Fandango is starting up a new writing challenge today, which is supposed to run through the dog days of August and I decided that I might as well participate in this. You are supposed to write about a trip today and I went with the drug-induced trip option, because today is Jerry Garcia’s birthday and he was called Captain Trips. You always have to start someplace and everyone that ever took an LSD trip and still has a few braincells left, had to experience their first trip. I was never any good on acid and I only did it because my friends were doing it. Most drugs didn’t faze me all that much and I took a good share of many of them, but acid was always too much for me to handle. I saw my friends taking it and they seemed to be enjoying themselves and they always had stories about the things that they did the next day, so I tried it out of pear pressure.
I grew up in a town where everybody got high, at least the crowd that I was in. I figured that I might as well go along with what the others were doing and I was probably the last in my group of friends to drop acid. We were all over Randy’s house, seven of us, Randy, Danny, Artie, Ed, Anthony, my brother Jack and myself when everyone took a hit of blotter acid. We listened to some music and everyone was asking me how I was feeling and I didn’t feel anything. We went for a drive in my station wagon and that is when I got off. It happened all of a sudden when the guys were all hanging out of the windows and I told them to cool it, because I didn’t want to get pulled over. Guys will be guys and telling them to calm down while they were tripping was useless, as that just gave them incentive to act more wildly. They started banging on the roof of my car and it wasn’t like I was seeing all types of colors, but I did become extremely restless and anxious to get out from behind the wheel of my car.
I pulled over in the Dairy Queen parking lot which was one of the hangouts for teens and it was like a giant party was going on there, as I ran into at least a dozen other kids that I knew who said that they were also tripping. My friends used to refer to me as the babbler and I guess that was because I always had something to say, adding in my two cents whenever I got the opportunity to do so, but when I was tripping, I lost my ability to speak. All of my friends were talking, but I was too spaced out to communicate with anyone. I liked talking, so I never enjoyed taking acid.
We left the Dairy Queen after a while and I drove over to another hangout in this strip mall that had a pizza joint and a Friendly’s Ice Cream. When we got there, I ran into some more kids that were also tripping. We were all too late for Woodstock and the Summer of Love as this was 1971, but we were all hippies, with long hair, love beads and bellbottoms. This one kid Chris lit off a snake firework on the hood of my car and I just watched as it emitted smoke and spewed out ash resembling a snake and ruined my paint job. Since I was unable to talk, I couldn’t complain and everyone else seemed to enjoy it. I didn’t like being jittery and I was glad when I came down, but that was hours later. I tried acid a few more times, always with more or less of the same effect and some times I did see colors, but mostly I was a total mess.
Written for Fandango’s Dog Days of August FDDA #1 where the prompt is trip.