08-Brad

Brad had first asked a couple questions to the right kind of people. Almost immediately he had a scrap of paper with someone’s pager number on it. Above the number a name had been hastily scrawled, and it was that of Ed Lugo. Brad didn’t know who Ed Lugo was, but apparently the guy had some great shit.

He’d paged him there in the concourse from one of the payphones just outside of the cafeteria, right as school was letting out. Moments later, Ed emerged from the bustling crowd like some kind of wizened traveler, his hair and clothes hanging everywhere. With one glance, neither of them had any doubt who the other was.

“How many do you want, man?” Ed asked from behind the wheel of his car, looking over at Brad who sat in shotgun.

“Two.”

“You done this before, right?”

“Yeah, man. I have.”

“Alright, young.”

Brad watched Ed tear off two tabs, wrap them in tinfoil, and then he handed them over. Brad took the little package and gave Ed a ten-dollar bill.

“Be careful with this, man,” Ed said. “I mean it.” Dreadlocks and braids hung in his face and he brushed them away absently.

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry, I’m good.”

“Alright. Peace, bro.”

Brad popped the door open and stood up. Ed started the car, waved once, and then drove off. Brad heard the sharp crunch of gravel under the tires, and then he stood there in limbo, for the moment not exactly sure what he was going to do next.

“What the hell, dude?” Clay asked from the curb where he’d been waiting.

“I already feel better,” Brad said. “Having just got my hands on some good shit.”

“Dropping acid wasn’t exactly in the master plan for tonight, though,” Clay protested.

Brad shrugged angrily. “The master plan can go fuck itself.”

“The ladies, though! C’mon, man! Tonight is like…an unprecedented opportunity.”

“Look, I’d love to hookup tonight. Hell, I’m not picky, even just getting a girl’s phone number would make me happy. Or just a smile and a hello. Any kind of acknowledgment of my existence as something other than this little fucking peon. Basically, anything other than what just happened after Psychology.”

“What exactly did happen, anyway? Did Rob actually hit you?”

“You know, I don’t even blame Rob for what happened, really. He was just being an asshole, which is exactly what I’d expect from him. It was what he was supposed to do, really. And Amy—she did what she was supposed to do too, acting all apologetic and sympathetic to me. The bitter truth, that she was probably turned on by Rob’s alpha dog front, just burns me more than I can say. Man, I’m so pissed off.”

“At what, then? I don’t get it.”

“Well, Clay, I didn’t really know who I was or what I would do in that situation. But—because I clammed up and ran away, basically—I guess that just makes me a total fuckin’ pussy. Mystery solved.” Brad shook his head, his expression searing.

“Dude, chill out, man.”

Brad just exhaled, fuming.

“You’ll feel better after a few beers tonight. C’mon, man.”

“Nah,” Brad said, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve that. I need something stronger, something to knock me off this track for a while. I’ve ridden long enough.”

“Knock you off track? Jesus, dude, do I need to call a hotline or something?”

Brad shook his head again. “Nah. Don’t worry. I’ve done this shit before.”

“What’s it gonna do to you?”

“Take me on a trip, man. That’s why they call it trippin.’”

“Well, let’s hope you’ll end up at a better place then, huh?”

“It will be someplace different. And that’s all I really want.”

“Well your ass better at least make it over to Zack’s party.”

“Oh, I’ll be there. Don’t worry. I got nowhere else to go.”

“Be ready. I feel like tonight may be a little crazier than we had originally planned.”

“What makes you say that?

“There’s been a leak about Zack’s party. It shouldn’t be too terribly surprising, all things considered. I mean, since none of us have been able to shut up about it all week.”

“Yeah? How do you know there’s been a leak?”

“People were grilling Zack about it at lunch, and in the halls, too. Zack kept trying to deny it, but when presented with the prospect of a party, suddenly all these idiots in our class became like master detectives, like walking polygraph machines. It really was incredible to observe, actually.”

“Oh, really?” Brad didn’t like this. For the night he had planned, a calm and controlled environment was much preferred. Not like it would stop him, though. He’d embrace the madness. He’d be part of it.

They climbed in Brad’s car and he dropped Clay off at his house. Then he drove to his house, ran inside, and made a beeline straight up to his room, leaving his confused mom in his wake. She said hi but could get no more words in before Brad ran past her and shut his door. He locked it behind him and then sat down at his desk.

He almost enjoyed his torment. It felt like penance.

Normally he listened to classic rock and was real heavy on Pink Floyd, but during that time it was nothing but Alice in Chains and the like. To that wailing backdrop, he surprised himself by first pulling out his Algebra II book and actually opening it. The exam was next week, but he didn’t care so much about that. Mostly he liked how the math kept his mind occupied and it was possible to do those problems while still blasting the searing grunge. The two almost went together, inexplicably. He only did that for a few minutes though, until his mind wandered.

The paper under him, which started out with numbers and variables on it, was quickly overtaken with heavy drawing and doodling in thick pencil strokes.

He drew weaving and twisting designs, complex things that suggested cobwebs and intricate machinery. Amongst the ghostly machine was at least one creature, something with claws and thin, narrowed eyes and a body mostly concealed and undefined. Shielded from the chaos, actually framed by it, there was a girl. She had long hair that hinted of a light wind blowing, and her face held a calm, distant expression. Brad could draw very well, a talent he mostly kept hidden, and so the girl looked quite clear and there was unmistakable beauty there.

His pencil stopped suddenly, and he studied his drawing for a few minutes, enjoying the juxtaposition of the math, the madness, and the calm beauty within. Then, without hesitation he ripped the paper out of his notebook, briskly crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash can.

He couldn’t resist its call any longer, so he fetched the thin strip of tinfoil from his backpack and he opened it carefully, making sure to not even touch the tabs with his fingers. He wasn’t sure whether or not LSD could be absorbed through the skin, but he didn’t want there to be any ambiguity about what time he dropped.

The two tabs were adjoined, and their color was mostly white with a little bit of blue on them. He stared at them for some time, thinking how incredible it was that something so tiny and seemingly insignificant was actually the exact opposite of that. It was unfathomable, it was a deep mystery, it was analogous to whatever the hell he’d just drawn.

Carefully, he wrapped the tabs back in the thin strip of tinfoil and put it back into the top pouch on his backpack. Then, he checked his watch and saw it was about time.

Brad removed a couple school notebooks and textbooks from the backpack and placed them onto the floor. In their place, he packed a change of clothes, and a few carefully chosen CDs. Then he went downstairs and stopped by the front door.

He turned around and yelled, “Bye, Mom!”

“Where are you going?” a distant reply came from somewhere within the house.

“Over to Zack’s, remember? I’m spending the night! I told you yesterday!”

“Oh, okay! Bye!”

As Brad opened the front door to leave, he heard the phone start to ring. He pretended not to hear it, and rushed out of the house, to his car, thinking the call surely wasn’t for him—it was probably a family friend, or even a telemarketer, neither of which Brad had any patience for at that moment. He didn’t want any more delays or sidetracks to the evening he had planned.

Inside the house, his mom picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with Brad, please?” a girl’s voice asked.

“Unfortunately, you just missed him,” his mom said, glancing out the window and watching his car drive off.

“Oh.”

“Can I take a message for him?”

“Sure. Umm…can you tell him Amy Weaver called?”