November 2009

I was born and raised in the Bible Belt. However, due to my general disinterest in all things redneck, oxycodone, and Confederate, I’ve harbored an immense desire to relocate ever since Al Gore lost the presidency. 

So, I moved to the Haight-Ashbury of New England and sought comfort within the overabundance of marijuana as well as the mesh-clad homosexual population. Everything was absolutely fagalicious! Despite the colder climate, I found myself warmed up by the sight of cute hippie boys in all their scruffy, dreaded, Cherry Garcia lovin’ glory. 

Before I doused myself in patchouli and attempted to lure Mr. Sunshine Daydream in with special brownies, I remembered that I was in this city for a reason and I mustn’t be too distracted. After all, I had a GPA to maintain. 

Despite it’s location in such a laid back, disgustingly liberal city, the majority of my fellow students are uppity douchers hailing from prestigious boarding schools and spend their free time drinking boxed wine, exploring the depths of North Face, and skiing. Second in population density are trustafarians. Last but not least, the minority is comprised of authentic, greasy middle classers who like African drum circles and acrylic bongs. These kiddies became my most prized friends.

 Jed was a lad whose eyes were much too small and his lips much too big. He knew a guy who knew a guy with mushrooms, so we kept him within close proximity. He was nice enough, although his gaze seemed empty and he didn’t speak often. What I did know was that he, like myself, had read the beatnik literature like anyone else would read Harry Potter. The summer before, he placed his tattered copy of On The Road in his knapsack and ventured across country; he endured constant hunger and slept on benches. By August, he had made it to San Francisco and dosed for the first time with his Kesey lookalike counterpart. 

We never blossomed beyond good acquaintances. We smiled in passing; yet as I was studying in the library, he was popping tabs like Tic Tacs. His innocent demeanor was cruelly overcast by his mushrooming (hah, pun) dissociation from reality.

But goddiggity damnit, did I ever find him more and more attractive as the days grew shorter! His copious use of psychedelics and other pills made him all the more rugged and withered a la Pete Doherty. One morning, I nearly pissed myself in horniness when I noticed his stark resemblance to the corpse of my dreams. 

Now, do I earn bad karma for indirectly contributing to his bad habits by lusting after the appearances that they created? Whatever dude, the fact that he would flunk out was so silently inevitable that really, all there was left to do was indulge. And indulge I did.

Jed and I found our bodies intertwined and sweaty in a dark dorm that was pulsating with music. I felt my inner 15 year-old hoe become nostalgic for Homecoming ‘06 by this grinding/dancing/third world mating ritual. How did we get here? His breath is heavy on my neck. 

The weather is unusually warm and the stars are blinding. Five of us walk beyond campus and into an open valley that overlooks the looming, dark blue mountains. Jed is stumbling and has already thrown up once. I am wearing the yellow sundress that I scored in a Providence thrift shop for nineteen dollars. It’s novelty is forever absent in the dark. 

He’s holding two girls’ hands simultaneously, myself included, both females completely oblivious. Whoever’s palm remains intact receives intimacy in return. Shitty, shitty intimacy.

Our group disperses and we are completely, utterly alone.

I sit besides him on a rock that overlooks the Earthly masses. No words were needed as his lips ferociously pressed against mine, and I found myself empty and indifferent. He is aggressive and makes no effort to gently coax me into performing oral. To him, it’s a chore as uninspiring as grocery shopping or vacuuming and it must be performed quickly yet efficiently. This is so not romantic. This is a straight up duty. I feel like this blowjob was ordered by a draft card. VIETNAAAAAAMMM!

Is there an imaginary timer that I’m completely unaware of? A threatening tortoise that is making his way to the peak at warped speed? Fuck dis shit. Before I can even protest, boom! Cock in my vag. Well, okay. We’ll consider this charity. The whole thing is over before you can say “Aesop.”

This would happen. I would have completely undesirable sex with an acidhead in the middle of a fucking valley. Whoop de doo. The best part? Well, I had the opportunity to experience a moment that was much, much more awkward than a walk of shame: a walk of shame performed side-by-side. Seriously? Seriously. He remained two steps ahead.

The next morning, I write off our trifling copulation as a bad idea made right by Natty Light. We continue to smile at each other in passing and winter break, as well as his impending expulsion, are drawing near.

To commemorate the holidaze, my friends and I go all out and pick up a bottle of mint schnapps. Yum in my tum! By this point, Jed had officially defined himself as the orbiting eclipse of his roommate/bff, The Acid Empire Provider. He was absent and gray. Despite our previous night, my heart ached for what I had always considered an intelligent, warm soul. He had lost himself. We had loved the same books and the same songs, yet I survived. He did not.

We are merrily drunk. There is a quiet knock on the door and Jed enters the room with a waif smile.

Our tinsel spirit compels us to offer him drink after drink. He and I sit on my bed and exchange witty banter. It is a fraud conversation, but it is all either of us can muster. It is a happy effort.

He rolls a joint; a peace offering.

I put on my peacoat and we walk outside. It’s two in the morning and it seems as though the whole town has fallen into a restless sleep. The snow quietly falls and envelopes us together.

We huddle together and giggle about everything and nothing in particular. I know that this will be the last time we’ll truly be together. No road trips, no reading of Ginsberg out loud, no henna on our hands. This is not for me. 

I lull him to a stoop; a peace offering. I kiss him gently. Our cheeks grow red and the roach is discarded. 

I walk upstairs, he follows. I turn to him the stairwell. We kiss again, one last time.

“I’m going to bed,” he says with a sad smile.

“Good night.” I turn and walk to my room.

All is well.

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Where are they now?

Jed was ultimately kicked out of school for poor attendance and failing grades. As a native to the city, he resides in nearby apartments and often goes dorm to dorm in exchange for his acid. He began steadily boning a moocher cokehead who looks like a thumb to commemorate the new year. Last I heard, she is pregnant and Jed is currently looking for a job to provide for his illegitimate spawn.