Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

17. Nothing Like I Thought

At 10pm sharp, Patti's parents pick her up. Apparently, that's her curfew, a thing totally foreign to Moth, whose parents are still out with their friends when he texts them. "Give us 20 minutes," his mom texts him back, and since we are already outside, sitting on my stoop steps after saying bye to Patti, Moth and I decide to just sit and wait out there until his parents arrive. Honestly, it's better this way, so my mom doesn't feel like she needs to monitor us on the couch. I guess people never make bad decisions in the cold, but all sorts of debauchery happen on a couch. Whatever, though, I'm not mad about it. Just chilly.

We're all bundled up and the only heat we could possibly feel comes off our cheeks and maybe from the porch light above us. Winter sucks.

"So, do your parents go out a lot?" I ask him. My teeth chatter, but I try not to let my words change because of it.

"Oh yeah," Moth says, "they go out all the time. They have tons of friends and just have a good time. There are people over every weekend. My house is party central for middle aged folks."

I laugh. "Lucky you."

With my mom out of earshot and my curiosity peaked about Moth's whole deal, I see an opportunity to ask him about the thing that bothers me the most about Moth.

"Since your parents love partying so much, are they, like, mad about you smoking marijuana?"

He's not drinking or eating anything, but he starts coughing like he's trying to get something out of his throat, and then finally, his throat opens and he laughs. "First of all, no one calls it marijuana, unless they're a sixty-year-old PE teacher trying to talk about the dangers of reefer madness. Secondly, I don't smoke."

"Okay, stop lying."

"What do you mean? I really don't."

"What about your nickname?"

"Moth? It's short for Timothy. Right? Isn't it?"

He seems so clueless, but that could be his stoner nature. Unless he's telling the truth and he really isn't a stoner after all.

"Uh, no, it's not. I once heard someone explain it like that saying, 'a moth to a flame.' They were saying that any time someone, like, lights up, you're right there."

"Oh, well, yeah, that's true. But I never smoke with them. Well, that's not true, I tried it once, but I totally burned my throat. I couldn't sing for, like, two weeks after that. Plus, all it did was make me paranoid. It wasn't worth it."

"Then... wait, if that's true, then why do you always hang out with people who are smoking? Why even be around them?"

He seems offended and sort of tilts his head back in disbelief that I would even ask that. "They're not bad people."

"But they make bad choices."

"We all do. No one is perfect." It's weird to hear him without the normal easy-going tone in his voice. "I try not to judge people based on the choices they make that don't hurt anyone. If someone is hurtful, I don't want any part of that in my life. I spend time around those people, because sometimes I feel like they're the only honest teenagers. They just say what is in their mind without worry, and it's rarely ever hurtful. It's mostly contemplative and weird, and I love that. I wish more people would judge less, especially when it came to themselves."

I take a few moments to process what he's just said. He isn't a stoner after all, and the only reason he's a "moth to the flame" is because people are too fake these days. He's right. Hardly anyone allows themselves to be honest anymore.