by Micah Thomas
Henry nonchalantly got in the nearest idling sedan. He sat in the driver seat, mentally wobbly with a drunkenly slow thought process. He saw there was a purse in the passenger seat. Old instincts took hold and he emptied the wallet. Stuffing the bills into his pocket. He pulled the car around near the underpass and rolled down the window.
"Is this one of yours?" he asked in an oddly slurred voice.
A brave boy came running up to the window and grabbed what might have been his mother's purse from Henry's outstretched hand.
"Hey, I'm sorry."
The boy gave Henry the most hurtful look and ran back to the huddle. Henry shrugged and pulled away. There were no other cars on the highway, and no pursuing helicopters on the horizon.
"What the fuck just happened?" he asked no one in particular.
***
Laura and Cassie stumbled out into the night, laughing and dancing as they walked. The giddiness, the giggles, markers of the initial trill of a mushroom trip. After a single day of soaking in the festival, the party politics, body mods, and lifestyle artists no longer felt like alien territory to Cassie. Stress had melted off her as she unburdened her personal history into the feminine circle of Laura's friends. How much of this was being high, and how much of this was letting go of old wounds, and most importantly, would it last? She felt she really owed Henry a favor as the prime mover in a strange sense. Bad romances and sunburn, washed away in a flood of childlike expressive fun. And drugs! She hadn't done drugs since she was a teenager, and then it was just pot and sometimes fake pot. Two days of mushroom evenings and she wasn't even worried about it. Sharing felt so easy. Being vulnerable felt easy. Why wasn't this accepted therapy, she wondered more than once.
Laura had bartered for the use of bicycles for the evening, and they rode in a massive horde of freak flag flying cyclists in the night. It felt all the world like being in a colorful school of fish, a bird in a flock, grouping patterns and kites in formation, together they moved with an organic orchestration taking inspiration from nature. Cassie had not smiled so hard in years.
Tonight was the big burn, a fire show built around pyrotechnics and elaborate structures designed with the core intent to be consumed.
"I'm a little sketched out by explosions," Cassie said.
"I don't expect it to be as bombastic as a patriotic 4th of July. But if you feel triggered, we can totally go back to the tent," Laura said.
Laura's girlfriends, Jen and Kelly, had taken an interest in Cassie. Despite not being quite as maternally-oriented as Laura, they obviously got off on showing Cassie a good time.
"Last year oh my god, I don't know if it can be topped," Jen said with a sassy smile.
"Why?" asked Cassie.
"Yeah, why? Why don't you tell her why Kelly?" Jen teased.
"Ok, remember this isn't me. I'm a mom, I live in the suburbs. I'm a marketing director. Hold that image of a mild-mannered professional lady in your mind," Kelly explained.
"Got it," Cassie said.
"I had a little, tiny bit of ecstasy," Kelly said and held her fingers up to show how small it was.
"Oh shit!" Jen said, clearly loving this story.
"Shhhsh! So, I was feeling good. We had good cushion, soft blanket, and the fire began. I was mesmerized. It was so beautiful I started crying, and laughing, and some wire in my brain crossed in the middle of it and I started cumming. I, like, came hard."
"Did anyone notice?" Cassie asked.
"Not like anyone cared, but she started moaning like when Harry met Sally. It was fucking amazing and raw."
"In my defense, it wasn't just a sexual feeling. I felt like my heart was being touched by god and she, he, it, loved me," Kelly said with conviction and a smile.
Cassie had forgotten how good it felt to have girlfriends. The honesty and acceptance. She felt new, out of her lonely cave. She hadn't realized how isolated she had let herself become. Each minute with the girls was like drinking water on a hot day. She didn't care at all if she found Henry, in fact, she merely hoped he was safe somewhere no matter what he had done. She was tempted to tell her new friends about him, but not sure what she'd even say, even in this oasis of weird, talking about the supernatural, physical unreality, it's too crazy. She had even started to disbelieve her own story, replacing it with a logical explanation. There was just something crazy enough about it all though that when Laura offered mushroom tea again she accepted.
Laura was swaying her willowy body to the vaguely reggae drum circle, gesturing to Cassie to join her in the dance and she did. Moving felt so fine. She turned and turned, feeling the mushrooms kick in. The crowd gathered near the burn site and Cassie felt the art piece grab her attention and walked closer to it.
The burn construct was a kinetic sculpture twenty feet high, comprised of spinning geometry. Small interlocking pieces rotated in place, revealing interlocking design facets. The beauty was abstract and Cassie wondered what the deeper meaning was for both the designs and the eventual burning of this art work.
A burn tech working on the final setup saw Cassie's interest and caught her attention with a smile.
"It's the cosmology," he said.
"What?"
"The universe represented small."
"It's not that small," Cassie said.
He laughed, turned around and pulled up his shirt, revealing a large back tattoo that somewhat resembled the structure in overall design.
"It's this. So above, so below. The underworld at the bottom, these are planets, gods really, above that the land of the living and people, and above that, the heavens."
"I see," she lied.
He turned back to face her, "oh yeah? You do, right?"
"Everything except, why are you going to burn it?" Cassie felt an internal stutter to her speaking voice, and wondered distantly if the word were making it out of her mouth.
"It's the transformation of matter to energy. Everything is temporary, even the cosmos. We represent the entire shebang in ourselves, and when we die, we transform back and the cycle continues."
"It's symbolic. Yeah."
"Not just symbolic, it's happening, now. You catch the news today?"
"No. I didn't. I wasn't ready." That wasn't quite what she wanted to say.
"No one ever is. There's a change coming and it started in India this time. Like a new Jesus Christ. People are going to wake up. It's the noosphere, the Mayans got it wrong. It wasn't 1999, 2012 or 13, it's now."
He went on in loops of metaphysical discussion, laying out what he believed was the new world order or awareness and the utopia to follow. Cassie couldn't follow it, she thought maybe even if she wasn't high, but she was too high. She took a few confused steps back, looking for Laura, or Kelly and who was that other one? Then Laura called her over to the blanket, which Cassie had actually walked past. Cassie sat down with a plop, really feeling the mushrooms kicking in as she alternately gazed at the threads of the quilt as they undulated with a life of their own, and then looking back to the moving sculpture.
She saw movement of the spheres through their cycles in the quilt, and in a eureka moment, gazed at her hands and saw the same pattern there. It was in this distracted moment when the fire was lit.
She didn't see the burning construct. She saw, as from high above, a path through a dark forest, and at its end, a tree, and laying beneath the tree with his eyes closed, Henry. She floated down, drawn to him. Here, memory and sight overlapped and it was the gas station fire again, only different. The vulnerable and alarmed man lying in her lap, transformed into a being of light, a pulsing bundle of glowing fibers and light without edges, radiating along curves of the man shape and in its middle, a white-hot light, and she knew in the way you know things in dreams or on drugs, that this was the pulsating heart of a star. Suddenly she was aware of systems of interlocking rotation, fractals moving upwards and sameness in terrifying infinite complexity down as well. Her vision pivoted and she leaned protectively around Henry as she did once before,
as dark helicopter shapes in the sky came down like angry wasps. These burned away and he saw all of this and laughed, laughter mixed with tears.
***
Psychedelic drugs are weird. You go up with giggle, peak with some mind-blowing experience, settle at a cruising altitude of laughs and misunderstandings, then a come down eased with a joint, and if you're lucky, sleep once your approximate 8-12-hour trip is over. If you're less than lucky, you get a few sleepless come down hours characterized by mental chatter, distractibility, a sense of displeasure and shame, maybe some jarring self-doubts, and awareness that you have a lot of dirt under your fingernails. The morning after her trip, Cassie felt, for lack of a better word, cracked out. She'd been able to sleep, but wasn't sure about how she got back to Laura's tent, despite knowing that nothing really bad happened. She didn't really know how to categorize her recollections of the trip. There was a sense of the profound, some inchoate revelation, and also, a counter argument in the rational side of her brain that said, yeah, that's drugs for you. Setting aside those contemplation, she wanted to take a shower, and wished she had a change of clothes.
Laura was already awake and upside down, doing yoga on a mat outside the tent.
"Good morning, sunshine," Laura called to Cassie.
"Hey, good morning," Cassie voice was a croak, and her throat felt like she had spent the night smoking.
"Feeling ok?" Laura said, exiting her inverted pose.
"Is there a shower or anything like that?"
"Oooh, well, yeah, but you might not like it. Let's see if it's still up. A lot of people are starting to pack out. Speaking of which, are you still ok to give me a ride?"
"Um, what?" Cassie asked.
"I know its poor form to hold anyone to anything they said under the influence, but I came in with Liz in her van, and she's decided to go on to Oregon with a group. And you said, since we're both from Phoenix..."
Cassie thought about it for a second and it did sound familiar and it would be a long lonely drive.
"Yeah. It's totally fine. There’s, like, an off chance that my boss will ask me to make a detour, but I think I might be fired so, sure. I'd love to have a copilot."
"Thanks," Laura said enthusiastically as she grabbed a towel and together started out for the showers.
Despite the obvious collective camp hangover, there really wasn't much of a mess. Cassie was impressed by the responsible aftermath, in that it looked nothing like fair grounds after a concert. People smiled, braided hair a bit undone, glow in the dark makeup and paint, a bit rubbed off, but mostly a cheer attitude abounded. There was an area designated for clean water, signs posted warning about grey water.
"Hey, are the showers still running?" Laura asked a man who was busy bundling up hoses.
"Oh man, the tank went dry last night, but hold on a minute. There might be something we could do," he said and darted off.
Cassie said, "You know, Laura, I really want to thank you for taking me in and showing me a great time. I don't know what I'd have done without you."
"I'm happy I met you, too," Laura replied with a brief hug.
Cassie felt a sudden ping in her head, not a sound as much as a flash of light, an imagined sound, and an image from her trip. Fire, it seemed to say. Burn. Combust. Followed by rapid repeat of escape, escape, escape. She put her hand to her head and closed her eyes.
"Cassie, are you ok? Have some water."
The message was over in an instant, and Cassie assured Laura, "No, I'm fine. Just, I don't know. Is it too early to be having flashbacks?"
Laura laughed and the water man came sprinting back.
"It's not ideal, but I have something for you. Come on," he said.
Almost concealed behind a camper on one side, and facing the vast open desert on the other, was a clear plastic box, not much larger than the now entirely obsolete and almost forgotten phone booths of the recent past. The contraption was ingenious. The top was loaded with water, and the shower ceiling was a series of drip holes and pour spouts. For Cassie, though, there was the small matter of total exposure.
"We just filled the water with what we had left. It's not pressurized and the temp is pretty much air temp, but it's clean," he beamed at Laura and Cassie.
"Thanks!" Laura said and tossed Cassie the towel.
Cassie got in, stripped off her clothes, feeling doubly naked and yet, no one was gawking, not that there were many people within line of sight of the shower anyway. She turned and looked instead at the desert and mountain range. It was beautiful and how many times do you get to be naked in nature like this anyway? The shower's operation was simple: pull a string and you get drops, pull a lever and you get a pour. There were hotel sample toiletries on the floor and Cassie chose one that smelled nice like citrus.
She closed her eyes as she lathered her hair with the soap, and she felt that ping again. This time, she felt something else with it, a sense of Henry, like when she used the planchette at the flea market. She couldn't shake it. She felt some connection to him. He seemed closer now. She had some picture of him in her mind, but no idea where he was. He was heartbroken. She knew that, too. Could he sense her? Maybe it was the environment of love, acceptance, and trippy thoughts, but she thought, "fuck it," and sent him good feelings, wherever he might be.
She rinsed off, dried quickly, and put her clothes back on. Laura was back at the tent, breaking it down with her friends, Jen and Kelly, helping.
"Time to head back to reality," Jen said to Cassie.
Cassie nodded and wondered what that reality might be. Time to go home? Maybe make some changes.
She and Laura waited in the parking lot for a while. Laura smoked a cigarette and Cassie bummed one.
Laura asked, "Expecting someone?"
"Not really," Cassie said.
The dicks just weren't around and she didn't have a cell signal, so what? She wasn't sure if she was still being followed by Don and Peter, or if she even cared anymore.
***
Erik knew, even while in the moment, that he'd be reliving his departure with Cynthia for a long time.
"I know for a fucking fact that most sheeple can't even get past the shades, let alone get to the path. What the fuck?"
"As I said, you'll be compensated for this effort. There were no promises that the program work would continue for you."
"That's some bullshit. I was there. I saw things. It's not my fault that you got me too high to operate. I could've made contact."
"You were there, true enough, but your 'friend' was not. Also, you were begging us to pull you back each time. Do you want to see the tapes? This was a provisional offer."
"No, I don't want to see the goddamn tapes. I can't believe you are doing this to me again."
"Think of this, you get to go back to your intercepting, your cat, your video games. And you won't have to see me again."
"Yeah. Fuck you, too."
I don't need them. Fucking bitches. They will be sorry. I'll make them sorry. On his way out of Black Star, he closed his eyes and for an instant, he was there again, able to see the path, with the shadow shade behind him. Can they reach me even now? The drugs have almost no half-life in the system. What is this? I'm not even trying.
A voice inside his head, not even a voice, a non-symbolic thought, a presence, a ping on the radar, a mental reminder, he's not alone anymore. There was a pain in his chest and he was falling, tripping on the sidewalk like a drunk. Black Star security offered to help him up, but he refused it. There's something else out there that wants him, wants him to find it, and together, he gets the sense, they will get the fire back and they will burn.
Fuck them. Fuck everyone. These thoughts were a wish, but he felt such hope, but first he had to get away. The Black Star van would take him back to his apartment, and they would have their eyes on him, but not like last time. They think he's all used up, but they are wrong, again so wrong about him.
When he got home, he laid in his bed, and wished his head wa
s in the right place to meditate. He actually missed his meds, and thought that might be withdrawal. His ass hurt where he fell and bodily sensations, an itchy nose, hungry belly, kept his mind distracted. If only he had an ampule of the Black Star cocktail, even a small dose. He tried to recall the way, the path, the way the breeze felt in the dark.
"Help me!" he shouted in his mind. "I need you." He focused his call inward and let his psychic anguish push away the body. He imagined himself standing in darkness. Recited his own mantra of half-baked video game esoterica lore. A clench in his gut and he was there. Pulled maybe more than halfway by this force.
The fear came on strong and instant. There was someone else in his head. Someone that talked only in feelings and images, without words. The path and violation, the path and outsiders, and dread and rage.
"Oh god. Don't hurt me," Erik thought, feeling feeble and weak.
The presence replied with a gushy, lovey feeling towards Erik, special, it seemed to say, you are special. We are the same it seemed to convey.
"What do you want?"
Erik felt the dread intensify as his mind broke into a complete panic. He could visualize the fingers, hard as bone, gripping his shoulder, embracing his midsection. The presence replaced his vision with gruesome scenes of tearing flesh, of hammers clanking into skulls, and laughter, horrible horrible laughter.
The pain passed and he found he could move around his apartment again, though every so often he was awash in the horrible thoughts. He didn't want to play video games anymore, porn bored him, and generally every thought about his life prior to this day was colored by disgust. His failed attempts at courting women, only to be friend-zoned so hard that he'd come to hate them. Resentment piled on top of rejection. His parents had been a couple of normies, drones of a work-a-day dad and a closet drunk mom. They sniveled and took what life gave them, and never once supported their only child's ambitions. He'd wanted to be a teacher, wasn't that cute? Dumb cunts. He had been so damned beta that it made him sick. And that fucking cat. Why had he been soft for that retarded animal? He had an image in his mind, there's more than one way to skin a cat it said. Erik was temporarily shocked by his own dark turn of imagination. In a fleeting moment of humanity, he quickly opened the door and gathered up his cat, Mr. Sassafrass. The cat squirmed in his arms and tried to scratch him. Erik felt the urge to twist its neck, to grind its face into the carpet, but instead, put the cat outside and released a deep breath. Fuck. "There's going to be collateral damage, for fucking sure, but not that one," he said to the presence inside.
