Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

16
“What do you mean?”
“Before you came out here, you were pretty sure about things.”
“Things?”
“History. Reality. People.”
“Yah. I guess. I don’t know. I think I’m pretty ignorant really. There are people I
knew back in Boston who were really smart. They made me feel ashamed.”
“What did they know that you don’t?”
“Well it was like you said. About history & people & all that.”
“There’s a lot more, Davey.”
I started slowly. Huxley. Heinlein. Leary. Alan Watts. Jung. You read what I told
you to. At night I trained your tongue & fingers to do as I liked.
Eventually I’d taught you everything up to a point.
I didn’t tell you what I wasn’t sure of. I held back a lot.
You don’t know who I am. You don’t know who you are yet.
It will change.
David led us deeper into the woods. He was running.
“It will be different this time,” he said. He’d mixed up a batch of acid OJ that we all
knew was far more potent than any but him had done. We were already high from dosing
earlier in the day.
“We’ll do it right this time,” he said, & he was smiling. We all shared this large stone
mug. “Thou Art Godd,” he said.
Now we were far deeper into the woods than ever before, & we were running. Davey
was never much of a runner before, but now he was flat out. He ran without slowing or
stumbling, like he knew where we were & where we were going. The rest of us stumbled
along, somehow keeping up, even after we were agreeing in some kind of collective telepathy
that we were passing through years as well as trees.
Passing through trees, through trees, trees, lights, stars. No longer running but still
moving, so telepathic now it’s like the five of us were in a mental spaceship travelling along
in a way beyond speed.
“Davey, where are we going?”
“We’re going to get it right this time. I love you all.”
“We love you too, Davey. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are we going to find Suzanne? That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Better than that. She knows. She’ll be there.”
“That’s great, Davey. We’re so happy for you.”
“She’ll be there for all of you too.”
“Where, Davey?”
“And when?”
“It’s not like that really. It will be OK. We’ll be together. There will be trees. It won’t
be like it was.”
“What do you mean?”
He’s coming to get me. I’ve been waiting thirty years for him. There’s nothing else
left. I’m ready.
David Time puts the gun down, unfired, on his bedstand. His friends stand around
the bed where he sits.
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005