The gas can is dirty, old. Red and yellow paint is fading from its frame. Metal gives way to rust at the corners. Its long silver spout stares back at me as Steve places it in my awkward hands. He smiles and laughs. He falls back against the dirt and rolls between the trees. Leaves and pine needles attach themselves to his hooded sweatshirt.

Nervously, I glance at the can again and look at Nate. He’s just awoken from his frolic on the ground. He motions for me to try it.

The spout is warm against my mouth—an instant reminder of those who’ve gone before. The fumes are overpowering. Just as I had watched Steve and Nate before me, I hold the ringed nozzle to my lips and breathe quickly in and out. The can expands and collapses with my lungs. A spurting wheeze erupts from an airhole on the other end; it hisses and growls at me with every breath.

I watch the can closely while I keep at it, just like the others had done. My knees begin to shake. My arms grow weak. Nate notices that I’m on my way down and he snatches the can from my trembling hands. As he pulls it away, I fall backward like Steve. The back of my head plows into the dusty earth below and I feel my eyes roll into the upper corners of my mind.

There are no trees now. No woods. Nothing surrounds me but light. I am one with the world. I can feel everything and nothing at the same time. I must be in another dimension—somewhere outside of life. It is euphoria.

I can’t stop my body from rolling about, flailing, writhing. My arms and legs no longer belong to me. A pulsating, vibrating ecstasy overtakes every faculty of my body. I want nothing more in life than to feel this way for all time. I feel an echo, then laughter, always joy.

I am thirteen and I just got my first lesson in huffing gas. It is magnificent.

Kenny Via is an aspiring author who drinks way too much and writes far too little. He’s hoping to change the latter someday.