Hazy Daze eNtRy 3

I was the youngest kid to hang out with our crew. My best friend Stan, was a little older and everyone else had at least a few years on us. I got messed with a lot… mostly in a little brother type of way… it wasn’t tormentingly cruel. I was all heart, but squishy as hell. If I did finally get mad enough to do something… I mostly ended up just flailing my arms, and getting knocked on my ass.

They would lock me out of the house until I did the “truffle shuffle” or drive by my house on purpose, because they knew I wasn’t allowed to ride in cars. One time when we were really high, they even pushed me out of the car at a known kkk house, and drove off down the road.

Yeah they were dicks, but I was just a kid, I was happy to participate in the mischief. As a kid, that all kinda just comes with territory.

Stan towered over me at 6 foot, something inches. He had bleached blonde hair, giant hoop earrings, and always felt like it was an appropriate time to scream something obscene, or whip his dick out… no matter where we were. He was pretty well versed in the “fuck you” philosophy, you really never knew what you were going to get with him. He had two older brothers, and two older sisters. They were all pretty wild… but no one was as wild, and as unpredictable as Stan.

On any given night, whether it was just me and Stan, or a group of us… we would just be chillin on the porch smoking, or driving around with one of his siblings. This night, it was just me and Stan. A cool summer night, and we were bored. Then Stan remembered that he had a couple hits of acid in his wallet. “Wanna try Lucy?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Acid dude!” It cost 10 bucks, I was broke but he knew I was good for it. So, nervous and unsure, I decided to give a try.

Stan pulled his wallet out and revealed what looked like two tiny square pieces of paper, with colors on them. “What the hell do I with it?” He told me to let it sit on my tongue for a bit and then swallow it.

Probably about 45 minutes to an hour later, I began asking when it would kick in, how was I supposed to feel? Stan busted out laughing, and then told me that it was fake. “You dickhead” My nervousness had now become disappointment, and we just started talking about something else.

A little bit later, Stan packed up a bowl, and after we smoked… told me he was going in, he had to take a shit. This kid always had to shit. He sprinted to the can, I headed home. My house was a little more than a quarter of a mile away. Straight to the end, and a few houses down to the left.

When I got about halfway down the road I began to notice that I felt a little funny, like the glow of the street lights, and the ambience of the night seemed more… grainy. I didn’t think much of it, we just smoked weed, I was probably just stoned. It started to feel like I had been walking forever, and I started watching the houses to my left. “What… the…” I passed the same house… 1 time…2 times…5 times!!

Stopping in my tracks, it began to feel if I had been spun in circles. I turned around to see Stan’s house, it looked miles and miles away, as if I were looking through a telescope. Then turned to see the house at the other end of the road, same thing! I put my hands on my head… standing in place… feeling like I was on some kind of soul shaking, carnival ride.

Picture this chubby kid standing in the middle of the road, with his hands on his head, then bending down like he was going to lurch all over the pavement. And just like that it stopped.

I continued walking home, now feeling warm and gooey. Everything was noisy, pleasant, and interesting… like it was the first time I had ever heard the sound of leaves clamoring, slapping together in the breeze.

It seemed to have taken me hours to get home, and the dark house seemed darker than usual, as I stumbled and tripped over things, finally making it to my bed. I felt safer, but restless, looking around the room being swallowed by the black darkness.

I remember being enchanted by the blank ceiling, as if it was some extravagant piece of art, the kind you could climb into. I lay motionless, watching the ceiling fan spin… around… and around. For hours, my eyes chased the circular waves, and shadows cast by the fast moving blades, my face and head cooled by their breeze. It was nearly sunrise when I finally passed out. The thing is… I never had a ceiling fan.


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