Walking out of This World

Ten

It's a two lane road that takes us out of town for a short ride into the burbs. We pull up in front of a three car garage and the girls park beside Warren's BMW. A string of lights guide us to the front door of a comfortable looking split entry house.

Warren presses the door bell. "I'll be right there!" A male voice yells!

The cool night air sends a shiver through my body, which must be responsible for the little huddle that is collecting our bodies.

The wide door opens revealing a tall guy sporting a crew cut camping out over a well trimmed brown beard. "Saved you all a seat around the fire pit," Jeff announces. He's wearing a happy face. He's comfortably dressed in a plaid shirt and military pants.

"You know Tonya. The new members of our little party are John, my frat brother and Lacey, Tonya's sorority sister," Warren explains.

"Come on in. Ya' all can help me carry everything out back," Jeff says with a slight southern drawl. "Keep your coats on," he continues like a Sargent commanding his troops.

All the ingredients are sorted into clear plastic bags and waiting patiently on the kitchen counter. The white granite is perched on top of a contrasting dark brown oval.

"John, Tonya, Lacey this is my wife, Stacey," Jeff 's words dance out of a pleasing smile.

Stacey is standing next to a cluttered counter putting something into another plastic bag. "Hi." Blond hair cascades off her shoulders framing a welcoming expression before she quickly turns back to her work.

"When did you finish your remodel?" Warren asks in the middle of gathering plastic bags and heading for the back yard.

"Couple of weeks ago," Jeff replies.

"Nice job." Warren's words remain in the kitchen as we troop out to the back yard where a picnic table awaits our expected supplies.

A small fire pit, surrounded by half moon-shaped wooden benches, makes an inviting home for yellow and red flames that are gleefully consuming a small pile of logs, like the ones I've seen packed in small bundles at the grocery store.

"Do you all know how to make s'mores?" Jeff asks.

Before anyone takes the opportunity to reply one way or another Jeff hands a willow stick to each of us, including a plastic bag filled with dark chocolate squares and puffy white marshmallows.

Dad always says that s'mores don't taste right without roasting marshmallows on the end of a real willow stick.

Giggles wrap our little group together, dangling roasting white puffs over the flames and squeezing brown chocolate between unruly graham crackers.

The best part comes when a load of this sweet sandwich makes its way into waiting mouths and the shuffling of dangling pieces from lip-smacking corners with sticky fingers.

I see Jeff returning from his secret journey back into the house. He's carrying another plastic bag holding a green cargo.

"Okay! Now the fun is about to begin!" Jeff calls out, reminding me of Mom ringing the chimes on the back porch for an announcement of some important family event. Usually it was the arrival Uncle Charles and his unruly brood of children.

Jeff hands each of us a little rectangular paper, which I immediately recognize. Uncle Charles would carefully place a line of tobacco in the center of such a paper, roll it up and head out to the back porch for a quick smoke. The green stuff in Jeff's bag isn't what Uncle George was smoking.

"Let's light up!" Warren invites, like he was celebrating New Year's Eve or something.

The girls seem to know the drill. It takes them a snap of time to properly roll and twist before applying the business end of a lighted match to the free end of the roll sticking out of their mouths.

Lacey takes a slow drag and then helps my nervous fingers complete the anticipated task. "Come on scaredy cat.. Just let a small puff of smoke enchant your lungs." She follows up her reassuring directions with a gentle, one arm hug.

"Shhh...Let it go..." The whisper commands One's abandonment of reasonable choice and lets the ambiguous outcome have its way.

The fog gently pries at my lungs sending messages to One, where some known version of myself is beginning to unravel. A new group of strings are coming across, twisted and curled. A surprising neon sprinkles blues, reds and yellows throughout my tapestry echoing the blooming fire. licking the black night hovering around us.

"Shhh...Let the moment take you out of this world."

Lacey's right arm is still gently wrapped around my shoulders. Our eyes meet and I look deep into green pools. A bridge is extending across and through the fog. She silently moves her body onto my lap—we meet at the center and the fog wraps around. I pull her body close and she presses soft lips against mine, nudging my mouth to slightly open. She pokes a soft puff of fog into my willing mouth, a new sweet gift for obliging lungs.

Time loosens its grip and we fall into the green haze for what seems like forever.

Suddenly forever shatters, like a glass window, and we fall back into the present moment, where night, fire and the sound of voices skitter like crickets calling out to ghosts in the night.

Warm returns to Lacey's body, slipping away from its welcomed rest on my lap. "It's time to go," she whispers into my left ear. Her right arm gives my shoulders a delicate squeeze.

She pulls away and rustles her hands around inside a small leather bag hanging beneath her shoulders on a long looping strap. She pulls something out and slides it into my right jeans pocket. "It's my number. Let's get together next weekend," her eyes smiling into mine.

"I'd like that," I hear myself say.

She claps my left hand into her's, we stand and walk toward the house to join the others in the kitchen.

I stand alone in the fog as the girls backs fill the front door. They turn and wave. Then they're gone.

I take some twenty's out of my billfold and hand them to Jeff. "I'll take some green for the road."

"Shh. Good choice."

"Sure. Here's some leftovers all rolled and ready."

I take the small plastic bag, roll it around the little sticks and shove it into my pocket next to Lacey's card.

The BMW revs outside and I join Warren for the ride home. "Party on!" He says.

"Yeah," I reply.

The car's headlights bite into the night and gradually reveal the road stretching out before us. My eyelids fall like a curtain.

There's a circle of "party on" congregating in John's inner person. Little loops of thread are wriggling in the tapestry, twirling and turning, unable to free themselves. Others blink in the shadows like brilliant neon colors.

Something has shifted...unraveling...loose ends sticking out like twisting snakes. Confusion sings into the tapestry that was once woven with a more familiar form and woof.... darkening shadows...singing...entering the haunted halls of One's brain.

"Around and around we go...go...go"

"A pocket full of greenies...greenies...greenies"

"Ashes...Ashes...We all fall down."

"Shhhhhh...I brought along some friends."