Back in the Womb

Have I ever told the story here about the first time I tried ecstasy? Probably not, why would I?

I was still in high school at the time, and I think it was in December or January - sometime around New Years, for sure. I remember this because it was cold. I think there may have even been snow on the ground. I was with a friend (let's call him Ant) in our resident headquarters - the basement of his grandmother's house. It was a finished basement, meaning it was like our very own apartment, loosely furnished with an old Italian dining table and matching chairs, a small ornate sofa with wooden legs and intricate floral upholstery, and other random articles of Ant's ancestry. The basement was fully equipped with a working kitchen and its own bathroom. Typically, we'd be able to remain hidden in this underground lair for hours, unsupervised and unimpeded. Unquestionable and unconscionable activities unfettered by moderation, uninterrupted, unrestrained. Drugs, drinking, girls, video games. At the time, I hadn't been very interested in drugs - I was the responsible one. I was always too worried that with everyone humping the belly of a cloud if someone or something were to go awry, calamity would clap down upon our heads heavy as thunder. Many times I was right. This particular night though, I would make an exception.

It was an ordinary evening, a little on the slow side given the weather. We were playing Tony Hawk on Playstation and I was dominating Ant with my patented and time-tested maneuvers that almost always resulted in my victory. I could tell something was a bit off though. He was notorious for screaming and hollering at the mere threat of a loss, and here I was, eviscerating him, without as much as a peep. He looked away from the TV, totally disinterested in the game, and said "I just copped some good E's."

"Oh yea?" I said, "you planning on doing them tonight?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk about," he started.

Seeing where he was headed, I cut him off: "nah, I'm not doing it."

"C'mon man, you didn't even let me finish the sentence; just hear me out," he said.

"I know I didn't let you finish - I didn't need to. I knew what you were going to say. You think you're a smooth motherfucker," I said laughing. "It's insulting that you think you can try and convince me otherwise. You're the fucking devil on my shoulder," I told him.

"Listen, you said you know me? I know you. We've been best friends since 2nd grade man; I think you'd like this shit. I wouldn't do some shit to put you in danger. Just hear me out," he said.

He was shrewd, appealing to my emotional side; hiding behind the scrutiny of my logic by using our friendship as a shield. I stared at him, motioning to proceed. He told me about how he'd taken them and how he knew they were clean. He told me about the experience; the elation, joy and euphoria; the sense that everything is right with the world. Then he took out $500 dollars - a sum that was significant to two kids in high school - and placed it down on the table.

"Put that in your pocket. If you don't have a good time, keep it; I won't even ask about it," he said.

I didn't ask where he got the money. I did wonder though, whether he was serious. How could he be that confident about this? The wooden clock on the wall ticked loudly as I sat there thinking.

"Really, take it. Put it in your pocket and let's swallow these," he said, sliding a small pink pill - with an image of a bull on it - across the table toward me. "I guarantee you'll be handing that money back to me before the night's over," he added.

"You've made me an offer I cannot refuse," I said, taking the $500 and the pill. It's not everyday someone will pay you that much money to ingest a substance, the sole purpose of which, is to make you feel ecstatic. We swallowed the pills and resumed playing Tony Hawk. After a little while I'd noticed my hands had grown clammy. It grew hard to time the moves right and the combos I was able to land earlier, now, I couldn't. My head felt light and I had difficulty focusing on the game.

"Not beating the kid now! Wooooooo!! That's what I'm talkin' bout! BOOM!" he yelled, pounding his chest as he took the lead.

It was upon me faster than him. The music we'd put on the boom-box pressed itself against my ears, purring loudly like a cat. My skull had become a subwoofer for good vibrations. I began to feel cold, though, and Ant draped an enormous fur pimpcoat over my shoulders. The softness of the fur completed the imagery of the cat and I felt something in me start purring. I was like a giant vibrator ready to satisfy a harem of feminine deities. I needed to stretch, to get up and move. I was infused with excitement and ribbons of euphoria began to encircle me.

"Let's go out; I want to feel the cold air," I told him. "It warm in here and there's not much to do - let's see what's going on outside," I said giddily.

"Yea, sure, we can do that," he said with some hesitation.

"You okay," I asked. "We don't have to go right now if you want to hang for a minute," I said.

"Nah, you're just feeling it harder than me, that's all," he replied. "Let me grab a coat."

We walked out into the night, and I want to say it was snowing, but I can't be sure. The experience was so similar to a dream - especially in hindsight - that it's hard to tell. I distinctly remember the cold air feeling incredibly pleasurable, to the point where I removed my jacket so that I could get closer to it. As we walked down 14th avenue, to our friend Fonze's house, I began advocating that everyone should take ecstasy at least once: "there would be no fights, no hate...only love," I said. "Imagine how happy everyone would be."

It was at that moment I became a hippie.

We arrived at Fonze's, who'd be the unsuspecting recipient of a barrage of hugs and adoration. We hemorrhaged affection. He knew something was up and asked, "are you guys tripping?" It was more of a rhetorical question because, yes, we were obviously tripping. Fonze did a great job at keeping cool, despite his obvious shock at what I had done. To him, it probably seemed as much a dream as it did for me; I'd be the last person he'd expect to show up at his door on a snowy night tripping balls. He turned out to be an exceptional host though, allowing us to invite over some girls and mutual friends - hijacking his night and turning it into our own. He even prevented us from any "homosexual misadventures" by not letting us take showers together in his bathroom.

"No dude, you just don't get it - we don't want to take showers together. We just want to take showers, because the hot water would feel so good. And even if we did take a shower together, it wouldn't be gay. Get us some towels."

There are still probably pictures of us from that night, sitting on Fonze's couch with our shirts off, sitting perhaps a bit too close together, in a very non-gay way.

I remember Ant chain-smoking cigarettes while I played Modest Mouse's Building Nothing Out of Something on repeat all night long. The song Sleepwalking still transports me back to that night every time I hear it; it has a kind of magic to it.

At some point I gave him back the $500, telling him I'd give him another $500 if I had it.

I remember one of our friends arrived and asked me what it felt like. I paused, looked her in the eyes, and smiling I said:

Baby, it feels like I'm back in the womb.