Trip

So, Jeremy Sears, the twenty year old university student, has just dropped a half a hit of what Rickie D, who has just dropped the other half hit, triumphantly calls chocolate synthetic mescaline. Rickie D has been taunting Jeremy all afternoon that he has, in his own possession in his own dorm room, something of a really special quality, for Jeremy’s personal pleasure, right there at the university. In fact, it was something very special, indeed. Rickie D offered him a half a hit of an hallucinogenic drug, with triumphant excitement, that he finally had something which was supposed to be a particularly exquisite treat for Jeremy to enjoy, as if it were an ice cream cone or something.

This whole trip was supposed to be so far out, that the two young men undertook the adventure with eager anticipation. That was Rickie D’s attitude from the beginning, and Jeremy was not the sort of person to throw a wet blanket on the party, if he could help it. Tripping was all an entirely new experience for Jeremy Sears. He had never taken any kind of hallucinogenic drug before. All he’d done so far was smoke some reefer and some hashish, every now and then. They had both lived a charmed life, so far, all over that campus of 8,000 students. Thinking back on it, Jeremy wasn’t even certain that it wasn’t before he’d narc’ed on Charley, the drug pusher, by that time in his university career or not. He can’t remember anymore.

Once, Jeremy had dropped a couple of Robin Eggs, at a camp-out he’d found out about, which was going on up in the mountains, in the woods, late one evening. He’d taken two of the pills, with the idea of staying awake all night, with disastrous results. The Robin Eggs were supposed to be just enough speed to keep Jeremy awake, like Jeremy thought he wanted to do, for some strange reason or other. That speed had almost cost the nineteen year old Sears his very life, it overwhelmed his heart so very much by morning. If Laura and Mop hadn’t stayed with him after Sears collapsed, Sears may very well have died at the age of nineteen.

Sears had no idea what he was doing to himself, chemically. Even if Sears had been offered the appropriate chemistry course as a mandatory part of his undergraduate curriculum, to understand more exactly what he was doing to himself physiologically, Jeremy Sears was not in any such state of mind, at the age of either nineteen or twenty, to understand what he was doing to his body, or his life.

The guy just didn’t know.

He was shooting in the dark, with his own physiology.

Sears was clueless about whatever he was getting himself into with this other experience, too. He just blindly took the half hit that Rickie D was so excited about, which Rickie D carefully cut in half with a knife. Jeremy swallowed it down with the hot, scalding herbal tea that Rickie D had insisted Jeremy try, to intensify the trip experience in the first place.

Then, Rickie D insisted that Jeremy bring his tea with him, precipitating Jeremy’s monumentally awkward experience of having to carry his special beer mug along with him, with some sort of herbal tea in it, that Jeremy couldn’t even say that he liked the taste of. What in hell was Jeremy supposed to do with a beer mug all evening long? The men’s dorms were a long walk from the main part of the campus, and the two young men were headed in the opposite direction.

Rickie D explained, but not to Jeremy’s satisfaction, that they were about to miss something very special, whatever that was supposed to mean. When asked to explain himself, Rickie D simply smiled, with his eyes sparkling in a certain way, and told Jeremy he’d show him what he meant. The two young men struck out on their own, on foot, from the dorm rooms, where Jeremy should have left his precious beer mug that eventually ended up in a dumpster. They headed across the huge, stadium parking lot, to begin climbing the mountainside, to the south side of campus.

Jeremy ignored the mystery of the whole thing, and swallowed the small, half pill with eager anticipation. Jeremy had been provoking this event for quite some time now, verbally repeating what Mop had been saying for several months, so far. “I just love mescaline,” she would say, and Jeremy had been repeating what Mop had been saying for almost forever by now, trying his level best, as a twenty year old, cool hippie, like the heaviest hippie on campus, Mop herself, had been doing all along, long before Jeremy Sears had ever met her. Mop was the one Yankee, from some place way up in New Jersey, who knew best how to handle the heaviest trips.

Mop was far out, that’s all there was to it. She was so far out that she had that trip name, and nobody seemed to know her real name. I think it was Alice or something, but nobody ever called her that, and Jeremy Sears didn’t ever get up enough nerve to actually ask her, himself. We could have called her Alice. That would have been totally cool enough, but she wanted to be called Mop, so Mop it was.

They were all three of them, a bunch of Yankee students at a Southern university campus, way down in the heart of Dixieland, in a place which was nestled thoroughly in the heights of the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Deep South. They weren’t far from the Blue Ridge Parkway, which Jeremy Sears had conveniently forgotten the location of, in less than a year since he’d actually been to the place, behind the wheel of someone else’s car he was no longer hanging out with. Why it was that Jeremy had suddenly lost touch with everything he just recently learned about the surrounding geography of the place, he couldn’t rightly say. Nonetheless, he forgot all that geography alright.

The two young men had some of the very odd hot tea, in tea mugs. Before Jeremy could sit down and enjoy any of it, Rick hurries Jeremy up, complaining that they were about to “miss it;” that the Crack Between the Worlds was coming, whatever that was. Rickie D insisted that what they needed to do was get going up the mountainside right away, before they missed the great thing. So, they left the dorm in some kind of rush, chasing something that Jeremy has never understood since, in his entire lifetime, even though he’s pondered the idea with a lot of energy, as well as done more than his share of fruitless research in countless subversive literature, which was not the least bit helpful establishing the more exact meaning of the very odd concept Rickie D called the Crack Between the Worlds. Whatever it was, Rickie D never said anything else about it.

If he was going to show Jeremy that particular apparition that same evening, either Rickie D forgot about it, or Jeremy was tripping too heavy by the time it happened, to catch the significance of the apparition of the Crack Between the Worlds, whenever Rickie D spelled it out for him. The point is that Jeremy Sears never learned what the mystery was. He wanted to know, too.

They headed toward their favorite part of the adjacent mountainside, on foot of course, to see the famed Crack Between the Worlds, according to the very intense Rickie D, who began tripping very heavily, like the invasive hippie freak from up home that he was. He had pushed his way into Jeremy Sear’s private university life, some 500 miles away from home, as if he had some good reason to believe that Jeremy would welcome him to come party with him, and take all sorts of classes at Jeremy’s school, the second or third year that Jeremy had already been a student there, without so much as asking Jeremy anything about it first. Sears would have appreciated at least a phone call during summer break or something, but no, Rickie D just showed up.

Jeremy had a premonition that Rickie was going to be bad news for him, by the shear invasiveness of Rickie coming to supposedly matriculate at the university, without any preliminaries involved, whatsoever. Rick just appeared on campus, on foot, one day, as if he owned the place, and Jeremy Sears talked himself out of paying any attention to the intuitive notion that Rick’s presence was going to end up being totally bad news for Jeremy, all the way round. Considering where that one mescaline trip took Jeremy Sears in life, it’s safe to say that the premonition was true.

Anyway, the two young men are walking up the mountain, and the mescaline kicks in. Sears remembers something like perceiving how his lungs were working so well, as they continued to climb the various tricky places of the mountainside. They were traversing places that could only have been climbed on foot. Sears remembers how everything turned to candy-vision all of a sudden, the way all of the colors of everything changed to something so livid that it defies adequate language to describe any of the experience. Sears was so overwhelmed by the idea that he was alive, and that he could feel his life’s breath so acutely, being panted away from him, as well as being pumped in and out of him with such an insecurity of a hyper-fragile health, while they both did such a sure-footed climb away from the campus of the university. All that health and vitality were about to be brought into question in the form of a health issue for Jeremy that somehow, Rickie D was impervious to.

At one point, the two young men came to a clearing on the mountainside, where Sears saw some sort of monster, which was unlike anything the man has ever seen in his lifetime, before or since. That monster was so indescribable, the only documentation Sears can think of to refer to that expresses it, happens to be published in the Carlos Castaneda books, about a Mexican Indian Peyote Cult, where peyote buttons, which are cut off the wild cactus plants, that grow all over the place down in Mexico.

The cult members eat the buttons which makes them all sick to their stomachs, which the pill did not do to either young man who ate each half of the pill. Once these cult members cleaned out their stomachs of everything contained in them, through a process of violently vomiting, the cult members went into a severely hallucinatory state, where they were likely to think, say, or do just about anything. Carlos Castaneda wrote volume after volume of redundant literature, which just happened to be the only documentation of the actual experience of being high on mescaline, or peyote, that Jeremy Sears ever found in any book. In the many years after that, Jeremy Sears read at least seven of those books.

The creature referred to here can only be the peyote god, Mescalito, who only chooses to appear to certain trippers of the peyote cult, under certain significant circumstances. It was obvious that Jeremy had been given a special honor by the god, Mescalito himself, considering that many who are under the influence of peyote, or mescaline, ever once get the honor of the vision. The synthetic substance contained in the buttons is the same basic substance that Jeremy Sears and Rickie D ingested, since Sears wanted to find out a little bit about tripping, like any explorer would do. Well, Jeremy Sears got a crash course in tripping his brains out on mescaline in one, huge, overwhelming lesson.

Somehow, they encountered a woman on the high plains of the mountain. She was dressed in a red winter coat, while the two young men, who were also dressed for winter, were walking across the high plain of the mountainside. Rickie D and the woman had a casual conversation for several minutes, until Jeremy Sears thought he’d be devoured by some nondescript entity, which had begun to threaten Sears himself uniquely, in some very oblique way. Long after the woman in the red coat had gone her own way down the mountain, going a different way than Sears ever knew anything about, he still had a significant anxiety about something he found himself to be very uniquely inarticulate about. The usually outspoken and articulate young man was suddenly speechless.

Rickie D was flabbergasted to find a way to comfort his companion.

But there was more on that mountainside for those two trippers to handle. They finally arrived at the steep, partially paved, hilly access road, which serviced a whole bunch of people’s homes, one of which belonged to the town DJ, whose name was Reggie. Reggie and Jeremy happened to be good friends. The two young men who were tripping together agreed to leave Reggie out of their trip for the time being, though. They just never did go knocking on that door that evening.

But all of a sudden, there was all this hoarse shouting of nondescript sounds, that some sort of smearing, white object was doing, as it drew closer and closer to the two young men, making the most frightful noise all of a sudden. One might have thought, if one had been the slightest bit observant, that Jeremy Sears was already having an anxiety attack, as a specific response to the woman in the red coat. The appearance of this noise-making life form, which Rickie D called a dog, really scared Jeremy Sears half to death. It seemed that Jeremy Sears had always been afraid of dogs.

Who could have known?

What happened after that, was that Jeremy Sears found himself a slave to an hereditary disease called schizophrenia, which it has taken the man a lifetime to understand or control at all. Though Jeremy Sears has conquered a lot of his addictions since he first took that fateful half hit of chocolate, synthetic mescaline. He has never been able to conquer and master his own schizophrenia, or any of it’s persistent effects on his mental status.

Though Jeremy Sears remains drug and alcohol free for almost 30 years since that fateful experience has been brought under tentative control, the adult man has always been subject to coming down with mental symptoms at a moment’s notice. The man has been known to come down with mental symptoms whenever he comes down with any significant physical health problems. Of course, this fact complicates any health crisis the man encounters in life.

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About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at Amazon.com.
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