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The next morning Tillie woke me up early to call Mom. I was somewhat groggy but after a little breakfast I felt ready, sitting on the couch while she sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. She dialed and we waited for what seemed like forever while it rang.
“Hello, Mary?”
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“It's Tillie, Mary.”
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“Yes, Tillie.”
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She smiled a little. “I'm fine, Dear. How are you?”
There was a long pause. Tillie listened and nodded her head.
“Mary, he's here with me.”
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“Yes. He's fine.” She said cheerily. “Apparently he hitchhiked out here all by himself!”
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“Just yesterday.”
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“Mary...Mary, it's...it's alright. He's fine.”
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“Yes, I know. Do you want to talk to him?”
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“Yes, he's right here.”
She handed the phone to me.
“Hi Mom.”
“Jim, Jim! I've been worried sick!”
I could tell she'd been drinking already. “Mom...”
“I just woke up one day and you were gone!”
“Didn't you see my note?”
“Do you think that made any difference? I've been terrified something happened to you!”
“Mom...”
“I should have known something like this would happen!”
“Don't cry, Mom.”
“I know I've been a terrible person.”
“It's not your fault, Mom.”
“Yes it is! I've been a complete washout.”
“It wasn't you. I had to get out of that town anyway.”
“Honey, we all have to put up with difficult situations in life.” I heard some ice tinkle in a glass.
“Well I've had enough of it.” A lump formed in my throat.
“I blame myself.”
“It's not all your fault, Mom!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No it's not!”
“I just haven't been a very good mother.”
“Mom, please stop crying.”
I looked at Tillie for help.
“I've just been worthless. Sometimes I don't care if I'm dead or alive!”
“Mom, don't say that!” I choked back a sob.
“Well, that's the way I feel, Jim. I can't help it.”
“Mom...” Then I started crying.
“Your father isn't always a patient man.”
“He's a bastard! I can't take it anymore!”
“Honey, you have to come back!”
“No!”
“We'll talk to him. Perhaps he'll see your point of view this time.”
“No he won't! He never sees any point of view but his own!” Tears began to stream down my face.
“Jim, you've got to come back. I need you here!”
“I can't...” I shoved the phone back to Tillie.
“Mary...”
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“Mary...please calm down. It's going to be OK.”
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“He's safe here with me. I'll watch out for him.”
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“We'll work that out.”
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“Yes, it's going to be OK.”
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“Yes, I know.”
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“Mary, I'm sorry but I have to get going. I have to go to work. You can call anytime in the evening.”
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“Yes. Yes. Don't worry. It's going to be OK.”
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“OK...”
...
“OK..”
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“ OK, bye.”
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“I love you too.”
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“OK, Mary.”
...
“Bye.” She slowly put the phone back in the receiver.
I was still crying.
“It's OK, Honey. We're going to work this out.” She put her hand on my arm.
“I can't just sponge on you.”
“Don't worry. I can take a little sponging. What you did was kind of drastic but we're going to make it work, you and I.”
“Really?”
“Of course. We're tough! We'll stick together!”
I hugged her. “I'm so glad to be away from there.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And I love this city!”
“Yes, so do I.”
“There's something about the air!”
“I know. I've known it since I first came here twenty years ago. I was just about your age, too.” She patted me on the back and stood up.
I dried my eyes as she grabbed her purse and coat.
“Now have yourself some fun today. There's a bus map in the drawer over there. Take a tour. See some sights.”
“OK.” I smiled. “Thanks a lot, Auntie.”
We hugged again and she walked towards the door, reaching in her purse. “Here's twenty bucks. Spend it unwisely.” She handed it towards me.
“That's OK. I have some money.”
“You take it!” she yelled in mock anger, shoving it into my hand.
“OK. Thanks.”
She opened the door. “Good! Now you behave yourself! And have some fun, damn it!”
“OK. I will.”
“Now good-bye!”
“Bye.”
She closed the door and the sound of her footsteps receded down the stairs. I stood there a minute with the twenty in my hand and just looked at it. Then I put it in my pocket, rubbed my face and wiped my wet nose on my sleeve. I looked out the window and Tillie was running down the street after a bus. It stopped and she jumped on and was gone. The sky was clear and the sun was coming up over the buildings. Cars rushed by on the busy cross street.
I went over to the couch, opened the drawer and got out the map and studied it as I finished dressing and ate breakfast. The city was so huge! Where would I go? See the ships? The zoo? Golden Gate Park? I had a particular interest in a couple of streets called Haight and Ashbury that I'd heard about from my friend Phil.
Phil was way different from the other kids at school. He was the first and only person to wear a pair of bell-bottom pants to school, and a flowered, paisley shirt he had was an actual scandal. Many guys called him queer but he didn't give a shit. He smoked cigarettes and played folk music on guitar. He was in the drama club and starred in plays and musicals every year he was in high school. He was a year older than me but we had a lot to talk about: politics, music, sex and places in the world other than Cunt-trail City. His parents were also somewhat strange. They were smart and funny and, unlike my own parents, actually interested in what I had to say. They didn't go to church and had weird bumper stickers on their weird looking Swedish car like “Ban the Bomb” or “Have You Kissed a Frog Today?” The kids at school made fun of them and called them freaks but they were just about the only people in town who made any sense to me.
I really missed Phil when he went off to college. It was a bizarre place in Ohio where they didn't have grades and half the year was spent getting credit for working a job somewhere. When I brought it up to Dad he ridiculed it, saying it was an experimental nut farm and no son of his would ever go there. That's when all the shit hit the fan.
At Christmas I saw Phil again. He had a car by then and we drove out into the country. He wanted me to try some pot he'd acquired at school. We smoked it together out on a lonely road in the boondocks and he got quite excited, talking about things I didn't understand all that well. I felt nothing unusual whatsoever and was bummed out that I wasn't even cool enough to get high. He was interesting anyway, talking about how the world was changing and a new consciousness was being born. It was all centered in San Francisco at the corner of Haight and Ashbury Streets where the hippies were experimenting with LSD, a miraculous new drug that gave a person spiritual and artistic visions.
It fascinated the crap out of me. Mom's drugs just made her stupid and the booze always made everything totally nuts so I wasn't real big on drugs in general. But Phil being high made me want to experience it for myself. My childhood connection to San Francisco made it all that much more intriguing because I knew about the magic of the place and wasn't surprised that something out of the ordinary might be happening there. I really wanted to see it for myself, to understand more clearly what he was talking about, to break out of my depressing little world.
I put the map in my coat pocket and left the apartment, walking several blocks to catch a bus south. Riding through the city was a gas. I glued my face to the window trying to catch all the sights and neat houses and incredible variety of people. Places and events I'd forgotten came back to me and I seemed to be waking up for the first time in a long time.
After while the bus began to pass through a black neighborhood, a place which always fascinated me as a child. My parents tried to be liberal but they were actually very wary of black people. I'd never felt that way and didn't understand it. In Kentucky I found them so much more interesting and alive than most of the whites I came across and it pissed me off the way they were treated and talked about.
I also thought a lot about Grandma. She'd come to Frisco from Brooklyn after her second husband died so she could be closer to my dad who had moved there after college. She married again and she and her husband Morris were a big part of our childhood. She and Tillie took us all over the city, to the beaches and museums and landmarks and restaurants and it gave us a wonderful education, not to mention the feeling that someone cared. When we moved away it was a major setback for all of us. There were a few cross country visits but they were no substitute for seeing her every week.
The last time I saw Grandma was when I was fifteen and traveled out alone by train in the summer. I stayed with her at the smaller apartment where she lived after Morris died. It wasn't a real happy experience because Grandma was losing it. There was almost no food in the house, she wasn't keeping herself up any more and she was getting kooky and absent minded. After that the family started discussing nursing homes but Grandma died early in the winter, saving them the trouble but leaving a big hole in our lives.
I got off the bus at Haight Street and transferred. I wanted to see for myself what was going on. I was actually a little reluctant to get out so I stayed on the bus and got a good look as I passed by. Sure enough the street was packed with people and not just hippies. There were tourists with their cameras and scary looking bikers and black kids and all kinds of normal looking people too. Then there were the weird and colorful shops next to the regular type of places and the energy was almost bubbling over. With the bus window open I heard several kinds of music and there were street performers out serenading and juggling and other crazy stuff. Some of the costumes were quite amazing and bizarre and there many gorgeous women decked out in all kinds of creative getups. Little crowds formed here and there like miniature parties even though it was still morning. There were also no shortage of cops around who seemed relaxed but watchful.
I continued through and out of the neighborhood, my ultimate goal being a trip to the zoo where I had lots of fond childhood memories. It took me much longer than I expected and I had to be careful to make the right transfers but seeing unfamiliar parts of the city was fun too. Finally I made it to the zoo around noon so my first priority was finding something to eat. I gorged myself with several hot dogs with mustard and relish and got them from the same stand that was there when I was a kid. I remembered the guy who worked there, an old plug with a W.C. FIelds nose who liked to tease his customers, especially the younger ones. He called me a whipper-snapper and I laughed.
After that I took the grand tour. The monkey island was an important stop. Then there were the performing seals, the big cats, the gorillas and of course the elephants. I noticed something that had escaped me as a child, namely how bored and depressed most of the animals appeared to be. The monkeys were very frantic and somewhat cruel to each other. The lions and tigers had ratty-looking coats and paced back and forth dully. The cages were dirty and smelly, the water in the pools was murky and scummy and a lot of the larger animals had liquidy shit running all over their backsides. The people visiting the zoo seemed callous and unaware of all the suffering the animals were going through.
Before long I was sorry I'd come. I boarded the bus again and took a different route going back, transferring up through Golden Gate Park. I got off and walked around one of the lakes, which was a lot nicer than the zoo. I started seeing hippies again and couldn't help but stare at them. They were such a strange phenomenon to my Kentucky eyes. Some waved at me and smiled while others ignored me and one even gave me the finger. Like the day before, I passed by groups sitting around in a circle and grooving or whatever it was they did and wished I could be part of it or at least find out what they were talking about. It was all a great mystery to me.
By the time I got back on a bus to head to Tillie's it was rush hour and traffic was moving slowly. The transfers slowed me down even more and by the time I arrived, Tillie was impatiently waiting with the news that we had been invited over to Josephine's for dinner. I took a quick shower and changed into some of my clothes that Tillie had washed for me the night before. We had a nice walk in the evening air as darkness fell over the city and all the lights came on like a huge Christmas decoration.
I felt excited and a little nervous about meeting a bunch of new people. Josephine lived a nicer building than Tillie. She had some money in her family and lived pretty much as she pleased. She did some acting in plays around town and had even had a few major parts in minor productions now and then. When she opened the door she was wearing a colorful dress that looked like a modern art painting and a long scarf in almost blinding oranges and reds. She welcomed us with much fussing and hoopla and embarrassed me by pinching my cheek and telling everyone how much I'd grown. Tillie's boyfriend Roscoe was there as well as her friend Dorrie who I'd always had a crush on when I was a kid. Besides them there was an older couple and a younger couple. The older ones looked academic and slightly threadbare and the younger ones were kind of hippies. At any rate they both had long hair and some colorful clothing items. The guy was a painter of both art and walls and one of his paintings hung on a wall in the living room that he'd also painted.
Everyone was really nice to me and soon I began to feel more relaxed. They asked me when I'd arrived and what my plans were while I was in town. I told them without giving any gory details that I felt I was ready for a change of scenery and didn't know how long I'd be staying. Tillie joked that I'd need to find my own apartment soon because she and Roscoe hadn't had sex for a week. Everyone broke up over that and Dorrie said I could move in with her because she hadn't had sex for a year. I blushed and Josephine called it to everyone's attention to it which of course made me blush even more and they all got a laugh out of that.
Finally we sat down and Josephine passed out glasses of wine to everyone including me. I mostly just listened to the various conversations of the friends catching up with each other. The talk soon turned to politics, local and otherwise. It was so great to be in a group of people who were liberal minded and against the war. Back home everyone was so gung-ho to get the fucking commies, it made me ill to hear that same old shit over and over. I soon learned quite a bit more about it than I knew from the TV news, how big corporations were making a lot of money on everything from guns to chemicals to toilet seats and using it to fill their own pockets and those of accommodating members of congress.
After while someone brought up the hippie situation and everyone turned toward the younger couple, Donna and Mike, for the scoop. They told us about some of the latest hip bands and the drug scene. LSD was still making the rounds in spite of it's being made illegal a couple years back. They described an Acid Test they'd attended back in January, a wild happening with all kinds of weird electronic sound effects and light shows, two rock bands going at once, a tub full of LSD spiked punch, everyone in weird costumes, and humorous escapades involving a couple of cops who kept trying to shut the thing down. The older couple, Elaine and Edward, were somewhat scandalized but listened closely. Everyone wanted to know what acid was really like. Donna said she had only smoked pot and Mike had difficulty explaining his experience. He talked vaguely about becoming connected with the other participants, getting down to deep psychological levels, breaking the bounds of his ego, visions of past lives. To me it sounded something like what I'd heard back home from Phil.
Some of the other folks in the room had tried pot a time or two. Most of them said they'd never gotten much out of it. Roscoe said he'd enjoyed it occasionally but knew people who had gotten strung out on it. Mike said there was a lot of negative mythology about pot and that it could be useful and enlightening if used judiciously. Donna teased him about that, asking him since when did judicious mean every day when you got up in the morning. Everyone laughed and then Mike suggested he go to his apartment and bring some back. Josephine told him to at least wait until after they'd had dinner because otherwise no one would appreciate all her hard work. Mike said that wouldn't be the case at all but agreed anyway.
After some more chitchat and more glasses of wine everyone gathered around the dinner table and sat down. Dorrie helped Josephine spread the food out smörgåsbord style and people picked up plates and loaded them with baked chicken in a thick wine sauce, peas and onions in butter and baked potatoes with sour cream and chives. There was also a beautiful salad with homemade dressings and sourdough rolls. The wine continued to flow, more than I'd ever had before and I was getting quite happy and talkative. I felt like these were the nicest people I'd ever met and it was a special privilege to be with them.
When everyone finished we all pushed ourselves back from the table and sat down again in the living room. Josephine passed around brandy but this time Tillie said she thought maybe I'd had enough for a seventeen-year-old. I was feeling so good I wasn't about to argue. Roscoe put some Duke Ellington on the record player and everyone talked and laughed in high spirits. I saw Mike slip out of the room and I wondered what we were in for.
I was sitting next to Dorrie and talking with her and kept noticing how pretty she still was. I hadn't seen her in about five years and I remembered how I used to fantasize about her when I first hit puberty. She was a few years younger than Tillie, had always had a youthful appearance and reminded me of some movie star from the Thirties I couldn't quite place. I caught myself thinking she was flirting with me but I couldn't believe that was true and chalked it up to having too much wine. Still, when she touched me on the knee to make a point, I felt a little electric tingle go through my body. I was totally engrossed in our conversation when suddenly a hand appeared in my face holding a lighted joint.
“Here, Man,” hissed Mike, kneeling next to me, smoke seeping out between his teeth.
I took it and inspected it with curiosity. This was no thin little stick like Phil had. It was fat and very fragrant.
“I don't think this stuff works on me. I've already tried it twice,” I said.
“Well, third times a charm,” said Mike, winking at me.
I sucked it in and tried to hold it but almost immediately coughed all of it out. It seemed much stronger than what I'd had before.
Mike laughed. “Easy does it. Don't take so much next time.”
“It's probably not going to work anyway.” I handed the joint to Dorrie and she put it to her lips, smiling as she looked into my eyes. She took a long hit and then passed it on.
I watched as the joint went around the room. Everyone had a different reaction to it. Elaine and Edward were very tentative about smoking it and others like Roscoe and Josephine who smoked cigarettes had no hesitation at all. Roscoe bugged his eyes out and said it was some mighty good shit. Tillie took her hit and giggled like a young girl. When it got back to me I took a smaller hit and held it in for a long time.
Mike started talking with Dorrie about someone he'd just finished working for. He said the guy had the most amazing pot straight from Acapulco. When I heard the word Acapulco it sounded very strange, as if I'd never heard it before even though I knew I had. I tried to sound it out and each time I did it was different. I let it go and tried to concentrate on what Mike was saying but I was very aware of Dorrie sitting there next to me with her knees touching mine and her red lipstick and the little bit of cleavage that I could see when she bent over. Mike turned to take the joint from someone and took another toke. I looked at Dorrie and she was looking at me with the prettiest eyes I had ever seen. I felt I had to tell her.
“Your eyes...,” I began.
She smiled and put her finger to her lips and nodded over at Mike who was holding out the joint to me. I took it gingerly and breathed in the sweet, thick smoke. I passed it to Dorrie and she took another hit as I watched her. Everything she did seemed completely fascinating.
Just then Mike gave me a little poke in the arm. I turned to look at him but it all seemed to happen in slow motion.
“Hey, Man...so are ya lookin' for a job?”
The question had such huge ramifications, I couldn't answer. Thoughts of Kentucky and school and my dad floated through my brain, the trip out, the people I'd met along the way, being in the city and at this wonderful party. I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. Mike watched all this and started laughing.
“What's so funny?” Dorrie asked eagerly.
Mike blurted out, “I just asked him a simple question.” Then he started laughing again.
Dorrie looked at me. “What was the question?”
I was completely confused. “I don't remember.”
Mike burst into another spasm of laughter. He passed the joint to me. “Better have another toke,” he grinned.
I looked at it. “Already?” I asked incredulously. The white wrinkled paper wrapped around a bundle of crushed leaves seemed to have such weight and import. The smoke curled sinuously in a twisting column up into the air. I put it to my lips and sucked it in. I was amazed by how good it tasted, like something exotic but earthy, sweet and nourishing. As I breathed out I looked down at it and said very simply, “Wow.”
Mike exploded into another paroxysm of laughter. Everyone in the room was laughing and looking at me.
I felt they were waiting for an explanation. “I think I'm stoned.”
Everyone said something different all at once. I tried to absorb it all but it was impossible. Intense, pleasurable sights and sounds assaulted my brain in a rapidly changing succession. I looked down at the joint again. Dorrie's fingers reached up and took it. “My turn,” she said, her eyes sparkling at me. I looked at my empty fingers. I had the most profound realization of what fingers were, the primary means by which we shaped the world to accomplish our desires and destinies. My head was whirling and all my senses poured in such an incredible wealth and depth of information that I felt like a totally different person, but at the same time more myself than I had ever been before. I looked around and each individual had a powerful and unique presence that gave me a sense of wonder, admiration, love and excitement that I never imagined existed.
Mike stood up abruptly. “Your attention please!” Everyone laughed. “I am now going to put on some very special music in honor of the occasion and this fine young man coming of age.”
“What is this, a bar-mitzvah?” shouted Josephine in a Jewish accent. There was uproarious laughter.
“Oh my God!” said Tillie from across the room. “I've never felt it like this before!” She waved her arms around like an exotic dancer.
Roscoe put his arm around her and shouted, “The music! The music! Play the music, music man!”
Edward sang, “Seventy-six trombones in the big parade!” It was one of the most hilarious things I had ever heard. Everyone's laughter was an explosion of energy that ran up my spine and burst in my head.
Mike stumbled over to the record player with an album in his hand. He resembled a large marionette with invisible strings. It was some kind of act he was putting on for our amusement and he accomplished it in brilliant Chaplinesque character. He oh so carefully lifted the needle off the jazz record. The room fell silent. Josephine twittered. He changed the records, juggling them in a clever, faux precarious pantomime, and put down the needle again. The record rumbled portentously and then dug into the first cut. Powerful guitar chords resonated in my head and chest and flooded the room with a noble authority. And then there was the voice. It was Bob Dylan singing The Times They Are A-Changin'.
I'd heard it before. Now Dylan sounded so much more profound than I remembered, like an old man, not really old, but ageless. It spoke to me directly and personally. It was about me. But not just me. My whole generation that was aching for a change. There was such a depth of wisdom and intelligence in his voice and I felt I had the privilege of experiencing a great soul, a true genius. But more than that. A prophet. A prophet of the people, the youthful masses ready to break free of century upon century of oppression and ignorance.
All the things Phil said came flooding back and I understood perfectly. Humanity had turned a corner, something vital and mystical was taking hold. The old ways of greed and self interest and violence were passing away. Truth was being born again into the world, a new age was dawning, freedom of the spirit, the loosening of centuries of delusion and darkness by false and negative energies, now outmoded and dying.
The song tumbled on, painting pictures vividly in my mind. Something inside me cracked and I began to cry. I felt Dorrie's hand on my shoulder and I took it and squeezed it tightly. I could feel an electric current in it that energized my whole body. Everything in the room absorbed me completely, the music, the people, the air, the furniture, the walls, everything had a character and a life. I felt like I didn't exist separately anymore, I was a part of an amazingly wonderful ongoing 3-D, multi-sensory, vividly real experience, but not just a part. I was the experience and everything in it.
And then the song was done. I looked around. Everyone had looks of awe and wonder on their faces.
Mike picked up the needle.
“Oh my word!” said Edward.
It was as if we all had had the same experience, the same thoughts.
“So much for the Twentieth Century,” said Elaine.
“So much for the last two thousand years! said Tillie.
“So much for Western Civilization!” said I. Everyone laughed.
“What's in this shit?” said Roscoe, looking down at the bit of remaining joint in his hand. We all laughed again.
Mike changed the records. “This one's just for fun.” The first guitar notes gave it away. It was the Beatles' Rubber Soul. The room sparkled with exquisite bubble chains of intertwining guitar harmonies. Dorrie stood up and started to dance and everyone else joined in. The energy took hold of me and sent me to my feet, wiggling and squiggling and shaking in time with the irresistible music.
It was so much fun dancing. I explored every part of my body in delicious movement. I looked at Dorrie. She was swaying back and forth in a primal rhythm that fascinated and thrilled me. We locked eyes and I was amazed how we began to blend and follow each other in spontaneous synchronization. She threw back her head and laughed. All at once my whole being focused on her and everything else shifted to background. She seemed the embodiment of something archetypal, goddess-like, the other half of myself that union with was my very purpose in life. I grabbed her and swung her around and around. It was as though we were the only two creatures in the universe and had found each other after an eternity of separation. We played an utterly delightful game of touch and release, seeker and object that seemed ancient and yet immediate and alive in every changing moment. Then she pushed me away, laughing again as my desire for her flew to new heights and became more powerful and insistent. I knew I had to have her, to possess her, to become one with her.
The record spun on and on. On the slow songs she let me put my arms around her and I flashed back to the shy, lonely wallflower I was at the few parties I'd attended in my life. I intensely envied the kids who could dance unselfconsciously and I had no idea of how to break through my fear and be like them. Now dancing seemed completely natural and I was that person I always wanted to be. I inhaled Dorrie's intoxicating perfume and was entranced and comforted by the feel of her body in my arms. She was so soft and warm and alive. She looked into my eyes and searched for something, silently questioning herself and me at the same time. Then she put her head on my chest and I felt wonderful with her against me, a completeness I'd never known. I was in Paradise, not simply a paradisaical earthly place, but the actual, living Paradise that was our true state beyond all suffering and separation.
Then something seemed to come between us. A hesitation, a thought form interjected, a separation of the ethereal cord. A hint of fear and doubt interceded, of unknowing, of mistrust, a memory of pain that stretched back lifetimes. I sensed that I had been at this crossroads, this juncture, not once, but many times. I felt confused. The way was no longer clear and unfettered. There was some obstacle impending, challenging. I found myself back on earth, at this party, in my own body, remembering who I thought myself to be, a collection of learned roles and responses, familiar, safe, confined, known. Where I had been became a piece of a dream, a drug induced vision, something to be shelved and categorized in my brain, a memory.
Dorrie and I looked at each other as if to say “What was that?”, a sort of pretending that we both needed, an agreement and understanding to release each other from a feared responsibility, an unknown, too intense, too real. I smiled at her and shrugged, acknowledging a fellow traveler from some mysterious adventure and she seemed to understand, appreciate and support this return to normalcy, to this place, this time, these roles, these rules, but still not forgetting entirely.
When the album side ended everyone sat down and resumed talking. Roscoe put on some very cool jazz with a sax in the starring role. It was played by an amazing musician whose delicate runs up and down and around and through the instrument put me at ease while at the same time thrilling me mentally and physically.
Dorrie made an effort to control our interaction and asked me about school back home, what subjects or teachers I liked, the other kids, what I did for fun. I realized it was a game that would reassure her and I felt pleasure in it. I was also calming down from all the overwhelming previous feelings and experiences. A simple warmth between us allowed me to express and understand myself very clearly. I explained to her that I didn't like school much or the town for that matter. I told her about the cliques and the silly preoccupations and the social and physical bullies and she said she totally understood, having grown up in a conservative Midwestern town herself.
Then I told her about Miss Forstner who had supported me and Phil who had been the one to inspire me to come to Frisco. Then she asked me when school had ended since it was still April and she had never heard of a summer vacation starting so early. I saw this question as her attempt to resolve the fear we had experienced before. I explained about how I had left, the fight with my dad, as well as Mom's problems. Dorrie listened quietly and patiently while I went through the whole mess, sometimes becoming a little emotional. When I finished I could see she was very affected by what I had told her as well as comforted and relieved in some way and I felt an openness from her and a bonding that I knew made us both feel very content.
Continuing at the same level I asked about what she did for a living and she explained that she was managing a pet store even though she had a masters degree in psychology. She hadn't been able to find a job when she first came to town and had started at the store and gradually worked her way up. The pay was good and she liked the job and the owners so she felt no need to change. She loved animals and had a couple cats herself and enjoyed people who were obsessed with their pets. I told her I went to the zoo earlier in the day and we agreed about the sad condition of the animals and their cramped living quarters. I also told her how when I was a kid I taught myself massage by practicing on our cats and dogs and she thought that was really great.
She excused herself to go to the bathroom and I began talking to Mike. He and Donna met a year previously at a concert and had been together ever since. She worked, among other things, with bookings at a folk club in the Haight so she was able to get tickets for all the best musicians that came through. Mike asked me what local bands I liked but I had a pretty limited knowledge on the subject. He had some suggestions for ones I might enjoy and also invited me to go to a concert at the end of the month at a place called the Fillmore that had the best acts.
Tillie sat down where Dorrie had been and began listening to our conversation and I sensed an intrusiveness on her part stemming from her anxiety about the responsibility for me she had taken on in her mind. Mike asked how long I was planning to stay in town and if I was going to look for a job. I could see he was going to ask me to work for him but the flow of the conversation required that I tell him things were pretty up in the air and I hadn't really thought about specific jobs that much except maybe pumping gas. Then he revealed he could use a helper with his painting business and I was happy to tell him I was very interested. Tillie commented she thought it would be a good idea except for the getting stoned every morning before work part. Mike agreed and assured her that he wouldn't let a novice work high anyway. He asked if I'd like to start Monday and of course I said yes.
Although everything that was happening seemed to make perfect sense, the part of me that had put up with so much crap for so long could hardly believe all my good luck and the amazing time I was having with all these wonderful people. I was just getting used to the idea that I had fundamentally separated myself from my old screwed-up self and the environment that had me in a cramped little cage for so long and I was beginning to discover what true happiness was all about.
As the evening continued Josephine and Dorrie brought out a fantastic chocolate mousse that Josephine had made from scratch and we all talked way into the night, listening to all kinds of terrific music. I had great conversations with almost everyone which they seemed to enjoy as well. But always in the back of my mind was Dorrie. I looked over at her now and then and sometimes she would look back and smile.
Once as I was waiting in the back hallway for the bathroom she came out and lightly touched my arm and smiled as she attempted to pass. I stood in her way and didn't move. She looked up at me and put her hand gently on my stomach.
“Aren't you going to let me through?”
I bent down and tried to kiss her but she pulled away with a gentle laugh and ran up the hallway back to the living room. I stood there for a moment trying to process the experience and the feeling in my chest was almost overpowering.
The party went on until after three. Finally everyone was getting bleary-eyed and ready to break it up. Tillie told me she was going home with Roscoe for the night and we'd all take a cab together and drop me off at her place first. As we left the apartment Dorrie and I said goodbye. We were both a little tongue-tied and to break the ice Dorrie took my hands and told me that she had a really nice time and hoped we'd see each other again. The cab arrived and Tillie was acting impatient.
“C'mon, Jim. Let's go.”
I again wanted to kiss Dorrie but felt constrained with everyone watching so I just squeezed her hands and said I'd like to see her too. She leaned up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. My heart just about burst and I wished very much that I didn't have to leave her and I imagined she felt the same way.
Tillie flashed an irritated look at Dorrie as I got in the cab. After Roscoe and Tillie got in, he whispered some things in her ear and she smiled and kissed him. All the way home they were very affectionate and spoke to each other in gentle voices. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Dorrie and wondered how I could arrange to see her again. When I got out at Tillie's she opened the window and asked me if I'd like to go with them to the beach the next day. I said sure and she said they'd come and get me around noon. The cab sped away and I let myself into the apartment. I fixed up the couch and took off my clothes and slid in. I thought about Dorrie and began to touch myself. I was still stoned and my orgasm was the most intense of my life. I whispered her name and fell off to sleep in an exhausted bliss.

Description
The next morning Tillie woke me up early to call Mom. I was somewhat groggy but after a little breakfast I felt ready, sitting on the couch while she sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. She dialed and we waited for what seemed like forever while it rang.
“Hello, Mary?”
...
“It's Tillie, Mary.”
...
“Yes, Tillie.”
...
She smiled a little. “I'm fine, Dear. How are you?”
There was a long pause. Tillie listened and nodded her head.
“Mary, he's here with me.”
...
“Yes. He's fine.” She said cheerily. “Apparently he hitchhiked out here all by himself!”
...
“Just yesterday.”
...
“Mary...Mary, it's...it's alright. He's fine.”
...
“Yes, I know. Do you want to talk to him?”
...
“Yes, he's right here.”
She handed the phone to me.
“Hi Mom.”
“Jim, Jim! I've been worried sick!”
I could tell she'd been drinking already. “Mom...”
“I just woke up one day and you were gone!”
“Didn't you see my note?”
“Do you think that made any difference? I've been terrified something happened to you!”
“Mom...”
“I should have known something like this would happen!”
“Don't cry, Mom.”
“I know I've been a terrible person.”
“It's not your fault, Mom.”
“Yes it is! I've been a complete washout.”
“It wasn't you. I had to get out of that town anyway.”
“Honey, we all have to put up with difficult situations in life.” I heard some ice tinkle in a glass.
“Well I've had enough of it.” A lump formed in my throat.
“I blame myself.”
“It's not all your fault, Mom!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No it's not!”
“I just haven't been a very good mother.”
“Mom, please stop crying.”
I looked at Tillie for help.
“I've just been worthless. Sometimes I don't care if I'm dead or alive!”
“Mom, don't say that!” I choked back a sob.
“Well, that's the way I feel, Jim. I can't help it.”
“Mom...” Then I started crying.
“Your father isn't always a patient man.”
“He's a bastard! I can't take it anymore!”
“Honey, you have to come back!”
“No!”
“We'll talk to him. Perhaps he'll see your point of view this time.”
“No he won't! He never sees any point of view but his own!” Tears began to stream down my face.
“Jim, you've got to come back. I need you here!”
“I can't...” I shoved the phone back to Tillie.
“Mary...”
...
“Mary...please calm down. It's going to be OK.”
...
“He's safe here with me. I'll watch out for him.”
...
“We'll work that out.”
...
“Yes, it's going to be OK.”
...
“Yes, I know.”
...
“Mary, I'm sorry but I have to get going. I have to go to work. You can call anytime in the evening.”
...
“Yes. Yes. Don't worry. It's going to be OK.”
...
“OK...”
...
“OK..”
...
“ OK, bye.”
...
“I love you too.”
...
“OK, Mary.”
...
“Bye.” She slowly put the phone back in the receiver.
I was still crying.
“It's OK, Honey. We're going to work this out.” She put her hand on my arm.
“I can't just sponge on you.”
“Don't worry. I can take a little sponging. What you did was kind of drastic but we're going to make it work, you and I.”
“Really?”
“Of course. We're tough! We'll stick together!”
I hugged her. “I'm so glad to be away from there.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And I love this city!”
“Yes, so do I.”
“There's something about the air!”
“I know. I've known it since I first came here twenty years ago. I was just about your age, too.” She patted me on the back and stood up.
I dried my eyes as she grabbed her purse and coat.
“Now have yourself some fun today. There's a bus map in the drawer over there. Take a tour. See some sights.”
“OK.” I smiled. “Thanks a lot, Auntie.”
We hugged again and she walked towards the door, reaching in her purse. “Here's twenty bucks. Spend it unwisely.” She handed it towards me.
“That's OK. I have some money.”
“You take it!” she yelled in mock anger, shoving it into my hand.
“OK. Thanks.”
She opened the door. “Good! Now you behave yourself! And have some fun, damn it!”
“OK. I will.”
“Now good-bye!”
“Bye.”
She closed the door and the sound of her footsteps receded down the stairs. I stood there a minute with the twenty in my hand and just looked at it. Then I put it in my pocket, rubbed my face and wiped my wet nose on my sleeve. I looked out the window and Tillie was running down the street after a bus. It stopped and she jumped on and was gone. The sky was clear and the sun was coming up over the buildings. Cars rushed by on the busy cross street.
I went over to the couch, opened the drawer and got out the map and studied it as I finished dressing and ate breakfast. The city was so huge! Where would I go? See the ships? The zoo? Golden Gate Park? I had a particular interest in a couple of streets called Haight and Ashbury that I'd heard about from my friend Phil.
Phil was way different from the other kids at school. He was the first and only person to wear a pair of bell-bottom pants to school, and a flowered, paisley shirt he had was an actual scandal. Many guys called him queer but he didn't give a shit. He smoked cigarettes and played folk music on guitar. He was in the drama club and starred in plays and musicals every year he was in high school. He was a year older than me but we had a lot to talk about: politics, music, sex and places in the world other than Cunt-trail City. His parents were also somewhat strange. They were smart and funny and, unlike my own parents, actually interested in what I had to say. They didn't go to church and had weird bumper stickers on their weird looking Swedish car like “Ban the Bomb” or “Have You Kissed a Frog Today?” The kids at school made fun of them and called them freaks but they were just about the only people in town who made any sense to me.
I really missed Phil when he went off to college. It was a bizarre place in Ohio where they didn't have grades and half the year was spent getting credit for working a job somewhere. When I brought it up to Dad he ridiculed it, saying it was an experimental nut farm and no son of his would ever go there. That's when all the shit hit the fan.
At Christmas I saw Phil again. He had a car by then and we drove out into the country. He wanted me to try some pot he'd acquired at school. We smoked it together out on a lonely road in the boondocks and he got quite excited, talking about things I didn't understand all that well. I felt nothing unusual whatsoever and was bummed out that I wasn't even cool enough to get high. He was interesting anyway, talking about how the world was changing and a new consciousness was being born. It was all centered in San Francisco at the corner of Haight and Ashbury Streets where the hippies were experimenting with LSD, a miraculous new drug that gave a person spiritual and artistic visions.
It fascinated the crap out of me. Mom's drugs just made her stupid and the booze always made everything totally nuts so I wasn't real big on drugs in general. But Phil being high made me want to experience it for myself. My childhood connection to San Francisco made it all that much more intriguing because I knew about the magic of the place and wasn't surprised that something out of the ordinary might be happening there. I really wanted to see it for myself, to understand more clearly what he was talking about, to break out of my depressing little world.
I put the map in my coat pocket and left the apartment, walking several blocks to catch a bus south. Riding through the city was a gas. I glued my face to the window trying to catch all the sights and neat houses and incredible variety of people. Places and events I'd forgotten came back to me and I seemed to be waking up for the first time in a long time.
After while the bus began to pass through a black neighborhood, a place which always fascinated me as a child. My parents tried to be liberal but they were actually very wary of black people. I'd never felt that way and didn't understand it. In Kentucky I found them so much more interesting and alive than most of the whites I came across and it pissed me off the way they were treated and talked about.
I also thought a lot about Grandma. She'd come to Frisco from Brooklyn after her second husband died so she could be closer to my dad who had moved there after college. She married again and she and her husband Morris were a big part of our childhood. She and Tillie took us all over the city, to the beaches and museums and landmarks and restaurants and it gave us a wonderful education, not to mention the feeling that someone cared. When we moved away it was a major setback for all of us. There were a few cross country visits but they were no substitute for seeing her every week.
The last time I saw Grandma was when I was fifteen and traveled out alone by train in the summer. I stayed with her at the smaller apartment where she lived after Morris died. It wasn't a real happy experience because Grandma was losing it. There was almost no food in the house, she wasn't keeping herself up any more and she was getting kooky and absent minded. After that the family started discussing nursing homes but Grandma died early in the winter, saving them the trouble but leaving a big hole in our lives.
I got off the bus at Haight Street and transferred. I wanted to see for myself what was going on. I was actually a little reluctant to get out so I stayed on the bus and got a good look as I passed by. Sure enough the street was packed with people and not just hippies. There were tourists with their cameras and scary looking bikers and black kids and all kinds of normal looking people too. Then there were the weird and colorful shops next to the regular type of places and the energy was almost bubbling over. With the bus window open I heard several kinds of music and there were street performers out serenading and juggling and other crazy stuff. Some of the costumes were quite amazing and bizarre and there many gorgeous women decked out in all kinds of creative getups. Little crowds formed here and there like miniature parties even though it was still morning. There were also no shortage of cops around who seemed relaxed but watchful.
I continued through and out of the neighborhood, my ultimate goal being a trip to the zoo where I had lots of fond childhood memories. It took me much longer than I expected and I had to be careful to make the right transfers but seeing unfamiliar parts of the city was fun too. Finally I made it to the zoo around noon so my first priority was finding something to eat. I gorged myself with several hot dogs with mustard and relish and got them from the same stand that was there when I was a kid. I remembered the guy who worked there, an old plug with a W.C. FIelds nose who liked to tease his customers, especially the younger ones. He called me a whipper-snapper and I laughed.
After that I took the grand tour. The monkey island was an important stop. Then there were the performing seals, the big cats, the gorillas and of course the elephants. I noticed something that had escaped me as a child, namely how bored and depressed most of the animals appeared to be. The monkeys were very frantic and somewhat cruel to each other. The lions and tigers had ratty-looking coats and paced back and forth dully. The cages were dirty and smelly, the water in the pools was murky and scummy and a lot of the larger animals had liquidy shit running all over their backsides. The people visiting the zoo seemed callous and unaware of all the suffering the animals were going through.
Before long I was sorry I'd come. I boarded the bus again and took a different route going back, transferring up through Golden Gate Park. I got off and walked around one of the lakes, which was a lot nicer than the zoo. I started seeing hippies again and couldn't help but stare at them. They were such a strange phenomenon to my Kentucky eyes. Some waved at me and smiled while others ignored me and one even gave me the finger. Like the day before, I passed by groups sitting around in a circle and grooving or whatever it was they did and wished I could be part of it or at least find out what they were talking about. It was all a great mystery to me.
By the time I got back on a bus to head to Tillie's it was rush hour and traffic was moving slowly. The transfers slowed me down even more and by the time I arrived, Tillie was impatiently waiting with the news that we had been invited over to Josephine's for dinner. I took a quick shower and changed into some of my clothes that Tillie had washed for me the night before. We had a nice walk in the evening air as darkness fell over the city and all the lights came on like a huge Christmas decoration.
I felt excited and a little nervous about meeting a bunch of new people. Josephine lived a nicer building than Tillie. She had some money in her family and lived pretty much as she pleased. She did some acting in plays around town and had even had a few major parts in minor productions now and then. When she opened the door she was wearing a colorful dress that looked like a modern art painting and a long scarf in almost blinding oranges and reds. She welcomed us with much fussing and hoopla and embarrassed me by pinching my cheek and telling everyone how much I'd grown. Tillie's boyfriend Roscoe was there as well as her friend Dorrie who I'd always had a crush on when I was a kid. Besides them there was an older couple and a younger couple. The older ones looked academic and slightly threadbare and the younger ones were kind of hippies. At any rate they both had long hair and some colorful clothing items. The guy was a painter of both art and walls and one of his paintings hung on a wall in the living room that he'd also painted.
Everyone was really nice to me and soon I began to feel more relaxed. They asked me when I'd arrived and what my plans were while I was in town. I told them without giving any gory details that I felt I was ready for a change of scenery and didn't know how long I'd be staying. Tillie joked that I'd need to find my own apartment soon because she and Roscoe hadn't had sex for a week. Everyone broke up over that and Dorrie said I could move in with her because she hadn't had sex for a year. I blushed and Josephine called it to everyone's attention to it which of course made me blush even more and they all got a laugh out of that.
Finally we sat down and Josephine passed out glasses of wine to everyone including me. I mostly just listened to the various conversations of the friends catching up with each other. The talk soon turned to politics, local and otherwise. It was so great to be in a group of people who were liberal minded and against the war. Back home everyone was so gung-ho to get the fucking commies, it made me ill to hear that same old shit over and over. I soon learned quite a bit more about it than I knew from the TV news, how big corporations were making a lot of money on everything from guns to chemicals to toilet seats and using it to fill their own pockets and those of accommodating members of congress.
After while someone brought up the hippie situation and everyone turned toward the younger couple, Donna and Mike, for the scoop. They told us about some of the latest hip bands and the drug scene. LSD was still making the rounds in spite of it's being made illegal a couple years back. They described an Acid Test they'd attended back in January, a wild happening with all kinds of weird electronic sound effects and light shows, two rock bands going at once, a tub full of LSD spiked punch, everyone in weird costumes, and humorous escapades involving a couple of cops who kept trying to shut the thing down. The older couple, Elaine and Edward, were somewhat scandalized but listened closely. Everyone wanted to know what acid was really like. Donna said she had only smoked pot and Mike had difficulty explaining his experience. He talked vaguely about becoming connected with the other participants, getting down to deep psychological levels, breaking the bounds of his ego, visions of past lives. To me it sounded something like what I'd heard back home from Phil.
Some of the other folks in the room had tried pot a time or two. Most of them said they'd never gotten much out of it. Roscoe said he'd enjoyed it occasionally but knew people who had gotten strung out on it. Mike said there was a lot of negative mythology about pot and that it could be useful and enlightening if used judiciously. Donna teased him about that, asking him since when did judicious mean every day when you got up in the morning. Everyone laughed and then Mike suggested he go to his apartment and bring some back. Josephine told him to at least wait until after they'd had dinner because otherwise no one would appreciate all her hard work. Mike said that wouldn't be the case at all but agreed anyway.
After some more chitchat and more glasses of wine everyone gathered around the dinner table and sat down. Dorrie helped Josephine spread the food out smörgåsbord style and people picked up plates and loaded them with baked chicken in a thick wine sauce, peas and onions in butter and baked potatoes with sour cream and chives. There was also a beautiful salad with homemade dressings and sourdough rolls. The wine continued to flow, more than I'd ever had before and I was getting quite happy and talkative. I felt like these were the nicest people I'd ever met and it was a special privilege to be with them.
When everyone finished we all pushed ourselves back from the table and sat down again in the living room. Josephine passed around brandy but this time Tillie said she thought maybe I'd had enough for a seventeen-year-old. I was feeling so good I wasn't about to argue. Roscoe put some Duke Ellington on the record player and everyone talked and laughed in high spirits. I saw Mike slip out of the room and I wondered what we were in for.
I was sitting next to Dorrie and talking with her and kept noticing how pretty she still was. I hadn't seen her in about five years and I remembered how I used to fantasize about her when I first hit puberty. She was a few years younger than Tillie, had always had a youthful appearance and reminded me of some movie star from the Thirties I couldn't quite place. I caught myself thinking she was flirting with me but I couldn't believe that was true and chalked it up to having too much wine. Still, when she touched me on the knee to make a point, I felt a little electric tingle go through my body. I was totally engrossed in our conversation when suddenly a hand appeared in my face holding a lighted joint.
“Here, Man,” hissed Mike, kneeling next to me, smoke seeping out between his teeth.
I took it and inspected it with curiosity. This was no thin little stick like Phil had. It was fat and very fragrant.
“I don't think this stuff works on me. I've already tried it twice,” I said.
“Well, third times a charm,” said Mike, winking at me.
I sucked it in and tried to hold it but almost immediately coughed all of it out. It seemed much stronger than what I'd had before.
Mike laughed. “Easy does it. Don't take so much next time.”
“It's probably not going to work anyway.” I handed the joint to Dorrie and she put it to her lips, smiling as she looked into my eyes. She took a long hit and then passed it on.
I watched as the joint went around the room. Everyone had a different reaction to it. Elaine and Edward were very tentative about smoking it and others like Roscoe and Josephine who smoked cigarettes had no hesitation at all. Roscoe bugged his eyes out and said it was some mighty good shit. Tillie took her hit and giggled like a young girl. When it got back to me I took a smaller hit and held it in for a long time.
Mike started talking with Dorrie about someone he'd just finished working for. He said the guy had the most amazing pot straight from Acapulco. When I heard the word Acapulco it sounded very strange, as if I'd never heard it before even though I knew I had. I tried to sound it out and each time I did it was different. I let it go and tried to concentrate on what Mike was saying but I was very aware of Dorrie sitting there next to me with her knees touching mine and her red lipstick and the little bit of cleavage that I could see when she bent over. Mike turned to take the joint from someone and took another toke. I looked at Dorrie and she was looking at me with the prettiest eyes I had ever seen. I felt I had to tell her.
“Your eyes...,” I began.
She smiled and put her finger to her lips and nodded over at Mike who was holding out the joint to me. I took it gingerly and breathed in the sweet, thick smoke. I passed it to Dorrie and she took another hit as I watched her. Everything she did seemed completely fascinating.
Just then Mike gave me a little poke in the arm. I turned to look at him but it all seemed to happen in slow motion.
“Hey, Man...so are ya lookin' for a job?”
The question had such huge ramifications, I couldn't answer. Thoughts of Kentucky and school and my dad floated through my brain, the trip out, the people I'd met along the way, being in the city and at this wonderful party. I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. Mike watched all this and started laughing.
“What's so funny?” Dorrie asked eagerly.
Mike blurted out, “I just asked him a simple question.” Then he started laughing again.
Dorrie looked at me. “What was the question?”
I was completely confused. “I don't remember.”
Mike burst into another spasm of laughter. He passed the joint to me. “Better have another toke,” he grinned.
I looked at it. “Already?” I asked incredulously. The white wrinkled paper wrapped around a bundle of crushed leaves seemed to have such weight and import. The smoke curled sinuously in a twisting column up into the air. I put it to my lips and sucked it in. I was amazed by how good it tasted, like something exotic but earthy, sweet and nourishing. As I breathed out I looked down at it and said very simply, “Wow.”
Mike exploded into another paroxysm of laughter. Everyone in the room was laughing and looking at me.
I felt they were waiting for an explanation. “I think I'm stoned.”
Everyone said something different all at once. I tried to absorb it all but it was impossible. Intense, pleasurable sights and sounds assaulted my brain in a rapidly changing succession. I looked down at the joint again. Dorrie's fingers reached up and took it. “My turn,” she said, her eyes sparkling at me. I looked at my empty fingers. I had the most profound realization of what fingers were, the primary means by which we shaped the world to accomplish our desires and destinies. My head was whirling and all my senses poured in such an incredible wealth and depth of information that I felt like a totally different person, but at the same time more myself than I had ever been before. I looked around and each individual had a powerful and unique presence that gave me a sense of wonder, admiration, love and excitement that I never imagined existed.
Mike stood up abruptly. “Your attention please!” Everyone laughed. “I am now going to put on some very special music in honor of the occasion and this fine young man coming of age.”
“What is this, a bar-mitzvah?” shouted Josephine in a Jewish accent. There was uproarious laughter.
“Oh my God!” said Tillie from across the room. “I've never felt it like this before!” She waved her arms around like an exotic dancer.
Roscoe put his arm around her and shouted, “The music! The music! Play the music, music man!”
Edward sang, “Seventy-six trombones in the big parade!” It was one of the most hilarious things I had ever heard. Everyone's laughter was an explosion of energy that ran up my spine and burst in my head.
Mike stumbled over to the record player with an album in his hand. He resembled a large marionette with invisible strings. It was some kind of act he was putting on for our amusement and he accomplished it in brilliant Chaplinesque character. He oh so carefully lifted the needle off the jazz record. The room fell silent. Josephine twittered. He changed the records, juggling them in a clever, faux precarious pantomime, and put down the needle again. The record rumbled portentously and then dug into the first cut. Powerful guitar chords resonated in my head and chest and flooded the room with a noble authority. And then there was the voice. It was Bob Dylan singing The Times They Are A-Changin'.
I'd heard it before. Now Dylan sounded so much more profound than I remembered, like an old man, not really old, but ageless. It spoke to me directly and personally. It was about me. But not just me. My whole generation that was aching for a change. There was such a depth of wisdom and intelligence in his voice and I felt I had the privilege of experiencing a great soul, a true genius. But more than that. A prophet. A prophet of the people, the youthful masses ready to break free of century upon century of oppression and ignorance.
All the things Phil said came flooding back and I understood perfectly. Humanity had turned a corner, something vital and mystical was taking hold. The old ways of greed and self interest and violence were passing away. Truth was being born again into the world, a new age was dawning, freedom of the spirit, the loosening of centuries of delusion and darkness by false and negative energies, now outmoded and dying.
The song tumbled on, painting pictures vividly in my mind. Something inside me cracked and I began to cry. I felt Dorrie's hand on my shoulder and I took it and squeezed it tightly. I could feel an electric current in it that energized my whole body. Everything in the room absorbed me completely, the music, the people, the air, the furniture, the walls, everything had a character and a life. I felt like I didn't exist separately anymore, I was a part of an amazingly wonderful ongoing 3-D, multi-sensory, vividly real experience, but not just a part. I was the experience and everything in it.
And then the song was done. I looked around. Everyone had looks of awe and wonder on their faces.
Mike picked up the needle.
“Oh my word!” said Edward.
It was as if we all had had the same experience, the same thoughts.
“So much for the Twentieth Century,” said Elaine.
“So much for the last two thousand years! said Tillie.
“So much for Western Civilization!” said I. Everyone laughed.
“What's in this shit?” said Roscoe, looking down at the bit of remaining joint in his hand. We all laughed again.
Mike changed the records. “This one's just for fun.” The first guitar notes gave it away. It was the Beatles' Rubber Soul. The room sparkled with exquisite bubble chains of intertwining guitar harmonies. Dorrie stood up and started to dance and everyone else joined in. The energy took hold of me and sent me to my feet, wiggling and squiggling and shaking in time with the irresistible music.
It was so much fun dancing. I explored every part of my body in delicious movement. I looked at Dorrie. She was swaying back and forth in a primal rhythm that fascinated and thrilled me. We locked eyes and I was amazed how we began to blend and follow each other in spontaneous synchronization. She threw back her head and laughed. All at once my whole being focused on her and everything else shifted to background. She seemed the embodiment of something archetypal, goddess-like, the other half of myself that union with was my very purpose in life. I grabbed her and swung her around and around. It was as though we were the only two creatures in the universe and had found each other after an eternity of separation. We played an utterly delightful game of touch and release, seeker and object that seemed ancient and yet immediate and alive in every changing moment. Then she pushed me away, laughing again as my desire for her flew to new heights and became more powerful and insistent. I knew I had to have her, to possess her, to become one with her.
The record spun on and on. On the slow songs she let me put my arms around her and I flashed back to the shy, lonely wallflower I was at the few parties I'd attended in my life. I intensely envied the kids who could dance unselfconsciously and I had no idea of how to break through my fear and be like them. Now dancing seemed completely natural and I was that person I always wanted to be. I inhaled Dorrie's intoxicating perfume and was entranced and comforted by the feel of her body in my arms. She was so soft and warm and alive. She looked into my eyes and searched for something, silently questioning herself and me at the same time. Then she put her head on my chest and I felt wonderful with her against me, a completeness I'd never known. I was in Paradise, not simply a paradisaical earthly place, but the actual, living Paradise that was our true state beyond all suffering and separation.
Then something seemed to come between us. A hesitation, a thought form interjected, a separation of the ethereal cord. A hint of fear and doubt interceded, of unknowing, of mistrust, a memory of pain that stretched back lifetimes. I sensed that I had been at this crossroads, this juncture, not once, but many times. I felt confused. The way was no longer clear and unfettered. There was some obstacle impending, challenging. I found myself back on earth, at this party, in my own body, remembering who I thought myself to be, a collection of learned roles and responses, familiar, safe, confined, known. Where I had been became a piece of a dream, a drug induced vision, something to be shelved and categorized in my brain, a memory.
Dorrie and I looked at each other as if to say “What was that?”, a sort of pretending that we both needed, an agreement and understanding to release each other from a feared responsibility, an unknown, too intense, too real. I smiled at her and shrugged, acknowledging a fellow traveler from some mysterious adventure and she seemed to understand, appreciate and support this return to normalcy, to this place, this time, these roles, these rules, but still not forgetting entirely.
When the album side ended everyone sat down and resumed talking. Roscoe put on some very cool jazz with a sax in the starring role. It was played by an amazing musician whose delicate runs up and down and around and through the instrument put me at ease while at the same time thrilling me mentally and physically.
Dorrie made an effort to control our interaction and asked me about school back home, what subjects or teachers I liked, the other kids, what I did for fun. I realized it was a game that would reassure her and I felt pleasure in it. I was also calming down from all the overwhelming previous feelings and experiences. A simple warmth between us allowed me to express and understand myself very clearly. I explained to her that I didn't like school much or the town for that matter. I told her about the cliques and the silly preoccupations and the social and physical bullies and she said she totally understood, having grown up in a conservative Midwestern town herself.
Then I told her about Miss Forstner who had supported me and Phil who had been the one to inspire me to come to Frisco. Then she asked me when school had ended since it was still April and she had never heard of a summer vacation starting so early. I saw this question as her attempt to resolve the fear we had experienced before. I explained about how I had left, the fight with my dad, as well as Mom's problems. Dorrie listened quietly and patiently while I went through the whole mess, sometimes becoming a little emotional. When I finished I could see she was very affected by what I had told her as well as comforted and relieved in some way and I felt an openness from her and a bonding that I knew made us both feel very content.
Continuing at the same level I asked about what she did for a living and she explained that she was managing a pet store even though she had a masters degree in psychology. She hadn't been able to find a job when she first came to town and had started at the store and gradually worked her way up. The pay was good and she liked the job and the owners so she felt no need to change. She loved animals and had a couple cats herself and enjoyed people who were obsessed with their pets. I told her I went to the zoo earlier in the day and we agreed about the sad condition of the animals and their cramped living quarters. I also told her how when I was a kid I taught myself massage by practicing on our cats and dogs and she thought that was really great.
She excused herself to go to the bathroom and I began talking to Mike. He and Donna met a year previously at a concert and had been together ever since. She worked, among other things, with bookings at a folk club in the Haight so she was able to get tickets for all the best musicians that came through. Mike asked me what local bands I liked but I had a pretty limited knowledge on the subject. He had some suggestions for ones I might enjoy and also invited me to go to a concert at the end of the month at a place called the Fillmore that had the best acts.
Tillie sat down where Dorrie had been and began listening to our conversation and I sensed an intrusiveness on her part stemming from her anxiety about the responsibility for me she had taken on in her mind. Mike asked how long I was planning to stay in town and if I was going to look for a job. I could see he was going to ask me to work for him but the flow of the conversation required that I tell him things were pretty up in the air and I hadn't really thought about specific jobs that much except maybe pumping gas. Then he revealed he could use a helper with his painting business and I was happy to tell him I was very interested. Tillie commented she thought it would be a good idea except for the getting stoned every morning before work part. Mike agreed and assured her that he wouldn't let a novice work high anyway. He asked if I'd like to start Monday and of course I said yes.
Although everything that was happening seemed to make perfect sense, the part of me that had put up with so much crap for so long could hardly believe all my good luck and the amazing time I was having with all these wonderful people. I was just getting used to the idea that I had fundamentally separated myself from my old screwed-up self and the environment that had me in a cramped little cage for so long and I was beginning to discover what true happiness was all about.
As the evening continued Josephine and Dorrie brought out a fantastic chocolate mousse that Josephine had made from scratch and we all talked way into the night, listening to all kinds of terrific music. I had great conversations with almost everyone which they seemed to enjoy as well. But always in the back of my mind was Dorrie. I looked over at her now and then and sometimes she would look back and smile.
Once as I was waiting in the back hallway for the bathroom she came out and lightly touched my arm and smiled as she attempted to pass. I stood in her way and didn't move. She looked up at me and put her hand gently on my stomach.
“Aren't you going to let me through?”
I bent down and tried to kiss her but she pulled away with a gentle laugh and ran up the hallway back to the living room. I stood there for a moment trying to process the experience and the feeling in my chest was almost overpowering.
The party went on until after three. Finally everyone was getting bleary-eyed and ready to break it up. Tillie told me she was going home with Roscoe for the night and we'd all take a cab together and drop me off at her place first. As we left the apartment Dorrie and I said goodbye. We were both a little tongue-tied and to break the ice Dorrie took my hands and told me that she had a really nice time and hoped we'd see each other again. The cab arrived and Tillie was acting impatient.
“C'mon, Jim. Let's go.”
I again wanted to kiss Dorrie but felt constrained with everyone watching so I just squeezed her hands and said I'd like to see her too. She leaned up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. My heart just about burst and I wished very much that I didn't have to leave her and I imagined she felt the same way.
Tillie flashed an irritated look at Dorrie as I got in the cab. After Roscoe and Tillie got in, he whispered some things in her ear and she smiled and kissed him. All the way home they were very affectionate and spoke to each other in gentle voices. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Dorrie and wondered how I could arrange to see her again. When I got out at Tillie's she opened the window and asked me if I'd like to go with them to the beach the next day. I said sure and she said they'd come and get me around noon. The cab sped away and I let myself into the apartment. I fixed up the couch and took off my clothes and slid in. I thought about Dorrie and began to touch myself. I was still stoned and my orgasm was the most intense of my life. I whispered her name and fell off to sleep in an exhausted bliss.