Well, it isn’t really the weekend anymore, but you’re here to write about it.
Friday nights rolled around, and you and Neil, with his friends Andy and Claire, shuttled into Dublin for a concert. A group called Infected Mushroom was headlining. After standing in the queue in the freezing cold for an hour, you were finally admitted. Nice venue, though there was no place to sit or drop your jacket. But the dance floor was large, and the people were considerate. You dropped a pill and headed onto to floor to shake your tail feathers. There wasn’t a whole lot going on at first, but as your seratonin started to boil, you stopped giving a shit. The crowd was mixed–half the folks on drugs, the other half drunk drunk as fuck, staggering all over the place like assholes, knocking into people and spilling their drinks everywhere.
You found the pills to be rather nice (contrary to the opinions of your local Irish friends, whose concept of quality is different), and danced your ass off for four hours–nearly shook yourself to pieces. It was a total blast, and you haven’t dropped in almost a year, and you certainly hadn’t been to a party with that much noise and energy in ages. It was a happy evening. You found your crew and left the concert with perfect timing–was able to grab a taxi immediately (otherwise you would have been standing in the cold for over an hour, fighting the others for a cab). The only drawback was coming down in the cab–in complete silence. The four of you spilled out of the cab, wavered in the dark to Andy’s house, and posted up in his shed. Another kid, Mikey, came by. He’d originally gone with you to Dublin, but had forgotten his ID and couldn’t get into the show. So the poor kid dropped all his pills by his lonesome and spent hours walking around his neighborhood kicking leaves. Jeeesus…
Well anyway, the shed was cool, and you, Neil, Andy, and Mickey passed around half a dozen spliffs (though you opted out of the last 3), blazed through a pack of cigarettes, and finished coming down nice and easy. Well, you and Neil were on the level. Andy and Mickey seemed to be on their own plane. Seeing as how you’re not a seasoned smoker of the green stuff, you were literally motionless for two hours, vigorously engaged in a debate with yourself about whether you should exert the effort to gain your feet and pop a squat outdoors. Walking turned out to be a near-impossibility, so you held it. You also thought solemnly about your inability to form complex thoughts, but were occasionally amused by your idiocy. You and Neil eventually headed to bed in the guest room at–hmm–six in the morning or so. Woke up–or rather, simply re-opened your eyes, as you never actually fell asleep–at 11am and stared out the window at the balmy weather—tress blowing around in the rain. Wonderful. You forced poor Neil to get up and arrange getting the two of you back to the farm. Too bad he left his car over a mile from the house. So the two of you embark outdoors on two BMX bikes, riding through the rain with NO EQUILIBRIUM, hearts pounding with effort to achieve a tortoise-esque speed. It was a ridiculous sight, especially for you, because you are so damn tall you actually couldn’t sit and pedal–your legs were too long. It was a monkey bike in every respect, with not brakes, and it rendered you screaming as you skid down hill, both feet sliding along the concrete as though you were skiing.
You were actually pretty functional that day. Was able to help with the washing up at lunch. Shot the shit with Angus for a few hours before retiring for a two-hour nap. Wasn’t much going on that evening. But the following day proved to be rather memorable.
You woke up with a tired body. All those hours of dancing had caught up with you. Two of the girls working at the farm, Astreid and Fabiana (you probably butchered both their names) wanted to say goodbye in style, so had procured a gram of Mollie. You and Neil opted to do shrooms (which you’ve never tried) because you both figured you would be low on seratonin after the yips (as X is called over here). You and Neil ate a whole baggy together, but it was a bum hit. Made you energetic and giggly, but that was it. The girls, on the other hand, were flying–connecting. Told you guys to swallow a couple crystals, which you did. And, surprisingly, you and Neil came up at the same time. What a fucking trip. The girls kept asking if the two of you were feeling the MD, and you laughed and said, “We’re both rolling around on the floor, what do you think?”
What kicks ass about Neil is that he and you seem to ride on the same level. Coincidentally, the last guy who always rode on the same level with you was also named Neal. But this Neil is more like a miniature version of Big Dan. So you are just tickled to have met him. He is the homie. Something made the two of you click even before this weekend. Maybe it was the fact that he is normally high, and you are normally up really late, lacking sleep. Neil usually rolls into the house past midnight and finds you awake in the common room, all by yourself, writing up a storm. Whatever gets the two of you giggling like idiots together, it doesn’t stop. Night after night of this, you formed your goofy connection.
A goofy connection that took a fabulous turn on MD. You tripped together and had a fucking BLAST! There was so much love and good energy pouring through that chalet. You all had made a chill pit by the fire, lit some incense, listened to trance, and positive flooded each other in the truest sense of the game. You actually wound up crying–from O.D.ing on Love? You might be the first person EVER to cry on MD. But there you have it–profound feelings.
You all ran outside at 1 in the morning, threw your heads back and marveled and the black sky dense with stars, jumped into the hot tub naked, and laughed. Ran back indoors, got warm, came down nice and easy. A sweet, warm bear hug from Mollie. You and Neil cuddled up together (and people who know you know that you don’t cuddle boys) and drifted off to a glorious sleep. You woke up happy and refreshed.
For all the good things, there are, of course, the rude awakenings. Your brother has been emailing you some pretty terrible news. Everyone in your family is losing their mind (seems like a genetic predisposition. How many times have you lost yours?). So-called rumors of your sister’s ailing health, another sister’s possible meth addiction, and a third sister’s mounting stress and straining constitution. Your father has been returned to the hospital for another complication.
And how do you absorb it all? With the distance of a stranger reading a newspaper article. Wow. Another series of unfortunate events have transpired in the Seattle area. Cold. Removed. Distant. Unapologetic.
But Dad, if you are reading this, Maria loves you. She thinks of you all the time. She sends all the positive energy she can across the pond. Hopes you are lucid, comfortable, and as happy as possible. You’ve always been good to her.
Lex, thanks for handling that favor and for keeping Maria analytically challenged during her travels.
Big Dan, give a “what’s up?” to the new girl. Good luck at the hall. Keep oozing that charm.
Kady, sorry about that weirdness on Gchat.
Rory, keep at the school. Less meddling in family affairs.
Schlomit, you and Maria don’t know each other, but she is extremely grateful for the relationship you have established with her family.
Lorelei, Maria hopes everything in your life finds order. She knows you are capable and organized. An excellent manager. Everything is going to be alright.
Sylvia and Angie, keep on keepin’ on. Sorry to hear you can’t afford a phone anymore.