Beware of Love in Technicolor

by Kirstie Collins Brote

  Taking acid is sort of like taking your brain to Disneyland. You spend the entire time moving from one surreal ride to the next, with a lot of waiting in between. You finally understand why the Cheshire Cat can’t stop smiling.

  There are a few moments from that night, however, that I will dredge up. Gratuitous or not.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The guys of Cloud 9 learned that night that they needed to communicate a bit more effectively in the future regarding the types of soirees they intended to throw. While John had come home handing out LSD to interested takers, Wayne had visions of kegs and girls. Jared and Ben were looking for some sort of combination of the two. And Aaron, well, Aaron was unaccounted for, as usual.

  It was still early when John’s bedroom door flew open and standing there was Wayne, his dirty blond hair pulled into a long ponytail. Following close behind him were three girls, with big, hairsprayed hair and excessive, poorly applied makeup. They stepped inside, the girls looking around nervously.

  We had probably been tripping for about an hour, so I was still trying to get accustomed to the rhythm and cadence of an acid trip. My mind felt only loosely tethered to my body, everything seemed sharper, in some way, and the walls had a subtle way of breathing in and out, in and out.

  John, Patrick, and Topher had been wrapped up in some conversation about cars. Patrick swore by his American, souped-up ‘77 Camaro back home in Maine, while John was a snob for European rides. Topher pointed out that his little Honda at home was the perfect vehicle for an environmentally responsible consumer. Not being much of a car person myself, I sat at the desk, hunched over and drawing an intense Crayola scene of fire and brimstone on a piece of printer paper.

  When Wayne and the Big Hair Girls entered the room, they interrupted John’s rant about the elegance of German engineering.

  “Hey guys,” Wayne said with some hesitation. He looked from John to the rest of us. “I was just giving these ladies a tour of the house. They’re here for the party.”

  “Well, here’s my room,” John said abruptly. The girls looked nervously around. It was obvious they were starting to discover they were in over their heads.

  “Good god, you guys,” Wayne said, snapping on the overhead light. “It’s dark in here.”

  “Carnation pink!” I exclaimed as my eyes adjusted to the bright light and I got a look at my drawing. “I just did this whole drawing in carnation pink.”

  I looked up quickly and brushed the hair out of my eyes. I looked around the room.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Topher asked.

  “It changes everything!” I cried out with more emotion than the situation merited.

  The three guys burst out laughing at me.

  “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” Topher said to the room, and nobody in particular, but I knew he was talking to me.

  “All About Eve!” I cried out, standing up and raising my arms in an exaggerated V-is-for-Victory motion. The two of us, alone in our joke, giggled and snorted.

  “I think we’ll move along,” Wayne said, ushering the Big Hair Girls out of the doorway and back to the basement stairs.

  “Bye!” I sang out absently, pulling a new crayon out of the box I had left in John’s desk when he moved in. “That was weird,” I heard one of the girls say to the others.

  I had to laugh.

  ***

  It took the Big Hair Girls about an hour to wrangle themselves a ride back to campus via the university organization, SafelyHome. But not before they chipped in for a keg. And not before Aaron, the roommate I have yet to introduce, came bursting into the living room through the sliding glass doors.

  I was in my familiar perch on the pappasan chair, staring at the girls who were huddled together on the sketchy sofa. In my lap sat Ahab, a neighborhood cat who had taken a liking to this strange group of guys who fed him cans of tuna fish out on the deck. Ahab was a good cat, big and lazy, with stripes of black and gray, and white paws. The kind of cat who appreciates a warm lap and a little baby talk. The kind willing to reward his admirers with a loud purring sound deep in his throat. In my trippy, dreamy state, he was the perfect companion.

  A few more people had funneled into the house at this point, and were milling about in the kitchen and up and down the halls. Hippies, accustomed to funky smells and the presence of recreational narcotics. I sat there, stroking the soft fur along Ahab’s back, observing, but saying nothing. Wayne had all but disappeared on the girls, having fallen prey to the allure of those little squares of paper printed with purple elephants.

  ‘What’s your cat’s name?” one of the girls asked me.

  Okay. Conversation. Yeah, I could do that.

  “He’s not mine,” I answered, scratching Ahab under his chin. He closed his eyes and continued his rattly purr. “The guys call him Ahab, or Captain Ahab, but nobody knows his real name.” The three nodded in unison. There was a pause.

  “I like your boots,” one of the others said to me.

  “Thanks,” I answered. Another awkward pause. I looked the three of them over. The LSD caused my vision to jump and twitch a bit, painting a smudgy, pulsating, overly made-up image of trying-too-hard in front of me. It was obvious they had spent a bit of time getting ready for this party. I had an almost overwhelming urge to conduct an emergency round of guerilla makeovers. Or unders. I at least wanted to tell them that white tights need to be left to little girls and nurses.

  “Do you live here, too?”

  Damnit. They were determined to talk to me.

  “No,” I replied quickly. “I’m just one of the girlfriends. Technically, I live in Bristol, on campus.” The mention of campus seemed to excite them the way the word “treat” excited Ahab.

  “We live in Harrison,” one of them said. “We ended up in a triple, and can you believe we all get along?”

  I gave a short laugh, and nodded. They all fell silent again, each one nervously pulling at her skirt, or twirling her permed hair around a finger. The leader kept a constant eye out the window for their ride back to normalcy.

  “Can I give you some advice?” I finally felt so bad for them I couldn’t stand it. Tripping, it seems, triggers some need in me to connect with people. They all nodded, and waited for what I had to say.

  “You guys were expecting a much different kind of party, correct?”

  Before they could nod their heads in agreement, the sliding glass door flew open, and into the room tumbled Aaron, two of his buddies, and three very tall marijuana plants. People froze in their space, eyes on the spectacle in the center of the room. Aaron popped up onto his feet, shook out his spiral-curled hair, and looked around.

  “Wow, there’s a lot of people here,” he stated. He received a round of applause from the crowd.

  I looked back at the girls. They looked back at me. Somebody put some music on the stereo, and the party continued along on its bumpy way.

  “As I was saying,” I laughed. “This isn’t what you expected.”

  They nodded, with a look of relief washing across their made-up faces.

  “You should probably stick to Frat Row,” I said. “Or Temple Road, where the sports teams have their houses, if you’re not into the Greeks.”

  Again, they nodded like a row of bobble head dolls.

  “Your ride’s here,” I said, noticing the glare of headlights sweep across the room and back out into the driveway outside. They jumped up, said a quick good-bye to me, and dashed out the door and into the night. Ahab jumped out of my lap and darted outside just behind them, leaving me alone in the corner of the room.

  ***

  At some point, I reluctantly peeled myself out of the comfy chair, knowing that within seconds, somebody else would claim my favorite spot in the room. John and Topher were hanging out in the kitchen. We had lost track of Patrick some time ago. Our wandering friend. We always lost track of him at parties.

  I wandered through the kitchen. Topher was deep in conversation wit
h a very blonde hippie chick in a thick, purple sweater and long braids. I took the baseball cap off his head as I walked by, and put it on my head. He noticed, smiled, and went back to his conversation. I continued on my way, floating from room to room. John had stumbled into Jared’s bedroom a few minutes before me. He looked up from his seat on a wobbly stool.

  “Hey Sweetness,” he said, his eyes dilated to the point they appeared black.

  “You look like a demon,” I stated without thinking.

  “Sometimes I feel like a demon,” he responded.

  “Always so cryptic,” I volleyed back. He grinned.

  “You having fun?” he asked. Jared sat down at his desk chair across from John and placed a game box down with a thud on a small table between them.

  “You wanna play RISK with us?” John asked me.

  In my highly attuned state, I caught the sneer Jared threw John’s way. He always teased John the most about being “whipped.” With the way I’d been feeling lately, I might have taken him up on his offer to play, just to piss off Jared. But on that night, I didn’t care for any of that. And I certainly didn’t care for the game of RISK, or the commitment it took to conquer the world.

  “Nah, you have fun,” I said to him, adding, “Just remember, never get involved in a land war in Asia!” And then I wandered back out of the room.

  I thought about using the bathroom, but then I looked inside and decided against it. My body felt far away anyway, and so it didn’t bother me. Nothing bothered me. The walls were breathing and the music was seeping in through my pores, Bob Marley, mostly, with some Phish and Grateful Dead tangled in. I heard once that reggae music is set to the rhythm of a human heartbeat. I don’t know if that is true, but that night, I did notice that the entire party took on one vibe, one personality, when reggae was played on the stereo. In and out, in and out. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  I poked my head into Ben’s room, but it was empty. I looked around. It was neat, with the bed made and no laundry scattered on the floor. I passed a few people in the hallway, people I did not know, and continued back through the kitchen. I slid open the doors and stepped out onto the deck where it felt cold, and I was happy for the crisp smell of a clear night in the late September air. Out there in the woods, a million stars twinkled like pinpricks of hope in the dark fabric of night. But they were very, very far away.

  “Greer? Is that you?” I heard someone say. I jumped about two feet in the air.

  “Jesus Christ! You scared me!” I exclaimed. I turned around on the deck and looked down the stairs. Ben was sitting by himself in the dark.

  “Sorry,” he said. “What’s up? How’s your trip?”

  “Pretty good, so far,” I answered. I walked down the steps, careful not to trip in a different sense, and sat down next to him. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out his features. I wish my words, my memories, could do him justice, because he was beautiful. Even in the dark.

  “How’s yours?” I asked. “Am I bothering you out here?” I suddenly realized he hadn’t invited me to join him. I felt self-conscious, and was glad for the darkness to hide my flushed cheeks.

  “No, no,” he said quickly. He put a hand on my knee, reassuringly. “I like it. I like that you’re here.”

  “Ok,” I said. I giggled a little. I couldn’t help it.

  “You are in the journalism program, right?” he asked me. He had removed his hand, and thankfully had ignored my schoolgirl giggle. He proceeded to tell me about how the communications major he was working on wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do with his education, and was considering a switch to journalism. I told him I was happy with my professors so far.

  We sat in the darkness for a few minutes, each of us quiet.

  “Do you remember how we met?” he finally broke the silence. I laughed at the question.

  “Of course!” I said. “First day of school last year. I wouldn’t have met John if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “Yeah,” he snickered. “Sorry about that.” We both laughed.

  “God, were you there for the whole puking thing, or did you miss that nightmare?” I thought back to move in day, and the drunk girl who I was sure I would never become. At least I had never passed out on the street with my dress pulled up to reveal my panties to anyone passing by.

  “What?” he asked, confused. “No, I must have missed that.”

  “You’re lucky. I wish I had.”

  Ben sat back, and the light from the deck above us barely caught him, and I could see him more clearly. When he looked at me, I could see how blue his eyes were. He leaned in toward me, but more in that close-talker way he had than in a seductive way. We were on acid, and any closeness developing between us was of the intellectual or emotional kind. Physically, my body had checked out hours ago, and was just sort of along for the ride.

  “Tell me the puking story,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really,” he stated. “You are the only person I can stand being around tonight, and I would really like you tell me the puking story.”

  “Is that why you’re out here by yourself?” I asked.

  “Yup,” he answered, sliding a little closer and leaning his head on my shoulder. “Now, Greer?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me the puking story.”

  ***

  By the time I got to the part where the drunk girl named Sandy was laying limp on the sidewalk in front of Wyndham Hall, sequin dress pulled up over her hips, frat boy companion desperate for a reason, an opening, to flee the scene, Ben was doubled over, laughing harder than I had ever seen him laugh. It was contagious, and it made me laugh, and when I described the scrunched up, it-smells-like-puke-in-here faces of everyone I passed on my long walk to the check-in table of The Pit, he draped his arm around my back, leaned in close, and let loose a howl of laughter so intense I thought we would tumble to the cement pad at the very bottom of the steps, wrapped up in one another.

  Instead, he pulled away and straightened himself up. We both pulled ourselves together, me straightening my hair, him just looking perfect there in the dark. Even the dark respected the fact that Ben was so good looking, he deserved to be seen no matter what the lighting conditions. I was noticing that on an acid trip, everything was a magnified version of what was normally comfortable in everyday life. Instead of running from them, from the strong emotions and memories and reactions, I found myself running toward the rush that came with really connecting with someone.

  ***

  Later that night, much later that night, John and I retired to his bedroom. Patrick was passed out in a pile of blankets and laundry on the floor in the closet. We figured Topher had found a similar place to bed down, somewhere on the premises.

  I slid off my boots, and placed them neatly on my side of the bed. I then sprawled out, on my back, with my eyes closed to the ceiling above. John lay down next to me, on his side, facing me. I opened one eye, and looked at him.

  “How are you doing?” he asked softly, brushing the hair out of my face.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Did you have fun tonight?” I asked. I felt like I had barely seen him.

  “I did. You?” he asked. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” I couldn’t tell if he was baiting me into a specific conversation, or just shooting the shit.

  “Definitely,” I said. I turned onto my side to face him. “But it’s not something I could do often, like smoking weed. Tripping is a whole day affair.”

  “And most of the night,” he smiled. My vision was still a bit wavy.

  “I’m so glad I know you,” he said, taking me by surprise. “Even if we never became more than friends, I would be very upset if I had never gotten to know you.”

  “How would you know, if you never knew?” I smiled gently, and gave his shoulder a gentle push.

  “Oh,” he stated, closing his eyes and nodding. “I’d know.” He opened his eyes, and grinned lik
e the devil. “You wanna get naked?”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, with a short laugh.

  “Good, because no offense or anything, but my body feels completely foreign and weird to me. I had to pee, for like, three hours, before I could finally remember to go.”

  “Empty body,” he said, knowingly. “Totally normal.”

  “The sun’s coming up,” I said, looking up. The head of the bed was pushed up against the one set of windows in the room, putting the windows right above us. With a bit of effort, I sat up and kneeled on my pillow. I rested my forehead against the glass, which felt cool and real. John hoisted himself up, and did the same.

  I’m not sure how long we remained like that, but we were both drifting along on our own faraway thoughts, when suddenly, and without warning, Topher’s face appeared only inches from ours, backlit by the pale light of the rising sun, on the other side of the glass.

  I cried out, loudly gasping for breath as I jumped back at least three feet.

  “Holy crap!” John yelped, also jumping backwards, but slightly off-center. He went crashing down on the floor, landing on his back. I didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. Topher was laughing wildly outside. I flipped him the bird. He disappeared as quickly as he had sprung up.

  John and I had just crawled back into bed and drawn the blankets up when Topher appeared in the doorway.

  “I’m lonely,” we heard him say. He walked toward the bed, noticing Patrick curled up in the closet.