The Wall Crossers

Geena Falling in Love

Olivia's perspective

Geena now stands, leaving the pouch close by, motions for me to stay put, fishes out of her duffel a tiny metal urn painted yellow with a dragon line-drawn on one side, a book of matches, and two sticks of incense. She places the urn on the night table, dragon facing us, and both sticks in it, expertly lighting the match with one strike and starting just one stick, saying, "This is ylang ylang." She looks over her shoulder at me, continues, "It is exotic, deep and floral, romantic," she smiles at me. "With jasmine and neroli, honey, a fruity kind of nice smell like with banana, Um, like maybe creamy custard and even a tangy rubber." She checks that the burn is holding, then turns to me and says, "It is for love. Love of life and, like... Um, love of others. Inn?" I nod.

Geena walks gracefully, is she a dancer?... around the room placing two blacklights, turning them on, goes to the record stack, pulls some 78s and sets the player, stacks the records, maybe three?... places the arm. Turns it on, waits, Faust begins, the new German rock band—electric and avant-garde. She turns up the volume. She continues her circuit, turning off now the two incandescent floor lamps. The room immediately changes—I get the ylang ylang in me, the black lights hit the wall of psychedelic posters like a crash of hippie mind warp, the music buzzes in the back of my brain, Geena takes a seat in my front, again knees touching, gives me a reassuring look, now gives the sugar look, which is a bit like, come hither!... settles her body a bit. Says, "Grok!" I think of what she said, love of others. I think of honey and rubber, the soft oozing world being penetrated in a hot time by the material of movement, yet lubricated by gentleness. I shiver. She notices, but narrows her eyes and almost imperceptibly shakes her head to mean Nein. She will not blow on my wrist or face again right now. Bummer!

She reaches to her side and picks up the stash bag, places it in her lap, opens it, pulls out a kazoo—the makeshift hippie pipe, a favorite in the drug culture. She hands it to me. I examine it—body is red, with the word Shazam spelled out on both sides in black (Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury!). Now she looks around and huffs, says, "The matches!" She must have set them down somewhere in the room. She gets up, finds the book, returns, and resettles, this time closer to me. I smell Oud. I blink rapidly for seconds, thinking love of others.

I return the pipe to her. She expertly fashions a square of metal foil, punctured by many straight pin strikes, onto the kazoo turret—this is the bowl. She takes a small dusty dark green cube cake of Kush from her pouch, sets it in the bowl, cradles the pipe carefully while holding the matches book with the same hand, strikes the match, drops the book, and puts the pipe tip barely into her mouth as she sucks the flame into the cube of drug. Her puckered lips are lined and cute from being so squeezed together. Several sucks and it glows and she inhales deep, holds, and exhales. Looks at me and says, "Bereit? Ready Mädchenhaft Olivia?" She already has a looser look about her... maybe in her eyes, and the subtle softening of her face, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

I look around the room. All is quiet outside and in the hall. I look at Geena. Her eyes are still sharp and clear and not dilated... not yet. I nod. She says, "We will shotgun. Have you done it?" I shake my head No. She does the fairy snigger. I roll my eyes.

I resettle my body. My heart is racing. I have been to war. Why am I scared? I have been assaulted by Leida! That is why I am I so scared. I am afraid this drug, that Geena said is so strong, may relaunch Leida's acid trip. I am afraid that Geena, a protégé of Patrizia, may try to hurt me. That is why I am I so scared. I look at her lips, back to her eyes. She does not look at my lips. She gives me a superior sort of look. Can I trust her with my life?

She says, "Don't be afraid, Inn?" She places a second cube in the bowl, does the strike and sucking routine, takes a heavy hit and holds it deep, cradles the pipe in her right hand, moves her head toward me, reaches around and pulls by my neck my head toward her and then attaches her soft lips to mine and blows and at first I am so surprised that I am slow to begin inhaling, so then when I start the air shifts and moves the opposite way somehow!... so that I end up coughing and rasping and gasping and she pulls back, glares at me, but then shakes her head in mild disdain and starts laughing at me so loud. I recover, look sheepish.