“Dammit, Terri, you don’t need another pack of menthols.” Terri put the packet of cigarettes back in her cardigan and straightened out her paisley minidress. She sucked in the acidic smoke, feeling it curl into her bloodstream. Not as relaxing as whisky, but what else was she supposed to do? She breathed the plume out through her nostrils, like a dragon. She drummed her claw-like hot pink talons on her breast pocket, over the carton. Her ex thought her nails were sexy but after finding Terri’s secret scotch, she dumped her. Since then, Terri devoted herself obsessively to keeping her nails immaculate. “Wow,” she said. “A fag who hates fags.” Terry shifted in place when she said that, stretching his crisp blue button down over his torso. He’d been eating well and exercising, and it showed. He cast his eyes down at the floor, which was something he always did when Terri decided to be, well, Terri. Why did she do this to him? She loved this Mormon-looking little guy - she just didn’t like that when he decided to go all tough-love, he’d wind up bringing her to a meeting in the most bizarre places. She’d rather be in a church basement, if anything – and she hated churches. If she was going to surround herself with lushes, she at least wanted to be chic, and not a stereotypical thirty-something washup. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it. Just miss her is all.” Terry looked back up at her and gave her a soft smile. “I know,” said Terry. “But they say that shit kills you.” “Yep.” She threw the cigarette on the ground, rolling and grinding over it with her brand new hot pink rollerskates. It was odd enough Hartzfeld’s was selling these old-fashion types, but it seemed like all the younger people were going nuts for throwback items, flocking to the store when they started selling them. She had had a pair very similar to these in high school, and part of her still longed for that era, especially when dreary fog crept in from the Pacific. She honestly was grateful for Terry. He took her hand, and they rolled through the shopping aisles together, sneaking around employees. Two little lushes, one of them in leopard print rollerskates, the other in hot pink. Two queer peas in a pod, she thought, on unstoppable wheels. --- Terri and Terry had started drinking together in high school. One day, when they got back home from school, the two of them discovered a flask of whisky that Terry’s mom had stashed away. They rolled around the living room together on matching rollerskates, taking swigs, and gossiping about Terry’s secret “friend.” Whether it was from the motion or too much alcohol, Terri suddenly pitched over the living room couch and vomited up a foamy puddle. She convinced herself it was due to all the Oreos and peanut butter they ate. After all, they had dug into a whole package of them that Terry secreted away in a sock drawer, far from the prying eyes of his judgy mom, who constantly reminded him of how chubby he was. But as the months and years passed, and their boozy binges got worse, it was clear to Terri that the Oreos had never been the problem. --- “Your threads are outta sight!” “What?” said Terri. She had finally gotten the wheels off her new skates and wasn’t expecting this twenty-something-year-old to pop out of nowhere, her vest fringe fluttering. The girl giggled at her. Ugh, thought Terri. I thought hippies only liked weed and LSD. “I said I dig your style!” she answered. “And I got a pair of skates like that, too!” She then proceeded to bend over and rummage through her boho bag, pulling out some rollerskate wheels. The girl attached them to her boots with lightning speed and grinned up at Terri, who suddenly realized that one leg of her bell bottoms was stuck under the wheels. “My aunt had these since middle school!” she continued. The girl tripped on her pants, and Terri steadied her, narrowly avoiding a face full of her armpit hair. She had to fight the urge to smack the clumsy out of her or at least tell her to just trim your hair and put some damn deodorant on already. Terri felt more and more like these meetings were basically baby-sitting jobs for newly-sobers. When did they start getting so young? And so smelly? It felt like all of Berkeley smelled like armpit these days. Terri looked around the room, desperately searching for Terry. She found him in the corner, simultaneously balancing himself against a wall and detaching the wheels from his brand-new rollerskates. Before the girl could continue her inane story, Terri raced over to him. “A fucking Hartzfeld's basement?” Terri said to him. “What the-“ “Calm down.” “Are there at least some snacks?” “Um…coffee, tea, crackers …” Terri sighed, rolling her eyes. “Outta sight.” “…and Oreos!” He grinned at her and pulled a small jar of peanut butter out of his satchel, followed by two spoons. She was still new to meetings, and it brought her incalculable comfort seeing that jar. He still remembered, after all those years? Terri felt her eyes water. “I love you so much,” she told him. “I know.”