LSD Made Everything Beautiful.
On Memorial Day weekend, Bonnie came to visit me in my new apartment.
I was so excited, I threw a party for all of my non-existent friends, meaning I invited the two people next door and everybody from work, plus Gregg and Bonnie and me. My apartment was one room, and I invited a dozen people.
Fortunately, the weather cooperated and we mostly congregated outside. Gregg somehow got us a keg, which we set up on the porch, and I blasted the music so I felt like I was in college again. Food may or may not have been provided.
Instead we did LSD.
Bonnie had done it before, and was thrilled to do it again. Gregg was also an experienced user. It was my first time.
“Who wants to do acid?” I yelled over the music. There was a general roar of approval. Although a couple of the party-goers dwindled away, most of them stayed. My supervisor stayed but did not partake; Dave seemed to feel responsible for us even though we weren’t at work. Within a couple of hours, he left.
The LSD came on a tiny piece of square paper, about the size of a fingernail, with happy little pictures on it. Putting that tiny piece of paper in my mouth was the most terrifying thing I had ever done.
“You’re sure I’m going to be okay?” I asked Bonnie, who hooted her approval. She didn’t even examine the tiny papers, just tossed one on the tip of her tongue and laughed.
“I can’t wait for you to try this!” she said.
And then, quite suddenly, we were tripping. We were all tripping. And it was glorious.
LSD made everything beautiful.
Doing acid was like lighting up the world with fire-bright glow sticks. Everything I saw became more impressive than it was before, more interesting, more enlightening. Something in my brain clicked on for the first time ever, and I loved everything.
LSD made me want to move, to explore. I wanted to see everything, go everywhere, do everything.
I started by walking on the brick streets in my bare feet. I’d done this a million times, but never noticed the coolness of the bricks, the tiny pockets of gravel between them, the smoothness under my feet. Within minutes, I had everyone else walking on the brick streets, too; all of us stared at our feet, smiling and chattering about the amazingly wonderful sensation of smoothed brick.
Someone found a bicycle, and we took it out on the brick street, too. Everyone rode the bicycle. The wind, the bumps in the road, the sheer speed of a bicycle amazed us.
Bonnie and I wandered down the street to the woods, where we stumbled into the grove of trees, feeling the mud and sticks under our feet, touching the trees, petting the bark, admiring dead, fallen leaves in our hands and blazing green leaves blanketing the sky. Trees were the most spectacular thing I’d ever seen: towering and regal and bright.
We watched the sun shine through the trees; we watched it set with rays dazzling the porch rails and our skin. The trip went on for hours and hours and hours, with everyone staying and exploring together. We laughed forever.
As the sun came up, people started to trickle home, even Gregg.
Bonnie and I, too, finally went indoors. Listening to the birds chirp, laughing, the radio playing, we fell asleep.