September 25th, 2002 - "my college writing narrative paper"

My Night With Hippies

It was a recent Monday night, about 7 o’clock. I had just gotten back from my hometown and I was unpacking my things. A knock on the door. My friend, who had also gone home that weekend was there, and he wanted to go do something. I was in dire need of doing laundry. Being the social butterfly that I am, however, I put laundry off for what was supposed to be a couple hours, but unfortunately never did get to it that night. My roommate, my friend, and I walked out to the freshman courtyard to sit on the bench and socialize. Everyone was smoking butts as usual and discussing their plans for the evening. It started to get really cold. I went back up to my room with my roommate and my friend. My other roommate had returned with the frozen pizza I had asked her to pick up for me. I stuck it in the microwave and waited patiently. After adding a delicious topping of choice, I consumed the whole thing. It was time to return to the bench.

When we had returned back outside, the bench was full, forcing us onto the grass. No sooner had we sat down when we were approached by two acquaintances of ours. They asked if one of us would be kind enough to take them to the bank and to a friends’ house. In return they would give us gas money. Being the nice person I am, I volunteered for the job. I did, however decline gas money because despite contrary belief I actually do enjoy doing people favors sometimes. First stop was the bank of New Hampshire so the two hippy boys could check their account balances. To protect the innocence of these boys, I shall only refer to them as the front seat and the backseat passengers.

I drove back over the border into Massachusetts where I had only been hours before. I was in pursuit of this kids’ house, where I was bringing my passengers. The front seat passenger was having some trouble explaining where the house was, he said it was too dark. After many a dirt road and dead end, we were there. No one was home. Great.I felt bad so I told the boys that I would drive them back later to try again. As we were on our way back to school the front seat passenger saw the friend of theirs’ roommate drive by in a big van. We turned around and went back. Apparently we were going to “chill” with the roommate until the friend got home.

The roommate and his girlfriend were very nice and inviting. They let us into the house to sit and hang until the friend got home. No one had any idea where he was or when he would be arriving home. The house was very artsy. Photography covered the walls, the roommate of the friend was a photographer, and a real good one at that. I made my way to the living room slash band room and found a comfy seat next to the drum set. The abstract art on the wall jumped out at me with all its vibrant colors and obscure shapes. The roommate and his girlfriend were tying up some loose ends around the house while the hippy boys sat jamming to what can only be described as hippy music. These guys were really into the music. They engaged in conversation about shows and festivals they had gone to where they played this kind of music. I was quiet, I wasn’t into it. I mean sure, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, they were all classics, but we were then on the subject of Ratdog and the like. I just didn’t understand.

After about a twenty minute discussion about these musicians who I had never heard of before, it was time for everyone in the house to smoke a cigarette. I had quit a few days before, so I just followed them out. The girlfriend led us to the back of the house to show us the lake her boyfriend lives on. It was nothing short of picturesque. I sat on the swing which was about three feet from the lake. I got locked into the movement of the dark clouds over the bright moon which would periodically hide behind the trees. I was completely lost. At one point the only feeling that came over me was euphoria, and I melted into the swing. It was getting colder by the minute, but for some reason I was not phased by it at all. I was unaware of the people and conversations around me. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud at the feeling I felt running through my body at the time. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Very abruptly, the scenery changed. We were back inside. Where it was warm, and where I could stare at the pictures on the wall again. This time the front seat passenger sat at the drums, while the roommate of the friend we were there to see, started jamming on the electric guitar. The sound of the guitar was electrifying, and the distortion pedal added to it twice as much. The room was filled with music, yet seemed silent.The walls were becoming blurry. There was this incredible tacky 1970’s wallpaper covering the walls. On one wall, which happened to be my favorite, had a linoleum brick pattern with about a foot of that tacky stuff at the top. The contrast was crazy to look at because they didn’t match at all. It was probably the most gorgeous thing I could have laid my eyes on.

I had been sitting there for hours, but had no perception of time. I was completely absorbed in my current feeling. I needed something to play with. I found a light blue glass bead elastic necklace I had wrapped around my right wrist. It suddenly took on a really interesting feeling. I rolled the necklace around in my hands for about a half hour. I started to stretch the necklace and watch the beads that were vibrating in my hands, I couldn’t keep my eyes on them. Then I broke it. Some of the beads went flying at the backseat passenger who was seated next to me at that time. I lost my trance. Lucky for me I managed to save the string from the necklace. I put the beads in the left pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and continued to play with the string. The strong was like elastic floss. It became really fun to play with.

The weirdest thing that happened to me was when I seemed to be standing outside myself analyzing my every move. I was outside myself and it seemed logical to me. I felt like the character that Claire Danes plays on the MTV show “My So Called Life.” As you watch that TV show you should notice that she narrates herself after everything she does, but using a voice over. I was not myself, I was something so much better. Everything I touched felt good.

At a point I resorted back to the beads in my left pocket. My fingers began to grind the beads together, not realizing I was breaking them into little pieces. The tiny shards of glass penetrated my skin, yet there was no pain. I left my hand in my pocket for awhile, still playing with beads. I really wasn’t sure what I was touching, although I thought it was beads. My hand felt detached from my body, and I found myself repeatedly checking on my limbs to make sure they were still there.

Finally, after about a three hour lapse in time that I was completely unaware of, the man we were waiting for finally came home with his girlfriend and his other friend. The three new hippies entered the house adding to the already overbearing amount that were currently in the room with me. I felt singled out. I felt like I needed a hemp necklace.

They all played music and conversed while I was left to float around in my imaginary world. There was lots of happiness everywhere. I wasn’t used to that. It had an overall great “hippy” time. I wish there was a way I could explain more in depth of how that night went for me, but it was more or less indescribable. Must have been some good pizza.