Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: CANDY (04/28/16)
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TITLE: Spaceman | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
05/02/16 -
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I joined her in the van and lit up a joint. “Hey, can we hold the music down a bit?”
Marnie liked her music, but because we were friends, she put up with my peculiarity. As she started the engine and turned off the radio, she looked like a Mexican jumping bean. She could barely keep still in her seat. “Dan! Dan! This is so exciting. An outdoor music concert is being held in two weeks north of Madison. All the big names’ll be there: Hendrix, Aerosmith, Ted Nugent. It’s gonna be huge! Will you come with me?”
She took the joint from me and took a long toke, holding the smoke in while steering carefully down the street. When she finally let out her breath, hardly a wisp escaped. “Righteous. Where’d you get that?”
“Tommy. He’s always got the goods.” I examined Marnie’s short golden hair and the profile of her face. “You really want me going with you?”
“I know you’re not much on tunes, but there’ll be plenty of drugs.”
She knew my soft spot. When I’d first set foot on campus fresh out of high school in the fall of 1969, I was so naïve I didn’t even know what drugs were. Ten months later, and I dropped acid like candy.
We made our plans and headed north out of Beloit, both excited because this event was billed as the Woodstock of the Midwest. Better yet, the weather was perfect for mid-June with sunshine predicted all the way.
The roads got clogged as we approached the venue. Ours wasn’t the only gaily painted van. With Marnie practically bursting, I said okay to some Beatles. She squeezed my hand and sang along.
Once we found parking in the hinterlands, we made the long trek toward the music stage over grassy fields. It was near evening. Bands had worked the crowds all day. Groups of kids jammed as the music blared. Guys and girls took long drags on hash pipes and hastily rolled joints. Pill peddlers hawked their wares from kiosks.
It was a normal scene for the crowd I ran with, but something bothered me. I’d dropped acid last night and had recovered nicely, feeling relatively clearheaded. I didn’t think it was drug paranoia where I tended to get suspicious of everyone. This was different. My gut screamed at how wrong the atmosphere felt. Evil vibes bombarded me.
We came upon a guy sitting alone on the bare ground, his long hair tangled and his bushy beard specked with saliva. It was his eyes that creeped me out. They glittered like stars and their focus was somewhere near Saturn. He had a baggie of pills, and as I watched, every couple of minutes he popped one in his mouth.
A girl came up to him. “Richard, gimme those.” She grabbed the bag. “You’re eating our Owsleys like M&Ms. That’s LSD, man, expensive acid and you think it’s candy.” She walked away muttering.
In that moment I turned away to retch. This guy was so high, so out there, he had no idea what he was doing. The bad feeling came on me like the first rush of speed-laced acid. I couldn’t handle it. “Marnie, we have to go.”
She didn’t get it and didn’t like it, but I was persistent. We drove the entire trip home in silence.
For a whole week I swore off drugs; didn’t take a hit of weed or drop one tab. But with time, my resolve faded. Drugs were what I did. Tommy came along with some windowpane. Pure stuff because it was simply a drop of liquid on blotter paper—no fillers. Couldn’t be better. Right?
I landed that night in the ER with paranoid delusions, where they doped me up to bring me down.
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You did a good job giving it an authentic feel.