“Why is it everything really shitty that happens is supposed to
be a good experience?”
“Because it’s new!” he exclaimed.
But I was worried. I’d heard of people having really bad trips on
LSD when they had a lot of bad things on their minds. In the past I
declined opportunities to try acid because I had so many hang-ups
that I thought I’d freak for sure. Now I was juggling those same hang-
ups along with a broken heart and a death sentence.
“I’m not going to drop acid,” I said firmly.
“Do you want to do that chick?” he queried.
“Yes.”
“Then you should do the acid.”
“Why?”
“Because when she’s blasting off into the stratosphere, she’s
going to want to have somebody to hold on to. You know how that
Elton John song goes ‘It’s lonely out in space?’ You don’t want Helen
to be lonely.”
I kept an eye out for Oscar the whole day, but he was nowhere to be
seen. He was a much more seasoned traveler than I, and surely knew
what he was doing. He was probably locked up in a room somewhere
with one of those plump peace vixens.
I dressed myself in the best outfit I had, which was not much to
speak of: a Hawaiian shirt inherited from Yippee, jeans and boots.
With a little color in my face I looked all right, I thought, and went
out on the terrace to wait for Huge. The cologne smell from the
bathroom was overpowering.
“Hey, Rippy! Did you get a free bowl of soup with that shirt, or
what?”
“I like this shirt,” I protested.
“You look like someone threw a fruit salad at you.”
“Hey, it’s got a lot of colors, so Helen might appreciate it when
she’s tripping.”
“Hmm. Good idea.” Huge said, then struck the pose of a male
model— one hand in pants pocket, the other shielding the eyes from
the imaginary sun, peering intently over the imaginary golf course.
“God, damn we’re lady killers aren’t we?”
Here I was in a strange and beautiful country with an American
guy that was a virtual amalgamation of all of my college friends. I
hadn’t traveled that far from home after all.
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
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