Curdling the vibes

The road snaked along the sharply carved coastline. Six of us sat arrayed like a choir behind Donald, the day’s driver, keeping vigil through the windshield.

Coast Highway heading north I was getting into it. We’d dropped gelcaps of freeze-dried peyote just after pulling out, and 40 minutes later it had come on strong. The view ahead had become our movie.

“Hey! Look-look-look!”

“Oh, Man! Far. Fucking. Out!”

“That is so stoned!”

On our movie screen, draped limply against a boulder at the outside apex of a curve, a longhaired hitchhiker was laughing giddily and waving to us like he’d been beaten into silly submission. We laughed and waved back. We must have been the thirtieth busload of euphoric hippies to pass him in five minutes.

We took turns describing the thoughts going through his head. How many more could there possibly be? What’s the Universe trying to tell me? Has there been a revolution and nobody told me? This has gotta be a movie getting filmed. Where’s the camera?

“Yeah, man, it IS a movie! This is our movie and you’re in it!”

And it went on like that. Every motorist passed us with eyes bugging out- incredulous, alarmed or both. On that narrow and precipitous road, they risked their lives gaping at the hippie parade and some swerved recklessly as we passed.

Being an East Coast flatlander, this began to bug me. I could picture cars slipping over the edge, bouncing down the cliffs, bursting in to flames. “Pay attention, people!” I said mostly to myself. ” Fuckin’ idiots better be careful.”

The bus family went dead silent, like a speaker plug had been pulled. The engine got suddenly louder.

Oh, shit. What happened? I’d had a bad thought: we were a danger on the road. I said something, and then…

“Clifford, you really curdled the vibes talking shit like that.”

Molly, her red hair an explosion of frizz framing a gaunt face, was glaring at me with little hint at friendliness.

I looked back, contrite. I felt busted open by the accusation. Well, they were idiots, sort of. I mean, the danger and all.

“So, can you cop to that, Clifford? I was picking up some pissed-off in there.”

I found myself speechless. I’d blurted out something completely in character with who I was in my old life, and someone in my new life had called me on it.

“Ya know, now I think you’re just being into the juice.”

This time it was the elfish one, Henry, with his little goatee. I knew what “cop” meant, but this “juice” thing had me confused.

“What juice are we talkin’ about?” I asked.

“The energy, Clifford. You copped our attention by ripping it off.”

I felt myself taking an angry defensive posture, but the peyote seemed to keep me from arguing. It was telling me, “It’s OK, Cliff. Take it all in. Anger takes you nowhere. Just cool it.”

“OK, sorry,” I told Molly. “I didn’t mean to mess up your juice.”

I was not digging having all this attention on me.

“Where are you at, Clifford? You look way back up in there.”

Molly wasn’t gonna let me off that easy. Like, wasn’t I allowed to feel shitty about it?

“I’m OK. Just, you know, tired.”

“Well you’re manifesting some negative energy and we’re trying to get you straight.” She had a touch of a smile on her face.

“Well, yeah. I’m cool. Just not into the windshield thing right now.” Hell if I knew what she’d just said.

“What do you mean, ‘the windshield thing’? We’re putting good vibes out to the people.”

“Aw, cut loose, Molly. He told you he’s tired. He just got on the bus. Let’im crash.” It was Donald to the rescue. “Don’t be such an astral conservative.”

“Donald, if you’ve got subconscious with me…”

“I don’t. Now please don’t rip me off while I’m driving.” He seemed so calm.

There were some muttered agreements about the importance of protecting the driver’s energy and how we could sort it out later. I slunk back to the bottom bunk, drained. Janine sat there playing with a doll.

“Are you gonna sleep?”

“Yeah, Nini. I need a nap.” She covered my arm with her doll’s blanket. I closed my eyes and the eyelid movies of the intermittent sunlight hitting my face combined with the swerving motion of the bus to add nausea to my condition. Now I’d probably start puking, to add to the curse of my presence. Hoo, boy, this was getting rough. Talk about your stranger in a strange land.

I remembered being in a similar place the summer of ’67 when four friends and I had spent the summer hitching and train-hopping through Europe. Our language skills were rudimentary and we were almost fatally naive, but we had each other to trip with when everything around us was crazy. In the last weeks we had split up with the rest going hither and yon and me going to Paris alone to retrieve the luggage we’d sent ahead. I was solo on the train in Germany and for a short while, I desperately missed having a friendly companion.

Laying there in the bus, I realized that I’d begun to wonder if the one person I’d been relying on to be my friend and guide amongst strangers had committed to another man. Anita and…Donald?

Maybe the earth had shifted and I’d missed the clues. I probably had a load of that thing Molly’d called “subconscious.” Stephen had talked about it in his book, but I hadn’t picked up on its negative connotation. If you were bumming about anything, you must be carrying this dark stuff, and it bothers the hell out of people even if they don’t know it!

But in thinking of Europe, I thought of Lew, one of my most beloved friends and the source of redemptive laughter during so many of my awful times with family, politics, women, school, and life in general. Lew could instantly launch into a maniacal rail against God, fate and the foibles of humanity, purging the uptight from the situation. Somehow there was joy in his anger, even when it was topped off by a heartfelt “Goddamn Son-of-a BITCH!”

Lew showed me that things might really “SUCK the BIG ONE,” but the fact that you knew how bad they sucked gave you power over them. Comforted by the spirit of Lew, I found myself smiling and reached over to stroke Janine’s blond locks.

“I feel better now, Nini.”

I returned quietly to join the bus family up front. Everyone seemed to have cut loose of the issue and we talked about what people were going to do once we arrived in San Francisco. Finally, hours later, the bus stopped swaying with the curves and we were rolling up a much straighter, flatter highway with sand dunes between us and the shoreline.

“Where are we?”

“We just left Monterey. We’re headed for Santa Cruz.” It was Anita, handing me a bowl of beans and brown rice with chopsticks.

“We gotta talk,” I told her.

“I know,” she said. “After we get to San Francisco and most of the people leave the bus.”

In this momentous time, I was consumed by a feeling of dread.

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(Photo: Cliff Figallo)

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2 Comments

  1. March 23, 2009 at 2:04 am

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  2. March 23, 2009 at 8:21 pm

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