web tracker


Tuesday, June 24, 2003
 
I Sit on Acid*
I'm drinking Red Stripe. I just finished reading a great post by the ever-impressive Mrs. Jules. It reminded me of this:

I was working at McDonald's. It was my senior year in high school. Now, I'd been curious about drugs because all my friends were doing them. So, it was kind-of timely and appropriate the way my friend, J., approached me with a proposition.

"Hey, man, remember that $5 I owe you?"

"Yeah . . ?"

"Well, would you be interested in a hit of acid? I have two, and I could give you one."

"Um, okay."

I think we made the official hand-off right there in front of the fry station.

A week or so later, my best friend (A.) and a couple underclassmen punk rocker/goths skipped school with me. We went to this girl's house; we'll call her Jen. Bored teenagers, parents at work, blah, blah, blah. I was on a mission. I dropped around 10 o'clock.

We hung at the house for a while. Nothing was happening.

"Dude, this isn't doing anything. We should go to J.'s house and tell him." J. was the guy who "sold" me the blotter. The fact that I didn't register that he was in school at the time should've been the first sign that I was on my way.

We piled in my car and drove to J.'s house, where I found myself face to face with his mother.

"Is J. here?"

"No, he's at school."

You probably get the feeling that I was (or am) slightly retarded. Well, perhaps.

We drove back to Jen's. I sat on the floor against the wall. I wasn't feeling strange. I was starting to get bored. My friends were running around the house, looking for ways to entertain themselves. I was about to become the entertainment, and I didn't even know it.

I stood up, and that's when it happened. It was like someone hit a switch, turning everything surreal. The ceiling was moving in waves. The room suddenly felt auditorium-sized. There was a lot of reverb on people's voices. I think I grabbed my head, closed my eyes, and yelled out an expletive (or two).

A. wanted to go to the store. I had the only car. A stick-shift that only I could drive. We went to a nearby (thankfully) convenience store. I stood drooling at the counter while A. went to get a couple 2-liters of Coke. The counter-person looked at me like I was retarded. (I was retarded, at the time.)

Out at the car, A. asked if he could drive. I threw him the keys. When we got in, I tried to explain how to drive a stick-shift. No luck. I drove us back to the house.

They ordered a pizza. They fucked with me. (I called my mom at work, and another secretary told me that she was away from her desk. When I got off the phone, A. said, "You just told whoever that was to 'fuck off!'") The pizza toppings taunted me. The butterflies on the shower curtain taunted me. The latticework on the wicker chair taunted me.

Around that time, our school was getting out. I was very open to suggestion, so they convinced me to go back to school to pick up some friends, which I did. I was probably peaking around this time.

Driving under the influence of hallucinagens is a bad idea. My VW Beetle was transformed into a bus. We picked up a girl and, I swear, she was sitting in the back seat 20 feet behind me. Cars were passing me in stop-motion. Somehow, we made it home alive. That's when I realized I had a guitar lesson that night.

I got out the music book to practice my jazz syncopation. Notes were moving all over the page. The neck of the guitar was rubber. I called my dad and told him that I wasn't feeling well and that we should cancel my guitar lesson.

I started to come down that evening. To help me through, I called my cheerleader ex-girlfriend to talk to me. But the best part was the waterbed.

My parents had bought me a super-single waterbed. I helped my dad put it together while I was coming back to reality. We filled it with warm tap water. We covered it with slippery, silver, satin sheets.

When I climbed into bed that night, it felt like a womb . . . safe, warm.

---------------

* "I Sit on Acid" is a song by the Lords of Acid. It will appear on the next mix CD in July . . . a dance/club mix. You should probably avoid doing acid, especially if you have things to do, or it's night time, or if you're doing it by yourself either alone or in a group of non-acid doers.

You should also avoid writing about acid while drinking Red Stripe.