|
Dare The DevilChapter 7 - Pool Party
The end of the school year passed unceremoniously, except that I got ripping drunk with a Senior friend the night of his graduation. Spinning, throwing up, the whole thing. I considered it a rite of passage. Peter and I had become best friends. I was flattered that such a cool guy wanted to hang around with me. I didn’t know why, but I was glad. And beyond the drugs we did share many similar interests, like music and drugs and hanging out and drugs. Peter talked a lot about being a male witch, a Warlock. “Yeah, right,” I thought. I had been born on Mars, too, I said to myself, though I never, ever argued with Peter since he was still and always The Man, the coolest guy around. He attributed his good fortune to being a warlock and the powers conferred on him by his coven. A coven being like a country club for witches and warlocks. How many are in this coven? Some. Who’s in it? People. Do I know anyone in it? It turned out I did….There was one, only one, but I wasn’t all that surprised when Peter told me his “sponsor” was Debbie McIntyre. I greeted all this information with great skepticism. Still and all, things were a bit strange. Talking with Debbie in the library, saying she’d arrange my meeting Peter, and out of the clear-blue-sky this coolest of cool guys wanting to hang out with me and get me high and be my best friend. I filed it under “We’ll just have to see.” “What kind of powers?” “Oh, stuff.” Peter would offer no further explanation. He was known as The Laughing One, who always found life a happy, carefree joke. Debbie, I noticed, was much more somber. According to Peter she was higher-up in the group, older than him, and he told me I definitely did not want to mess with her. “Don’t go there, dude. And whatever you do don’t even think about hitting on her.” Peter was slowly informing me about the ways and protocols of his witch-thing, but I really thought he was making it all up. I mean, I was born on Mars! Peter was just blowing smoke, fabricating stories to keep me intrigued and thinking he was something other than the scared teenager that I knew I certainly was. But I liked listening. Even if it was only a story it was a good one, tapping into all my “areas” of power, mystery, being different, special, more than the others. And while we sat around stoned on the latest shipment it made for great conversation. I got my own supply of weed from Peter, and stopped experimenting with drugs and adopted a program of full-blown research. Somewhere around mid July I realized I couldn’t remember the last day I’d spent totally sober. I had a cute little pipe, and had learned all the tricks….Like not eating before smoking because that really amplified the effects, and how to take a little puff and immediately put the burning poison in the bowl out so as not to waste one single milligram, no, not one. One of my favorite tricks was an original. You see I still had a major stash of the Darvon painkillers left over from the deathbed back in February. So my “thing” was to not eat anything all day, take 2 Darvons, and one hour later, as they reach maximum effect in the bloodstream, hit that exotic imported hash-dipped Thai stick, and hit it hard. And I got stoned. Really stoned. Ultimately it didn’t amount to all that much more than feeling light headed, silly, and the whole world being goofy. There were no voices. There were no visions. There was no paranormal activity. This is important for you to know, because you will probably not believe the rest of this tale. I still don’t believe it, though I know it to be true. You must understand that by the time Peter and I had our last meeting at the pool before he went on to become a singing major at USC that I was very well acquainted with marijuana and hashish and Darvon and their effects. And what happened that night was different. Very different. Peter had the coolest job in the world. The coolest car, the best girlfriend, the best drugs, but also the coolest job. He was in charge of maintenance at one of the interspersed cul-de-sac swimming poll installations so perfectly placed in the planned community paradise which was Irvine. Now the official job description meant he had to wash the deck, check the chlorine levels, and keep the bathrooms clean. That part took about an hour. The other 7 hours of a normal shift were spent looking at girls, tanning, talking to girls, helping girls with their sun tan lotion, and smoking weed in the massive boiler room that held all the pipes and valves that controlled the pumps, heaters and filters. Regularly I’d walk over there and just “hang out”, since the pool was only a couple blocks from my house, and if I took the bike that was just one more thing I would have to worry about because the weed was great, it was cool, but it also made me a bit paranoid about getting caught and things being stolen and checking for my house key about twice a minute to make sure it hadn’t fallen out of my pocket and the bike was just one more thing to worry about. But sitting with Peter in the boiler room of the pool in the Irvine Terrace was just about the closest thing to heaven I could imagine. Only this night, the night that was to be our “going away party” before Peter moved to Los Angeles as a college student and I stayed a lowly high school senior, Peter was not the laughing one. He was somber, distant. “Worried about college?” “Nope.” “Problems at home?” “Nah.” “What then?” “Things.” “What things?” “It’s something I’m supposed to do.” “What?” “Something to do with you.” I definitely felt creepy. He was not acting like himself, and he stared into my eyes without blinking. “With me?” “Yup. I’m just not sure. But it’s not like I have a choice.” “You know I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” “I know. But you will. You will.” I would. I would. |
|
[Home] [Colorful Introduction] [God's Name] [The Revealing Science of God] [Jesus Died for You] [Contact] [Support]
(c) 1996-2008 The Church of Yahweh. All rights reserved. May be freely
distributed, but never sold. |
