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Dare The DevilChapter 8 - Introductions
Chapter 8. The Biblical number of new beginnings. And my life can be measured in terms of everything before that night, and everything after. I confess it is nearly useless attempting to write this chapter. Language, you see, is simply a short-hand form of referring to shared experiences. “Strawberry” means something only if both parties have had the experience of a strawberry. And if you haven’t had a strawberry then the best I can do is try to point you in the strawberry direction by analogy, describing things I am fairly certain you have experienced in order to try to piece together a picture of a strawberry. All of which is to say I don’t think it’s very likely I stand a very good chance of describing this whole thing to you, especially in light of my (at this point) obviously inadequate literary skills. But it is my task. I must press on to complete this message that some, even one, might heed my warning. “You are of course supplied?” Peter said as we got in his car. That was druggie talk for “You have drugs, right?” And you must understand, this one thing you must understand if nothing else, it was not the drugs. These were mine. They had not been out of my possession. I was well and intimately familiar with them and their effects at this time as Peter was driving me home and we lit up. We said our last “See ya around”, doing the macho teenager guy thing. Girls are able to cry and hug and kiss each other and nobody thinks that’s weird or gay. But 2 guys who have spent practically the entire summer together are only allowed to say “See ya around.” Peter took a deep breath, let out a huge sigh, and said “OK. Here goes.” I had no idea what he meant, but evidently it had something to do with the uncertainty he had felt back at the pool. And he started talking to me. I cannot tell you what he said, I do not remember, and even if I did I would not relay it to you. But what he was doing was weaving a magic spell on me. And as he did so I felt stranger and stranger. Very light headed. Spinning. With the sensation of sitting inside my body, no, inside my brain, and watching myself twitch and laugh. He stopped in front of my house. “There you go.” I got out, not saying anything. Speech was impossible. As I walked down the sidewalk toward the front door I approached one of the many massive florescent lights that sprout-up every 100 feet or so in planned communities. And as I approached that light my head was grabbed like a physical, tangible hand grabbing my head and pulling it up and I heard this voice say “Stand sill, for you are standing on Holy Ground.” As I stared into that light, it seemed as though I could see every single photon spraying from the bulb, and I could count them, and they all had personalities and they were all screaming at me that I had best pay attention. “I am the ancient. You have been diligent. You have sought for me. I am Peter’s god. I am the power and the glory. I am REAL. We have such sights to show you,” as my body itself seemed to disappear and become translucent, a transmitter for the light. The light above my head created a 3-D cone, and I was in the middle of it, surrounded and filled by this talking light. “You are special, little one. You have no idea how much. We need you. We want you. And you will do as you are told.” I neither said yes or no. There was no “me” left to respond in any way. I was observing. That I know. And I had never seen anything like this, nor ever imagined anything like this. I had no fear, only awe and wonder, though I did feel that what was happening was very important and I had to be very, very careful. Then I felt my eyelids being shut, and that’s when things got weird. Having been staring at that light for, I don’t know, probably 2 actual clock minutes, I now had a MASSIVE impression of that light on the back of my cornea, and in the dark it was SCREAMING AT ME! “I am the one who guided you to Peter. I am the one who guided you to Debbie. I am the source of Peter’s powers. I am real. I am Real. I am REAL.” I started walking, my eyes slowly opening. But the impression of that light on my retina was so strong that I could barely see anything. And the most powerful sensation was of granularity….Just like I had felt that I could count and name every photon coming from the light, I felt as though every cell in my body was a separate, living being, held together by my invisible will, and if I wasn’t careful or moved too fast the entire structure would fall and I would be reduced to a mass of disconnected cells, flowing down the sidewalk and into the storm drain. Somehow I got inside the house and into my bedroom. Everyone was asleep. I was glad. I went into my room and turned on the stereo. I put on “Close to the Edge” by Yes, one of my favorites. And then things turned really weird. I wasn’t listening to the music. I was inside it. And every note had size, shape, color, and a specific location inside the matrix floating around my room. And I was in the center. And then…God help me….The music started talking to me. “A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace, and rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace. And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar, and taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.” I had heard and read these lyrics dozens of times. But now I knew. Now I knew. They were really talking about me! Peter is the seasoned witch. I was just a normal mortal, but Peter could fix that, rearranging me so that I could get higher than anyone, ever. I could see god through these drugs and Peter’s power. And it would all happen by music, sent by The Powers. The British musicians who wrote this years ago didn’t even know it, but they were being inspired by The Powers to write these lyrics for ME. They didn’t even know what they all meant, but I did, indeed, and they meant that The Powers had me in their sights. For what I did not know. But they were talking to me. And the music was about me. And I saw The Power face to face, and that’s all that mattered. Eventually I fell asleep. First waking thought: Reality check. The drugs were, in fact, mine. They had been in my pocket all the time. Are you sure, actually, really, positively sure? This is very important, maybe Peter put something in them. But nope. The dope was mine. OK, did you make the whole thing up? That was out of the question. Tried to call Peter, but he was gone, and his mom didn’t have a number and besides he was living in the dorms and I couldn’t reach him. Debbie wasn’t even in the book. I couldn’t think of a single person other than Peter who might have her number. No. I was left on my own. I had to figure this out myself. What I should have figured out was the creeping insanity. What I should have figured out was the growing megalomania. What I should have figured out was that I was in trouble here. No. I was left on my own. I had to figure this out myself. |
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