School of Hunter Thompson

I never told you about how Meg and I met. It was back at Wesleyan while Meg and I were sophomores, 1976.

We were in the same ten-man dorm apartment, so I knew that a romantic involvement would be complicated. Still, I couldn’t get her out of my mind-- her face, her long legs and womanly hips, her small but well shaped breasts, the smell of her cleanly shampooed blond hair. When she came back from a weekend visiting her boyfriend, I could smell sex.

I was trying hard to be an A physics student but still make the scene. I was selling Thai sticks in the cafeteria and had a some hits of Owsley. So when she came into my room on Christmas eve and bought a hit which she immediately put on her pink tongue, what else could I do? One for her, two for me.

We tripped together. As we felt the acid coming on we went for a walk. Wesleyan has seemingly endless underground tunnels connecting the entire campus. The halls were festooned with graffiti. The graffiti included many elaborate cartoon drawings. There was lots to see and read as you walked through the tunnels. So Meg and I strolled leisurely and read the walls and laughed and stared at the drawings and shared our interpretations.

We ascended from the tunnels into a common room in one of the dorms. The room was lit by large chandeliers the likes of which I had never seen before in a dorm. And it was decorated with tinsel as if for a party. We started giggling as we could both feel the effects of the acid more intensely now. The walls started to pulsate and turn crayon red. We went went back down into the tunnels.

Down in the tunnels the wall were now covered with bright colors and the drawings turned into pictures created in my head. It is probably at this point that in retrospect I would say I was peaking. We decided to visit our friend Steve. He happened to be in his room with the door open so we walked right in. Suddenly I felt incredibly uncomfortable, but Meg was laughing. Her laugh re-assured me and allowed me to hear that there was music. Steve was listening to Revolution Number Nine. We didn’t stay long.

At the end of the night she took me into her bed. The frost shown in bright crystal stars in the morning light on the window that almost touched the bed that waspushed up against the wall of her tiny room. “It’s Christmas morning”, she said.

Hi Michael:

So you sold her the tab and she put it right on her tongue right there?  dang. you had to know right at that moment that you were crossing into a new world.

D

 

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