Floating & Flaming - Syd Barrett

1963 - Cambridge

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes.

Nothing had ever penetrated into my soul - my very being - like those eyes. They were the eyes of an old god, transcendent, other-worldly. They were never present in ordinary reality. They gazed out into a greater beyond that no mere mortal could ever attain. But those eyes could see it all.

When he'd play his music, he'd give us a glimpse into that ethereal realm only he could see. A small taste of pure nirvana. The eyes would flicker upward, sweep through the audience, hide behind the heavy lids. They'd land on me. In those moments, I was the most fortunate and unworthy being on the planet. How I miss the man with the eyes that grasped infinities.

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"Piper!"

Right. The story of my life and how it could've been much less interesting had I never met Syd Barrett. The year was 1963. I was sixteen years old and everything was insanely boring. The authorities at the boarding school we attended were very strict, so that fabulous Cambridge music scene all those documentaries will tell you about was not accessible to me. My crazy best friend Lindsey, who believed she and Paul McCartney were destined to be married someday, was constantly bugging me to sneak out to see local gigs.

"Lin, you know I can't go! I cannot risk my permanent record and I have schoolwork to do and-"

Lindsey cut me off by dragging me toward her closet.

"I know you can't go. Not wearing clothes like that anyway."

She inspected my frumpy, hand-me-down school uniform. She was right. Lindsey was the ideal. She had dark curls that contrasted striking hazel eyes. She was quite well-off and could afford the latest styles. Lindsey was an idol to boys and an object of jealousy to girls. She knew how to handle herself. I, on the other hand, did not.

"Hey! It doesn't matter if my sense of fashion isn't the greatest. Nobody is going to care what I'm wearing if they don't see it. I'm not going anywhere!"

Lindsey disregarded everything I said and tossed me a large box. "It just came in from Paris this morning. Vogue says they're the newest trend." She said it like it was a carton of eggs she just got from the supermarket.

I opened the treasure chest to reveal the most gorgeous dress I'd ever seen. I took it out, holding it gently as to not ruin the priceless artwork.

"It's-" I started.

"Beautiful? Fab? Unbelievably marvelous?"

"Short." My cheeks flushed at the scandalous idea.

"That's the point, darling. It's called a minidress! You've got a fantastic build. You should show off how gorgeous you are! Now, put it on and then I'll do your hair. Say nothing more about it!" I couldn't protest and besides, I was warming up to the idea of a little rebellion.

After much effort, my long blonde hair was tamed, Lindsey applied copious amounts of makeup to both of us, and we were ready to hatch our plan to sneak out. She was very convincing when she needed to be. There was also the added benefit of the school's rose-colored perspective of their favorite "angelic" student. Our alibi was air-tight: a visit to Lindsey's local grandmother. That gave us all night.

We checked out of the administrative office with composed poker faces, wearing our uniforms over the more fashionable outfits we'd changed into earlier. We calmly exited the building. We checked to see that no one had followed us. Then we sprinted toward the back lot where Lindsey's very fast foreign car awaited us.

A night of freedom.