Vapor VibeThere was something almost endearing about him, th..

Vapor Vibe

There was something almost endearing about him, this military guy who found his way into my space whenever he had a moment off. He’d burst in already halfway through a thought, barely a greeting before he launched into one of his endless streams of conversation. It was as if he’d been holding it all in and I was the only place he felt safe enough to let it spill over. Maybe he didn’t get much time to himself; maybe he’d forgotten how to share silence. Either way, his presence was a whirlwind constant, relentless, and strangely comforting.

He’d pace as he talked, back and forth across the room like a caged animal, his mind racing faster than he could walk. Clothes came off in layers as he moved, a shirt tossed here, shoes kicked off there, as if the conversation itself was warming him up too much to keep anything on. I watched this ritual unfold each time, his words tumbling out like a broken faucet, hardly waiting for acknowledgment. Questions left unanswered as he’d pivot to the next subject without missing a beat. If I didn’t know he was clean for duty, I’d think he was on something; so much energy, so much to say.

He had this peculiar tick of undressing and redressing, cycling through layers until he’d finally strip down completely. Each article of clothing discarded felt like it brought him closer to whatever sense of peace he was searching for. His vape pen never left his hand, and he’d take deep, deliberate inhales , releasing these enormous billows of vanilla scented vapor that hung in the air like thick, ghostly reminders of his presence. I’d watch the vapor swirl and settle, the room filling with a strange mix of his essence and the sugary scent, feeling almost frozen by the ritual.

Finally, when he’d exhausted every tangent, every stray thought he needed to release, there’d be a brief pause. That’s when he’d come to me, his chatter finally ceasing. He’d climb onto the bed, pulling one of my oversized basketball shorts over his head, burying himself in the fabric like it was his sanctuary. It was like he needed that silence, that place to escape into after unloading everything on his mind.

In those quiet moments, with his face pressed against me, the only sound was the faint hum of his vape pen as he’d take a drag, releasing another wave of dense, white smoke. The contrast was strikingly loud, frantic energy that had filled the room moments before now dissipated, replaced by a profound stillness. He found comfort in the ritual, in the closeness, and I’d let him, knowing this was the calm he sought after the storm of his words.

And as we lay there, the last remnants of smoke swirling in the air, I couldn’t help but hope that the residue of his vape wouldn’t bring any unforeseen harm to my nuts. For now, though, it was just us and the silence he craved, a fleeting peace that, for him, was enough.