The Morning After

Deffective Lungs and Crowded Cars

6/18
10:34PM
I was more nervous than should have been excusable, my fingers shaking as I pulled open my door to survey the scene.
It was nothing like I had expected, though what exactly I pictured I cannot say. We parked across the street from the actual building in which the gathering was held, occupying what would soon be a full lot.
Everything about it was unfamiliar and strange, and I found myself staring at my shiny shoes again as my little group occupied the vacant space.
The sun had fully set at this point, leaving us standing in the dark, illuminated solely by the moon we were there to celebrate.
I hung back as Tate loudly decided what to bring from her large bag, ultimately determining that, in fact, she wanted to carry nothing. After that debacle, finally, we migrated towards the seemingly empty gathering, the only sign of life being an assemblage of people holding dimly lit cigarettes.
Bea was a smoker, and upon our collision with the group outside of the club, she quickly bargained a cigarette. I had asthma, and had never smoked, but as we sat on the ground and I listened once again as an outsider to other's conversations, I accepted when she offered to let me take a drag.
I coughed a lot.
I had no idea what to do when I took the thing in my fingers, but I tried to feign experience. The smoke burned my throat, and I couldn't hold it in for any substantial period of time. Alongside my clear dysfunction, I felt almost deflowered, as if with every puff of smoke I was letting go of any innocence I held and was watching it dissipate before me. I gave it back to her after a few attempts, and remained quiet as I observed the scene unfolding around me.

We were on a side of town I had never been to before, surrounded by chain link fences and railroad tracks. Across the street where the car was parked a dilapidated furniture store stood two stories high, and the building before me waned in comparison. Small and long, it looked as if it had been abused for years, and I could practically see the smoke we where exhaling cling to its sides, turning it into a sickly, ash color.

I can't say how long we sat just outside of the gathering, but I learned soon enough the parking lot was as much part of the celebration as the inside. Faces and names soon became intertwined as I was finally able to put them together, recognizing people from the stories I had absorbed. Introductions were made as people spilled in from the separate parking lot. The only familiar faces being those I came with, and Bea's then lover, Cain.

Cain was intimidating. I'd met him only twice prior to that occasion, and his intellect was overpowering. He spoke of issues that would have never crossed my mind, and provoked thoughts I didn't know I was capable of, which perhaps doesn't sound all bad, but combined with the laced water he had given me at our last meeting, I was wary.

It had been my first run in with drugs of any kind, though it had been tainted by my lack of preparation and a bad come down. It was also too much, I've never heard of anyone else starting off with acid as their first, let alone someone who wasn't ready for a trip. The entire situation was anxiety inducing, but Bea was still contented with the idea of Cain, so I held in my opinions and attempted friendliness.

Eventually, it came time for us to migrate inside, the brisk air urging us to find shelter, and as we walked the short distance into the gathering, my pulse quickened more than I could explain. I felt almost sick, be it with excitement or nerves I don't know, but I clutched onto Bea as the emotions prevailed, unsure of even what to think of myself at that point.
The music echoed and travelled across the parking lot and through the narrow hallway that led to the dance floor, bubbles floated between bodies, iridescent in the light. I could feel a headache building behind my brow from the combination of noise and flashing lights but I pushed it aside, determined to acclimate, to understand what drew my friends to the experience.
The next few hours blurred together. I don't remember much, but I flowed in and out of the building freely, following the music and people I connected with, ultimately finding myself lost in the crowd as every individual body moved as one on the dance floor.

This is my last recount as a reliable narrator, because the next memory I have is 1:05 AM, and taking molly in the parking lot behind a car.