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Moms View Message Board: Short Stories, Poetry and Articles : THE LOTUS EATERS
Lights flashed by as the El headed into the City. I sat looking out of the window wondering what would happen tonight. That's the way it usually was. Whenever I was lonely or just bored, I headed for the city and the lights. The elevated reached the Fifteenth Street Station, and I road the escalator to the street. It's slowness irritated me, so I ran the flight. I had nowhere to go, but I was in a big hurry to get there. That's youth I guess. Bob hadn't called for over a week now, and I was in a panic. I'd called his place several times. His mother had answered, sounding worried, and said he wasn't there. I suppose that's the real reason that I'd hit town tonight. Bob was the drummer for the Kat's Koroner, a rock band that was currently making a name for themselves in several local coffee houses. They might be playing somewhere tonight. Even if they weren't, someone should know where Bob was hiding out, and what was going on. I really needed to talk to him. The first place I decided to look was "The Square". Someone hanging there would be sure to know what bands were playing where tonight. I was attracting some of the usual stares as I hurried on. I always noticed the double takes I got from others as I strolled along. My clothes really got to them and I relished every stare. What was so unusual about the clothes I wore; worn jeans, fringed, leather vest, cowboy boots and a World War Two officer's uniform jacket? To me it made more sense than their teased hair, pin striped suits, pointed pumps and wing tips. It started to rain, and I slowed my pace as others hurried to get out of the wet. I love to walk in the rain. It's cleansing somehow. I came, too soon, to Nineteenth Street and the Square. It was almost deserted. It used to be the meeting place for everyone in town on any given night, but problems arose. The Square was surrounded by very posh, elegant and established high rise condos. The "Penthouse Set" had put pressure on the cops. The residents felt uncomfortable while walking their dogs at night. Those weird types hanging around "their park" scared them. As usual the cops, protecting the rights of law abiding citizens, decided that the hippies didn't have any rights. They cleared everyone under thirty out after eight each night so the poodles could pee in peace. True democracy at work. I spotted Gabby down the street. I waved, called and he came over. "Are The Koroner playing tonight?" I asked. We were only a block away so we walked back together. The Keyhole is a coffee house with lots of atmosphere, mainly smoke. From the sidewalk you walk down four steps, through a battered door, and into a tangle of fishnet, cobwebs, espresso and loud hard rock. I knew the guys in The Awful Truth. I'd first met them when they played backup sets with The Koroner one night. They all went to the local university, and were pretty straight in spite of their long hair and wild clothes. My friend Jan was dating Greg, the bass player. I didn't think he did a lot of dope, but I was sure he'd be doing more if he stayed around Jan for long. Inside at our usual table sat my compadres. Jan was up already, nodding and smiling. Gabby and I sat down and ordered from the limited menu. Sue walked in then, and from the way she kept licking her lips, I knew she'd lifted her mother's diet pills again. The night had begun. Gabby had a nickel bag, and rolled me two under the table. "Are you sure that Bob was here?" I asked. I couldn't see him anywhere. Gabby pointed to the right of the stage. There he stood, eyes glassy and staring, completely out of it. "Oh shit, acid again." I should have known he was tripping when he dropped out of sight like that. It scared me. He had gone too far too fast. Why? What was he running away from? Me? At least on pills or pot you knew what was going on. Maybe you didn't care, but at least you knew. There had been times I was tempted to drop some with him, just to be out there when he was, to understand where he was. I got the feeling that he didn't really care. All that mattered was the trip. I was too straight then to tackle the problem. I finished my tea and gestured over the music for Jan and Sue to join me in the WC, the unisex toilet at the Keyhole. Bolting the door on the inside, we copped two each of Sue's stash, and lit up. As we passed the joint back and forth, Sue asked about Bob. "How long's been tripping this time?" I had to agree with Sue. After seeing Bob tonight, I was sure he was on some heavy shit. If not acid, I couldn't guess what. I was silent as we passed the second one back and forth. I glanced at the graffiti covered walls, the smoke leaking from Jan's nostrils, and back down at my hands. They were shaking. I was afraid for Bob. I was afraid for me. I didn't want to loose him. I could fight for him if there was someone else. Who can fight dope? We finally finished both the actual grass, and the still enclosed fumes, so we passed the closet on to the next residents, who were a bit upset with our lingering occupancy. When we got back to the table, there was Bob, his eyes clear once more. I sat beside him and he reached for my hand. "You were gone for a long time," he remarked. His fingers tightened on mine. They were ice cold and shaking. He looked horrible. His cheeks were sunken and pale. "Bob, what's going on?" He didn't answer, only shook his head sadly, looking down at the table. "Not here. I nodded, and together we walked out into the rain. What a pair we were. He held my hand. Tripping and speeding, we walked to his car. We drove out to Cindy's place. She and Lou lived together in an old rambling place outside the city. We stopped on the way for a six pack. We found them at home, with the usual assortment of friends. The water pipe was on the floor, and clustered around it, like so many worshipers, were the hash freaks, the lotus eaters, the lost generation. Call us what you will. We were always there for one another. I skipped several passes on the hookah. My mood was not very conductive to a good high. I was down, way down. Bob sat beside me. The hash smelled sweet, our friends relaxed and talking softly. I felt as if I were watching it all through a store front window. Even Bob was on the other side. I couldn't reach anyone. I left the circle and went to the window. Rain streamed down the pane, as I gazed at the reflected room. Here I stood on the wrong side of the looking glass. I had to get away. Bob was talking to Cindy, and didn't notice as I opened the front door, and walked out into the night. The rain washed over me as I walked to the rear of the house. There was a small garden shack in the back yard. I stumbled through the wet yard until I found it in the darkness. The door had no lock. I pushed it open and entered. With my lighter for illumination, I found a citronella candle on a shelf. Fumbling a bit with the damp matches, I finally got it lit, closed the door against the rain, and sank down on the floor. The tears finally started, and once started were hard to stop. I'm not sure how long I lay there sobbing before I heard someone outside. Abruptly the door crashed open, and there stood Bob. He was soaking wet and his face was pale. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He noticed my ragged breathing. "Hey, Honey, What's wrong?", he whispered, wiping the tears from my face. I couldn't seem to stop crying. He just held me in his arms, while I wept it all out. When it had slowed to a sniffle he lifted my chin, wiped away the tears, and sat looking down into my face. He seemed to be really seeing me for the first time in ages. He had come over and joined me on the wrong side of the looking glass. He then gently eased me to the floor, and slowly undid my clothes. I just clung to him, not helping or hindering. He never took his eyes from my face. He seemed to be memorizing and absorbing me. When I was naked, he stood over me for a minute with a expression I could not comprehend. He removed his clothes and slid down beside me. He kissed me so gently. This was entirely different than the Bob who had loved me so many times before. Every movement was lingering, deliberate, reflective. It felt like love, not just sex. We lay still afterwards, my head on his chest, listening as his racing heartbeat returned to it's normal rhythm. We spoke then in a hushed torrent, all the secrets that we'd never shared, our mutual insecurities, our loneliness and fear. I asked him about the acid. "What's it like?" He simply pushed my head back down on his chest, and held me close. We lay in silence for a while until the chill and dampness had us shivering in each other's arms. He helped me to dress. We blew out the candle, and walked out front to where the car was parked. The house was dark and silent now. We had no idea how late it was. It was still raining softly as we got into the car. We decided to drive to our special place, the rock gardens along the River Drive. When we got there the rain had all but stopped, so we pulled some blankets from the trunk and started up the hill. At the top was a small grove of evergreens. They stood close together, and under their low hanging branches was the perfect hideaway. The pine needles on the ground were soft and still dry. We spread the blankets. Behind the grove was railroad tracks leading to a trestle bridge that crossed the river a couple of hundred feet away. Bob loved to hear the trains as they passed close by us. They always slowed a bit before crossing the bridge, and the clatter was soothing. We talked and made love again. I wanted the clock to stop. I was safe here with Bob. Nothing out there could get to us. We were protected by our love. Bob drifted off to sleep with his head in my lap. I sat there for the longest while stroking his hair and savoring the peace I felt within me. I awoke, suddenly cold. It was dawn, and Bob was nowhere in sight. I ran to the edge of the hill, and looked down. The car was still there. A chill of premonition hit my insides, and I ran trembling to the other side of the grove. Then I saw Bob. He was on the trestle bridge, just standing with his back to me in the mist. He seemed to be watching something far down the tracks, across the river. I called to him, but got no response. "...screwed up my head this time." I realized what was happening as I heard that other sound, the sound that Bob always said he loved to hear. It was a train. In the heavy mist I couldn't be sure what direction it was coming from. As I started to move off the tracks I saw Bob start to run. He was continuing across the bridge. Just then the train punched through the mist. He was running right into it. "...can't control it." "...not sure when or how it's going to happen again." "My God!" The engine hit him on an angle, and threw him off the bridge on to the deserted road below. I stood there on that hill, looking down to where he lay. I was alone again. Only a few hours ago he'd held me close to that body that now lay twisted and broken like our dreams below me. I stood there alone and terrified, and wondered why I couldn't cry, but my eyes were as empty as my arms. I felt something brush my cheek like a kiss. It was raining again. I started climbing down the hill to where he waited. As usual I was far behind and had to hurry to catch up. "I'm coming, Bob."
B. V. Dahlen ©
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