Morning Golds

“What the hell are those?” Sam questions, as he walks in the room with an unlit clove cigarette nestled behind his ear; like a carpenter would hold a pencil. “Marigold flowers and morning glory seeds, homie,” Javier excitedly exclaims. “This shit is powerful medicine.” “My Tia, Señora Lupita, is a Curandera,” Javier continues to explains with pride, “ a Mexican healer with various alternative medicines, spells and prayers.” Now Javier is heavily rooted in ancient Mexican-Folklore culture and superstitious. With a rendition of the Virgen of Guadalupe tattooed on his chest, the embracement of his heritage is literally tattooed on him.

“It’s magic Vato!” Javier squeals in his riddled Spanish accent. “They can take you to the spirit world,” he continues, as he pulls out two clear gallon plastic bags. One filled with a countless amount of decapitated marigolds. The other filled with morning glory seeds. Like armies of ants, they seem to climb there way over each other to the top of the bag, as if attempting to escape. Javier continues to pontificate, as he divvies up all the seeds and flowers to everyone in the room.

We all look at him and each other with a puzzling curiosity. We knew Javier was crazy, but this was kind of mad. Then he said in a frustrated shout, “it’s just like acid, homie, L-S-D man; just take it!” I look over, and you didn’t have to tell Sam twice, as seeds and amber pedals fall down the side of his face like crumbs from a shoved cookie, too good to wait.

“No man, not like that, we must do the ritual, and soak them in water,” Javier scolds Sam for his indiscretion. “You can’t just eat them like that,” he further explains, as he pours the ingredients into a container. We all follow, with the exception of Sam, with only half the amount of ingredients left.

About a half hour has passed, and the taste of the concoction was horrendous. The sliminess from the soaked seeds tickled the back of my throat; stimulating gag reflexes from its texture, just as much as its foul taste. Still riding a buzz from the weed we smoked, it helps settle the stomach a little with the subtle indigestion. Although it didn’t seem to help Chico, he is puking his guts out in the back yard. I can barely stand the sound, the smell, everything about that regurgitation of partially digest mass coming out of another’s mouth. The smell of the spices, and aromatics coupled with bile and gastric juice fumigates with a contagious behavior.

However, Chico isn’t in the backyard because of my distaste for his forced muscle contractions. The bathroom is currently being occupied by Sam. Sam’s appetizer seemed to have a discomforting effect. Getting a head start did not serve him well. Yes, massive diarrhea and lots of gas. At first the farting was hilarious, and his consistent flatulence gave him a routine to distract from his gastral discomfort. Until there was that one fart too many. As seen by the expression on Sam’s face, like he just realized the worst, because there is not much worse that shitting your pants.

With windows wide open, it took a full hour to aerate the consequence of the initial blast.

As everyone adjusted themselves back into the living room, I disappointedly complain, “man, what a dud.” “I don’t feel shit, this stuff didn’t work.” I knew that Sam and Chico were quietly having a difficult time, however I didn’t notice until now that Javier was melting into the futon.

It wasn’t just that Javier’s posture was sinking into the hand-me-down down futon, broken in by years of abuse. He was sweating profusely, saturating the futon with bodily fluid. He was literally melting into the coach. It was difficult to distinguish the sweat from the rest of his body. Skin like melting wax candles with shallow rims, unable to stop the overflow. His clothes seam to liquify, sagging on his body like sap slowly climbing down a maple tree. It was difficult for me to determine where Javier started, and the futon began.

Then I recalled the concoction. That slippery recipe of disgustingness with an itinerary to the spirit world. I was hallucinating! I then looked at the carpet rug. The patterns on the rug are more profound and moving. Colors are brighter. The entire room seems brighter. Then the patterns start rising. Not over my head, but over my mind. Walking to the kitchen would require me to maneuver myself around these arisen obstacles. My heart racing, not with anxiety, but with excitement.

I look over at Juan, staring at me with a big grin. Curious as to why he is smiling, wondering if I’m acting appropriate. “You okay?” I asked, interrupting the awkward staring contest. “Yeah homie,” he softly replies. I can barely hear him talk, as if he is worried that the room is bugged. “You feeling it?” Juan asks, as his grin stretched out to the max. “Dude, this shit is wild,” Juan finally says as he wonders off into the distance in the comfort of the futon he found himself stuck.

Snatching the unfinished joint, I prepare myself to enjoy this trip. Searching for the handle on the side, I’m curious if the recliner works. As my reach comes up empty, I start to peek over to confirm my initial suspicions. Until a “Knock, Knock, Knock,” is echoed in acoustics influenced by marigolds and morning glory seeds. Shit, who is here? It never crossed my mind that other people may arrive. “Come on in, the door is unlocked,” I hear Ben yell out from the back room as he walked towards the front. I didn’t know Ben was home.

This is Ben and Juan’s apartment. A two bedroom subsidized development that those two somehow managed to acquire. We were on the second floor in a four unit apartment building complex, with a single dark narrow stairway shared by all. The building was brick, and appeared sturdy enough to deal with the type of residents that occupied its structure.

I glance at the door opening, and I see Monica, my cousin, walk in with a bunch of her friends. She is too young to hang out with my friends, what is she doing here? Her mother, was my mother’s younger sister. I remember Monica with Barbie dolls and pig tails. She shouldn’t be in a place like this, with guys like them; with guys like me.

As quick as the light reflected off Monica into my eyes, signaling to my brain as to what I was perceiving, and with instinctual efficiency, I hurdle over the recliner and jet towards the back. I don’t think she saw me, I ponder. “I can’t let her see me like this.” “I need to find a way out of here,” I say aloud to an empty room, as I dive out the second story window.

Exiting the overly lit apartment with vibrant colors, and jumping into a dark back yard ally, going from light to dark in an instant, turned the mind games on. Like jumping in a pool, off the high dive, the contrast from light to dark in a splash, transcended my spirit into another dimension.

Hidden up against the wall in the back of the building, I found myself curdled up behind the central air conditioning unit in the back. Hiding, and trying to gather my thoughts. I don’t recall why I am outside. Why am I sitting out here alone in the dark. I have to remember what happened. I was on the couch, and I jumped out the second window. Why did I jump out the window. “What is that,” I say out loud, as a shadowy image flees on the other side of the building.

The air conditioning unit was loud, however, not as loud as the helicopters that are flying overhead. They are looking for me. How many helicopters are there? I wonder how long it will take for the police to get here, as I can hear the distance sirens announcing their departure.

I need to get out of here I deciding, as I scale a six foot fence surrounding a neighboring apartment complex. “Well, where am I going to go?” I tell myself out loud. So I jump back to the other side of the fence. I still hear the sirens, I need to go. So I jumped back over the fence again, as I decided to flee. Two steps into that decision I realize that my car is parked right in front. I can’t leave my car; so I jumped back over the fence again. Still considered jumping the fence one more time to leave, I see a pizza delivery guy standing under a porch light, paused from pushing the doorbell, with mouth wide open, and in utter confusion as to what he just witnessed.

Visions of police battering down the door and a shot gun blast to my chest hurling me out the second story window pass through my head. That must have been what threw me outside. I look down to see a hole in my chest, as a snake like smoke slithers up into oblivion. Oh my God, I’m dead. Wait, then where am I?

Giggling shadows scurry from the oncoming light. Like little demons, too shy to show their hideousness, however devious enough to undertake anything. No, they are demons. I must be in purgatory. The way that I died, I must have not been able to go into heaven. “God, I am so sorry.” What have I done? More shadows race closer, still without the courage to proceed closer, however getting braver and braver as time passes.

I can still hear the helicopters flying overhead. Are they still looking for me? I hide near the air conditioning unit, as the screeches of the flickering shadows start to circle in. “God please help me,” I cry. The sounds of the helicopters fade as the air conditioner gets louder, when a sudden thought came to mind: my car. My car is parked up front.

Dodging the demons, I jump from car to car, hiding near the fenders. A couple walking to their apartment happen to notice me crouching near the black Honda Civic adjacent to my 1987 Mercury Sable. Wait, they can’t see me, I’m dead.

Pushing the code to my keyless enter. The key were left on my leather jacket resting on the back of the broken down recliner that catapulted me into this world. I sit in my car resting, as the full moon curiously peeks into the car to see my actions. When all of a sudden I realize out loud, “If I’m a ghost, how did I push the buttons on the car.” With a sobering sense of relief, I’m not dead.

Walking back up the stairs to the second floor apartments, I walk back in waiting for the concerns and jokes. I sit back on the recliner, and take a deep breath in, happy to be alive.

“Dude, how long were you in the bathroom?” Juan asked, and he hands me a newly rolled joint. Sam also chimes in, “I hope you save me some toilet paper homie.”

I asked, “where did everyone go?” “It’s just us vato,” Javier responds with his Tex-Mex twang. Just us? What do they mean? “What about my cousin Monica, what about the girls that came over?” I ask frantically. “What the hell are you talking about homie,” Sam responds, “there hasn’t been anyone over except us.” Chico laughs, “Dude, you locked yourself in the bathroom, nobody else is even here.” After Juan cleared out the bong by banging it on the table, you sprinted to the restroom, and yelled come in.” “Figured you stunk it up pretty good, because you left the window open,” Sam adds. I desperately try to understand, asking, “What about Ben, he saw them?” “Ben is out of town brother,” Juan explains.

Chico then comments, “Vatos, I saw some crazy shit.” Juan hasn’t stopped smiling, as the grin seems permanently molded onto his face. Sam responds, “All I could see was shit!” As we all laugh, and wonder what the hell did we just do?