My college friends used the phrase "a little sketchy" to describe Josh, but it was widely known that he had the best weed at the school. This was back when weed was hard to get, and good weed was even rarer.
The first time I met him, it was all business. I went to his dorm room, with its requisite tapestry hanging on the wall and silk covered lamp casting a purple hue about the space. I sat on his desk chair while he rummaged for "the goods" and after some minimal small talk the transaction was made. I didn't immediately detect anything about Josh that might have warranted his reputation of being sketchy, except of course that he was selling drugs.
I'm taller than average, maybe 6'2 with shoes on but Josh was a full head taller than me and stocky. Maybe even a little pudgy but overall he came across as just a "big dude." His manner was calm and pleasant, all smiles under a light mustache. He had just the faintest glint in his blue eyes that belied his grin and hinted at something volatile.
The second time I bought from him, he made a little more conversation. He asked about my friends, what my major was, whether I had a girlfriend. When I told him I didn't, he cocked his head and asked, "Why not, a smart kid like you? Are ya gay or something?"
Momentarily taken aback, I replied "Oh, no. Just... looking for the right girl, you know." That was the extent of our conversation and I went on my way.
Over the next few months I would come by periodically and buy more weed. Each time we chatted for a few minutes and started to build a rapport. I wouldn't say we were ever friends and though I occasionally saw him elsewhere around campus, we didn't otherwise interact.
On a warm day in the Spring, I went to make a purchase from Josh after finishing a tennis match. Josh was sitting in his desk chair, and he motioned for me to sit on his bed. I always felt uncomfortable sitting on another person's bed, like it was a further invasion of their private space, but it was the only place I could sit in his room other than the floor.
Tentatively sitting on the edge of his bed in my nylon tennis shorts and t-shirt, I was subject to the usual small talk as he rummaged through his backpack for just the right ziplock bag. What did I think of Professor So-And-So? Wasn't the food at the dining hall terrible? Had I been to any of the frat parties last weekend?
As we chatted and Josh rummaged through his backpack, something metal fell out of the backpack and hit the floor with a clank. After staring at it for a moment, I realized it was a pair of handcuffs. I was no expert, but they looked like they were real, not the toy kind some people mess around with.
Josh paused his rummaging and stared down at the handcuffs on the floor at his feet. "Well damn," he said after a moment. "I forgot those were in there."
An awkward silence passed as we both regarded the handcuffs on the floor. Eventually Josh reached down and picked them up, the metal clinking as the chain between the cuffs passed through his fingers.
I was transfixed, my eyes locked on the metal cuffs. They were so incongruous with the rest of the situation.
What does he need those in his backpack for?
I found myself wondering.
Josh noticed me staring, and after a moment he remarked with a sarcastic smile, "What, never seen handcuffs before?"
"No," I said quickly, then "I mean yeah, just not this close before." I couldn't figure out what was happening exactly, but I was strangely fixated on the gleaming metal cuffs.
"Huh," Josh said thoughtfully. He was holding the pair of cuffs in one hand, sliding the metal back and forth between his fingers. After another awkward moment, he continued slowly, "Want to try one on?
He held up one cuff, letting the other dangle from the short chain. I was so flustered by the question, I immediately blurted out, "No. No, I don't think so."
We sat for another silent moment, me perched uncomfortably on the edge of Josh's bed wondering how to extract myself gracefully from this strange situation; Josh leaning forward in his chair, staring intently into my eyes.
That mischievous gleam was in his gaze again as he said quietly, "You don't think so... but maybe... you're curious what it feels like? Have you ever been arrested?"
"No never," I said earnestly. Then, "But I really have to get going."
But I didn't move. Something in my brain was keeping me from bolting for the door, some deep part of me that was just a little curious what a handcuff might feel like.
I stared at the floor, and after yet another long moment of silence, Josh said again, "So, want to try one on? Just one."
I said nothing, but slowly nodded my head. Josh scooted his chair toward me so that our knees were almost touching, then reached slowly forward as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. I felt the cool metal touch my wrist, and as he pushed the cuff against my skin, I felt it snap around my wrist.
"There," he said soothingly. "Not so bad, is it?"
"No," I admitted. I looked down to see the steel cuff wrapped around my wrist, the other cuff still in Josh's hand. The cuff on my wrist felt strange; not uncomfortable but completely foreign. I twisted my wrist around, finding that the metal pushed into my skin at certain angles.
