My First Trip

My First Trip - MMMC #184


It was a beautiful spring Sunday in 1969. I was in my junior year at Charlotte Hall Military Academy. Newt said he would have some LSD for us to try. He promised to be back early Sunday AM. We would have the whole day to trip.

Other than morning mess and church formation, cadets pretty much had Sundays to themselves. Sundays at Charlotte Hall were some of my fondest memories of high school.

A popular activity for the cadets still on campus was to take a blanket from their footlocker and spread them at the fringes of the pucker brush behind the New Barracks. Someone would throw up a window and turn their stereo up to wow. Good times. Other than some tight ass Officer of the Day pulling a recon and sneaking up on us from behind to break our balls, we could get away with almost anything.

Stuck on campus on a Sunday lent itself to all manner of rule breaking. We smoked cigarettes. We blasphemed. We smoked pot. We blasphemed some more. We drank what alcohol was available and blasphemed a lot. We huffed Carbona, a spot remover we bought at the campus PX.

Today four of us would experience LSD for the first time.

After collecting payment, Newt handed each of us a hit of Strawberry Fields. They were small little red pills. He called them “microdots”. I remember a heated discussion over the size of them. Snake claimed his cousin had Orange Sunshine for cheaper and the pills were much bigger.

Newt said nothing except, “Drop the pills boys. You’ll be fine in forty-five.”

It was all very ritualistic. Each of us lifted the pills like glasses ready to toast. Newt spewed some hippie mumbo jumbo and we each swallowed our pills.

Newt was wrong. I was fine in 30 minutes. I remember lying on my back and studying the various cumulous constructions being erected in the brilliantly blue sky over me when I suddenly burst out laughing. I did not stop laughing until I ran out of tears. When I did manage to collect myself, through my spent tears I noticed everything around me was distorted dramatically or moving in very mysterious ways or both. I had gotten off and it was glorious. There was nothing finer in the whole of Existence than LSD. Of that I was sure.

That day I watched ants with my head inches off the ground. I scrutinized the crusty, rusty metal dinosaurs from wars long past that were scattered around campus. I was stung by a wasp when I held it near my ear to listen. Damn ear swelled up and hurt for a week. There were other adventures that day and none of them were anything but wonderful.

I had a grand time and vowed when I was lying awake in bed two hours after Taps that night; there was no doubt in my mind that I would drop LSD again.

I stopped counting 185 trips later.

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A Gun in His Ear

Sunday Writing Prompt,
SWP, MLMM, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

A Gun in His Ear

Final Exams were over. The boys were celebrating. Mike had just sparked a third joint when the three of them heard Bill up on the third floor. If they could hear Bill on the third floor, it meant Bill was probably having self-control issues again.

Bob looked at Mike, shrugged and motioned him to pass that joint. Tom sat between them on the couch and snickered. He was always useless when he mixed pot and beer.

The boys were not unsympathetic to Bill and his struggles. The guy had just come back from Nam ferchrisakes. They knew he had seen some shit, done some shit and he had night terrors regularly. But tonight was a celebration two extra semesters coming. Two of them finally snagged enough credits to graduate and they wanted to party. Damn Bill and his personal demons. They turned up the stereo.

Sometime later, loud banging on their door broke through their drunken fog. Mike was the first to crack an eye. He wiped the spittle off his chin and rubbed his eyes. He stood and found his footing. Barely awake, he staggered to the door and opened it. It was Bill’s girlfriend wide eyed frantic and incoherent.

“Bill’s threatening to shoot himself.”

Mike leaned into the edge of the door. “What? Bill has a gun? When did he get a gun?” Mike’s return to Reality picked up its pace. He turned and yelled, “Hey assholes, Bill has a gun.”

Mike, with girlfriend in tow, began the trek up to Bill’s apartment.

“I have never seen him this bad. I only wanted to use your phone …… Please, don’t go.” She continued her warnings right up to the moment Mike pounded on Bill’s door.

The door opened. Bill’s six-five, 250 pound body filled the doorway. Mike looked up into his neighbor’s face.

“What are you doing Bill?”

Bill stuck his .45 in Mike’s ear. “I will blow you away.”

Really pissed now, Mike grabbed the gun and pushed it down.

“Meet me in the alley asshole. And leave the gun.”

Mike turned around. With Bill on his heels, they tromped back down the stairs. Bill’s girlfriend followed, her weeping eyes bulging and wondering which one was the craziest.

The drunken warriors passed Mike’s open door. He shouts, “No one sticks a gun in my ear.”

In the alley Mike and Bill faced off. Before Bill could focus, Mike knocked him down, rendered him helpless and pushed his face into the gravel. “Never, ever stick a gun in my face again. Got it asshole?”

Bill mumbled. Mark lifted Bill’s head and said, “What was that? You give up?”

“Yeah”.

Just like that the fight was over. The two of them staggered back to their respective apartments and life returned to normal. The next morning Mike’s roommates asked how it was possible he was able to best Bill. The man was a scary monster ferchriskes. Mike took a moment to answer.

“He was drunker than I was.”

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Mindovermisery - Sunday writing prompt - "Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys 

        Is sticking one's nose in other people's affairs wise?  In this real situation 

        from my college days in th eearly 1970s, I must have thought so.

I whittled this story down from 763 words initially to the 500 you see now.

BTW - As I wrote this I kept wondering if I was mis-remembering some of the details.  The big moments happened as I wrote them , but now in retrospect, I did mis-remember some things worthy of note and maybe should have been part of the story.  Bill had gone to Nam, but his most recent issues stemmed from his three years as an inmate at a state prison in Jessup, MD. He was on parole when this happened and he was definitely not allowed to own a gun.  No one called the cops and Bill was not put back in jail.  Not sure if that lasted as we were out of that apartment within the next year.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ..........................

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Cross posted at the BoZone

Reality

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Fridays  

Reality

"People see what makes sense to them, reality notwithstanding."

Bill was staring down into his beer.  His mind swirling around possibilities and what might be's, he did not catch the last part of Scott's declaration.

"Huh? Reality? What about Reality?"

"Geez Bill, pay attention.  Reality is something people decide on for themselves."

Bill lifted his head and turned to face Scott.

"What in the Hell are you talking about and what in the Hell does Reality and its perception have to do with the kid in the alley behind the GAF building? His Reality is he's dead.  Our Reality is finding out who, why, and when. Damn, I hate it when you go all Descarte on me." 

Scott took the umbrella out of his Pina Colada and raised the cocktail to his lips.  Draining every drop, he slammed the glass down on the bar, slid off his bar stool and stood tall. Reaching for the ceiling, he casually stretched like he had just climbed out of bed. 

"Time's a wasting partner.  We have a crime to solve."

 Bill chugged what was left of his beer.  Not being one for noisy dramatics, he set the mug down quietly and stood. He took a moment to assess his appearance in the mirror behind the bar.  Like a diva just before the curtain raised, he turned his head one way and then the other making sure he was still perfect before facing his public.

"You know, I just do not understand kids these days."

"What do you mean?"

The two of them headed for the door.

"Well, I think this kid was targeted for the way he looked. You know, what with that new Shrapnel look the punks seem to love now."

"Targeted for his appearance? Seems like some over the top fashion critique.  Killed because he didn't look like the rest of us clowns?  Nah, has to be something else."

Just before Bill pushed the door open, he stopped and looked at Scott.  

"By the way partner, your nose is out of position.  Might want to straighten it before we hit daylight."

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350 words

Lonely Joe

Mindlovemisery “Double Take” challenge – Due Fri- 6/15/18

Homophones - Use all four in one sentence.
519 Words

mail – postal delivery
male – masculine person

moose – a large elk
mousse – dessert of whipped cream and eggs

Lonely Joe

One day down to the local P.O., Bernard Bean, the postmaster, looked out to the parking lot.  Now Bernard was a good ole Mainer.  There weren’t much that could make him raise an eyebrow.   But what he saw in the parking lot that morning made both his eyebrows rise up, which in turn caused Alice Eaton , the local cat lady, to turn around and gasp.

There in the parking lot in all his glory was a male moose, his fur moussed up into spikes, standing on his hind legs in front of the mailbox.  Between his two front hooves, he held a large envelope.  The moose looked perplexed.

It takes an act of God to get Bernard to come out from behind his counter, what with him being a Mainer and a Federal employee to boot.  This situation he decided needed some personal attention.  He flipped up the passage part of the countertop.  The mail Alice was sorting flew into the air and scattered around the lobby. 

Outside, Bernard confronted the moose.  “Joe, what the Hell?  What’s up with the hair? You’re frightening Alice.”

Joe looked uncomfortable standing there on two legs sporting spiked hair.  “Well Bernie, Just want to mail this.”  He pushed the envelope in Bernard’s direction.  “Problem is I can’t open the mailbox.”

Bernard‘s gaze continued to pass over Joe’s huge body. The hint of a smile showed on his face.  His eyes began to glisten. “Jesus Joe, I’ll mail it for ya.  But really, what’s up with your fur.  Are the spikes hard?’’ Bernard reached out and felt one.

“No, they aren’t. Just a tad stiff.   But I tell you what, it cost me a fortune to buy enough packages of Paul Mitchell extra volume sculpting foam to spike up all the fur.”

“Well yeah, I can see that.”  Bernard just shook his head.  He took the package Joe offered him and turned it over so he could read the address.  He smiled and slid it into the box.

“Joe, you shouldn’t have to go this route, sniffing around floozies in some desperate singles mag.  There’s plenty of ladies right here in town I am sure would be proud to ……………….”  Bernard could not keep a straight face.  He began laughing and continued laughing as he went back into the P.O.

Bernard’s laugh cut through Joe like a knife.  The young bull moose was not used to being the butt of any joke, what with him standing seven feet tall and tipping the scales at a respectable 1350 pounds.  He thought the spike look made him even more intimidating, especially when he forced his lips into a snarl. 

Joe admired himself in the big picture window on the front of the P.O. “What cow could resist this awesome specimen,” he thought? Joe decided he liked what he saw and he was sure the ladies would not be able to resist.  He turned around and dropped to his four legs.  Joe lifted his head and puffed up his chest.   With a head toss and a fart, he trotted off into the woods across the road.
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This is my first flash challenge effort on Mindlovemisery