The Best Day in the World Part I
This is a tale about the best day in the world, which took place five or so years ago in Carbondale, Illinois. I don’t know if it still stands as the best day in the world, but it still ranks high. I tell it in two parts, for it was an eventful day.
Players:
Sara—that’s me
Gregg—that was my boyfriend at the time; think decadance and its opposite, black and maroon garb, off-and-on cigarette smoking, off-and-on heavy drinking, always a project carved out; one of the most unique people I know but with the most normal set of social worries; a charismatic specimen dropped into the now from some other arena
Kyle—one of my best friends, quiet like me, maybe moreso, plays guitar, drums, writes songs and poems and stories, though most people don’t know his fruits; watches and gambles on sports, and he’ll kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit
Masaki—when I met him I thought he was several years younger than me; turns out he’s years older, very funny, very cracked in a most loveable way, makes great mixes for tape and CD, and is one of the tiniest people I’ve ever met; he also raps in Japanese, and he’s hipper than hip could ever hope to be
Travis—another one of my best friends; we think we’re brother and sister with parents from outerspace; picture him wearing browns and greens, with shaggy brown hair sometimes bright red, black thick-rim glasses; plays guitar and just about any other instrument you give him (he’s one of those); he also is quiet like me
It begins. It was the summer, a beautiful crisp sunny morning, a few clouds only for decoration in the crisp blue sky. The air was the right balance of springtime and warm. It would be a great day to be tripping. What better than to intensify a perfect-weather day? Gregg and I had a few blue gel tabs, so we ate some toast or sandwiches or something, then called Kyle to see if he would join us. We swallowed the blue tabs and waited for Kyle to arrive.
Some time after he arrived and partook, we set off to a gas station to buy cigarettes and beverages. All three of us bought a pack of Camel Lights, a medium-size Fierce Lime Gatorade, and Kyle and I each bought a sucker (lollipop, for you east-coasters who don’t understand). As we were leaving we saw our friend Dave across the street, walking into Burger King/Hardee’s (I could never remember which one was there on the corner), so we crossed the street and went in. Gregg sat down in a booth with Dave, and Kyle and I sat at a table next to it.
Dave and Gregg were talking as Kyle and I were quietly and contently finishing our suckers. We both placed our empty, chewed-on sticks on the table while we sat. Suddenly a BK/H employee appeared at our table. Pointing to our white sticks, he said, "Excuse me. Are you finished with those?" I looked at Kyle, Kyle looked at me. We looked at the employee. I burst uncontrollably into laughter. What? Where are we? I couldn’t stop laughing and Kyle kindly told the employee that indeed we were finished with our white sticks. The employee took them and put them in a trash can.
This is further confirmation that odd things happen to people on acid. It isn’t the acid that makes things seem weird. Rather weird things are attracted to the acid. How often does a fast food worker come to your table and ask you if you’re finished? That’s a service I’ve never otherwise gotten. And to top it off we didn’t even have burger wrappers or fry containers or a tray or anything, and Dave was eating so it wasn’t like we were loitering. The only things on that table were the sucker sticks.
When Dave finished eating, we parted ways. Gregg, Kyle, and I headed to the Springer house, where Masaki, Travis, and others lived. I believe only Masaki was home at the time. He too partook and the four of us sat on the porch, the day still crisp and getting crisper. I had brought some bubbles with me. So I took out the pink serrated blower and made bubbles, catching them, watching them drip inside themselves, adding bubbles to bubbles. Everyone watched quietly.
Through a big one I could see Kyle and watched his face dripping upside down. I stood and began to walk to him so he could see. "Look at you in all your dripping," I said. Everyone stopped and looked at me, and what I’d said suddenly seemed overtly sexual. My face turned red and I sat back down. I blew more bubbles. All was still and quiet.
Aside: During college, Gregg and I lived together in a second-floor apartment, had been together for nearly three years but were about to break up and part ways for grad schools states apart. This had caused emotional difficulty for both of us for the past six or nine months. He drank a lot, I studied Greek a lot, and neither of us wanted to talk about it at the same time, i.e. one of us was either too drunk with liquor or translation to bear talking about it much. By this day we were close to the end.
Out of the quiet Gregg looked at me, said, "I’m gonna miss you." Immediately I felt sad deep in my body. The end, the real live end. I felt suddenly raw and spiraled inward and outward at the same time. Everything would change. I quit blowing bubbles, put my head in my knees and cried. Kyle and Masaki continued sitting and quiet. What could have been an uncomfortable moment for everyone was rather purely itself. When the moment was over I made more bubbles.
After a while Travis pulled up in his car. He’d been visiting a friend somewhere. We filled him in and he joined us.
We decided to take a walk. Indiscernible time had passed. Afternoon sun was in the sky. We walked north and stopped at a park.
Players:
Sara—that’s me
Gregg—that was my boyfriend at the time; think decadance and its opposite, black and maroon garb, off-and-on cigarette smoking, off-and-on heavy drinking, always a project carved out; one of the most unique people I know but with the most normal set of social worries; a charismatic specimen dropped into the now from some other arena
Kyle—one of my best friends, quiet like me, maybe moreso, plays guitar, drums, writes songs and poems and stories, though most people don’t know his fruits; watches and gambles on sports, and he’ll kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit
Masaki—when I met him I thought he was several years younger than me; turns out he’s years older, very funny, very cracked in a most loveable way, makes great mixes for tape and CD, and is one of the tiniest people I’ve ever met; he also raps in Japanese, and he’s hipper than hip could ever hope to be
Travis—another one of my best friends; we think we’re brother and sister with parents from outerspace; picture him wearing browns and greens, with shaggy brown hair sometimes bright red, black thick-rim glasses; plays guitar and just about any other instrument you give him (he’s one of those); he also is quiet like me
It begins. It was the summer, a beautiful crisp sunny morning, a few clouds only for decoration in the crisp blue sky. The air was the right balance of springtime and warm. It would be a great day to be tripping. What better than to intensify a perfect-weather day? Gregg and I had a few blue gel tabs, so we ate some toast or sandwiches or something, then called Kyle to see if he would join us. We swallowed the blue tabs and waited for Kyle to arrive.
Some time after he arrived and partook, we set off to a gas station to buy cigarettes and beverages. All three of us bought a pack of Camel Lights, a medium-size Fierce Lime Gatorade, and Kyle and I each bought a sucker (lollipop, for you east-coasters who don’t understand). As we were leaving we saw our friend Dave across the street, walking into Burger King/Hardee’s (I could never remember which one was there on the corner), so we crossed the street and went in. Gregg sat down in a booth with Dave, and Kyle and I sat at a table next to it.
Dave and Gregg were talking as Kyle and I were quietly and contently finishing our suckers. We both placed our empty, chewed-on sticks on the table while we sat. Suddenly a BK/H employee appeared at our table. Pointing to our white sticks, he said, "Excuse me. Are you finished with those?" I looked at Kyle, Kyle looked at me. We looked at the employee. I burst uncontrollably into laughter. What? Where are we? I couldn’t stop laughing and Kyle kindly told the employee that indeed we were finished with our white sticks. The employee took them and put them in a trash can.
This is further confirmation that odd things happen to people on acid. It isn’t the acid that makes things seem weird. Rather weird things are attracted to the acid. How often does a fast food worker come to your table and ask you if you’re finished? That’s a service I’ve never otherwise gotten. And to top it off we didn’t even have burger wrappers or fry containers or a tray or anything, and Dave was eating so it wasn’t like we were loitering. The only things on that table were the sucker sticks.
When Dave finished eating, we parted ways. Gregg, Kyle, and I headed to the Springer house, where Masaki, Travis, and others lived. I believe only Masaki was home at the time. He too partook and the four of us sat on the porch, the day still crisp and getting crisper. I had brought some bubbles with me. So I took out the pink serrated blower and made bubbles, catching them, watching them drip inside themselves, adding bubbles to bubbles. Everyone watched quietly.
Through a big one I could see Kyle and watched his face dripping upside down. I stood and began to walk to him so he could see. "Look at you in all your dripping," I said. Everyone stopped and looked at me, and what I’d said suddenly seemed overtly sexual. My face turned red and I sat back down. I blew more bubbles. All was still and quiet.
Aside: During college, Gregg and I lived together in a second-floor apartment, had been together for nearly three years but were about to break up and part ways for grad schools states apart. This had caused emotional difficulty for both of us for the past six or nine months. He drank a lot, I studied Greek a lot, and neither of us wanted to talk about it at the same time, i.e. one of us was either too drunk with liquor or translation to bear talking about it much. By this day we were close to the end.
Out of the quiet Gregg looked at me, said, "I’m gonna miss you." Immediately I felt sad deep in my body. The end, the real live end. I felt suddenly raw and spiraled inward and outward at the same time. Everything would change. I quit blowing bubbles, put my head in my knees and cried. Kyle and Masaki continued sitting and quiet. What could have been an uncomfortable moment for everyone was rather purely itself. When the moment was over I made more bubbles.
After a while Travis pulled up in his car. He’d been visiting a friend somewhere. We filled him in and he joined us.
We decided to take a walk. Indiscernible time had passed. Afternoon sun was in the sky. We walked north and stopped at a park.
[Tomorrow, part deux.]
1 Comments:
I have a nostalgic feeling of being a little kid and pending the whole day outside playing in the sun, completely carefree and happy.
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