Lazarus

"Oh no! I think it's dying!"

"Maybe it's just tired?"

"Tired?"

"...Or out of battery? Can we change the battery?"

Four of us are in my room, sitting in something that resembles a circle, passing a pipe around. I've turned out the overhead fluorescent lights, opting for a scattering of paper lanterns that leave the room dim. All the better to admire the official water cup. I bought the cheap, plastic toy at a rodeo a few weeks previously. The LEDs in the base, which light up and spin around, entranced me. It quickly became a staple of smoking sessions in my room. Everyone had to drink out of it and anyone who couldn't was deemed too stoned to smoke anymore.

Now it was dying.

"There must be a battery."

"I doubt it. A new battery would probably cost more than the cup itself."

"Easier to replace, though."

"Let me see it." Our friend, nicknamed Jesus in honor of his long curly hair, large nose, and commitment to the vegetarian lifestyle, right down to his hemp shoes, picks the cup up and starts to turn it over.

"Wait! Dump it in the sink first."

"Good call."

It takes him a few tries, but Jesus is ultimately able to stand and carry the cup over to the sink, where he empties it. He turns on the light and unscrews the bottom of the cup. The rest of us watch for a few tense moments, while he fiddles with the electronics that have been revealed. Before long the cup is lighting up again, and we cheer.

He refills the cup, turns out the bright light, and returns to his place in the circle.

"It lives!"

"Jesus brought it back to life."

"So it's Lazarus?"

"Yes!"

"Henceforth the stoner cup shall be known as Lazarus."

I hold the cup up, then take a sip and pass it to the left. Everyone does the same, and I pass the pipe along behind the cup. Then I dissolve into giggles, and the rest of my friends follow suit.