blankets though, it’ll be fine,” Regina said.

Suddenly we all heard a loud gagging noise, and we turned our heads to see Cynthia grabbing the garbage bag Liz had brought out. The sound of the black plastic bag holding in the clumps of vomit was fucking disgusting us, and Cynthia got up and went outside to throw away the puke. Unfortunately the walk took longer than she anticipated; she heaved up a little bit outside by the front door. We decided to take the attention away from the puking by putting on a movie, but none of us were really watching it - we all started talking to each other and eventually, we all lay down and tried to get some sleep.

But, before any of us could fall asleep, Milo picked up a bag he’d brought up to town and took out a small plastic bag. He pulled out a small paper plate that had ceran wrap over a bunch of tamales.

“My grandma told me to bring these up here to my aunt. She said that way we could have something to unwrap on Christmas,” he said.

Immediately Liz started laughing, followed by Cynthia. “Oh my god, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Liz said.

For whatever reason why, even though it’s been some time since this night passed, we all have the most trouble remembering it out of all the nights we’ve spent doing the exact same thing. We just attribute it to the fact that cough medicine makes your brain bleed, and we got high on that shit quite often.

Day 2.

We’d woken up between nine and ten in the morning, though Liz reported not being asleep until when the sun was starting to rise. Hungry and groggy, we cleaned up the shop and hid the dozens of cigarette butts lying on the ground in certain areas, sweeping up any left over ash in addition to folding up the blankets. We walked across the grass, so wet from morning dew that it soaked through our shoes, in Milo’s case sloshing around on his scandals. We went into the house and it was warm; Liz’s mom was up and had made pancakes and hot chocolate, so we got down dishes and started to eat. Liz took a shower before she ate breakfast.

After Liz dried her hair, we all piled into her car to take Regina home. We drove over Highway 152 into Watsonville, where we followed the crappy, beat up roads to Monte Vista Christian School; Regina’s mom was meeting her there. We waited for about fifteen minutes in the parking lot before Regina left, and when she did we went right back over 152 and made a turn onto Watsonville Road. We drove up into Morgan Hill and up to Cochrane Road, dropping off Cynthia at home because she had to shower and get ready for work. The rest of us drove around aimlessly for a little while before Anthony asked if we could go to some places he wanted to shop for Christmas gifts at. We got onto the freeway and headed for downtown Gilroy, eventually parking in front of a few antique stores.

Milo and Liz mainly just followed Anthony around. Anthony knew exactly what he wanted to get, but as went through three different antique stores, he was having a hard time finding any old cigarette cases; the closest we found were old makeup compacts. We then headed over far towards a corner of town, into the intersection we always met coming back from Hollister runs. We drove into a section of the Gilroy Crossings stores, specifically to some store that sold a lot of lotions and soaps. We ended up leaving there fairly quickly and rolling across the road to Walmart. We walked into the store and stayed to our right, almost immediately diving into the couch medicine aisle. Again there we were, reaching up over Sudafed and Robitussin and all the other packets on earth and grabbing our kind, only picking up three and then heading to the register. Oddly enough there was also a self check out at this Walmart, but when we scanned the boxes, a beeping noise went off in the register and the screen in front of us displayed a message saying to contact the nearest worker. An older woman came over and looked down at us, asking who was trying to buy. Liz raised her hand, and the lady asked her for ID. Liz kept completely calm; she naturally said that she hadn’t been driving and her ID was in her car at home, but she was paying with a credit card, “if that makes anything?” she asked. The lady looked at the credit card displaying Liz’s mom number and information, then put her store ID into the machine and allowed us to make the purchase. We scanned the card, Liz signed the receipt in her mom’s name and we walked out the store without any problem.

We drove back to Liz’s house, the time now around four in the afternoon. We walked into their living room and we saw both Liz’s mom and sister sitting on the couch, looking through a box of Christmas decorations. Liz’s mom asked if we had eaten yet, and when we said no, she asked us to go out and pick up lunch for everyone. We drove up into Morgan Hill again and went to the Carl’s Jr. off of Dunne Avenue, then took the back roads back to San Martin. We came back and dropped off the food for everyone at Liz’s house in the kitchen before we went back into her room and watched some animated movie. We ate for a little while and then called Elise, a girl who everyone here was friends with. About twenty minutes later Elise came over and we all hung out in Liz’s room for a long time; Anthony got a phone call saying he had to go home shortly after, and Elise offered to drive him back. After they left, Liz and Milo got a call from Cynthia on the work number while she was on her break, asking if we all wanted to hang out again tonight and if she could bring her friend with her. We agreed, and so for the next few hours we spent our time going online and outside for small smoke breaks; we always smoked by the First Nativity decorations out on the front lawn.

Around eleven that night, Cynthia called us on a number none of us knew, saying she was lost on Foothill Avenue. We gave her the right directions here, and a few minutes later she and a mutual friend of Milo’s, Ed, walked in. Ed had picked Cynthia up from work to hang out, and well enough he only lived a few minutes down the road from Liz. With an extra packet of cough medicine because Anthony had left, we offered Cynthia and Ed some pills. They both took eight pills each, and within a few minutes we were all lying down on the couch, staring up at the TV, which happened to be playing some episodes of the show “Mindfreak.” Cynthia started going off about how hot she thought Criss Angel was while the rest of watched in horror as he was levitating around and doing other insane shit. The pills kicked quickly though, and by one we were all in the peak, tired and needing to sleep but not wanting to waste the good effects of what we’d had to go to extra lengths to get. Milo tried to stay awake but succumbed to sleep a few minutes into the fight and Liz spaced out, staring at the TV screen until her eyelids became heavy and she fell asleep. Before she had fallen asleep though, she’d noticed Cynthia and Ed started disappearing for long periods of time and then reappearing on the floor. Cynthia told us in the morning that Ed finally went home around four that morning.