Trippy- [Embrace Colour]

For me, it all began at Harmony Park. Out of every place, every priceless scenery, every amazing experience, it all comes back to Harmony Park. That's where it all really began for me. It stirred something deep inside my chest and opened up my eyes to something profound.

I've heard Michael say those words countless times and still they hold something magical. Whether they hold true or false hopes irrelevant. They hold something sacred.

I'm from Brainerd, a small town in the center of Minnesota. I've lived there for eighteen years. After I graduated high school, I took off for Washington to see my best friend, Deah. I had envisisioned leaving home and having this incredible experience that would change my life forever. What happened, however, was much different than I'd prepared for.

After just three weeks in Washington, I went broke. I spent my time bumming from house to house, spending a majority of my time in Deah's garage. I saw little bits of Seattle and met a few people, but it was nothing special. I sat in the garage and got stoned while filling my mind with bad memories. I thought of my fellow traveler, Mitchell, who wasn't with me. Thinking about him only made me anxious to go back home.

Finally, I couldn't take it. I was broke with no temporary work available. At least, none that wouldn't make me take a piss test. My mother paid for my train ticket back home and loaned me a hundred dollars to get by until I could get my old job back.

It was weird being back in Brainerd then. I stepped off my train on Wednesday, July 19th, 2006, at 5:30a.m. The damp air and thick mosquitos confirmed that I was back in my territory. There was really something magical about Minnesota that I hadn't noticed before. I had grown so accustomed to the mountains and waterfalls of Washington that the flatness of the midwest was something serene.

I spent my first day back wandering around town with a sixty pound back-pack on my shoulders. I got coffee at all my favorite coffee shops, tolked with my buddies during the day, went to the bar that night. I was only eighteen, but I knew most of the bartenders. Carrying my pack attracted a lot of attention in such a sheltered town. All night I kept having to answer the questions, "Where you comin' from? Where you goin'?" Waitresses asked me if I needed a shot for the road. I said I didn't have any money and they gave me the shots for free.

That first day back home couldn't have been better for my soul. The people, the town, the energy, all my friends--that's my family.

I ached to see Mitchell. He'd been in New Mexico for two months. This was the time we'd planned to meet up. The thought of seeing him made me nervous. This was when we wanted to take out relationship up a notch. We wanted to pursue more with each other. The problem before had been that we were leaving in seperate directions, but we were here now and it was time to start planning for future travels.

While I waited to hear from him I was able to get my old job back working as a housekeeper at a hotel. The job was stressfull. I was lucky to get thirty hours a week, getting paid just over minimum wage.

Dawnielle Gadacz, a quirky blonde girl that was too up-beat to stay angry at, agreed to let me stay with her while I was in town. I helped out with food and some bills in return for having a place to sleep every night. Her apartment was cozy and in the center of town so most establishments were in walking distance.

As soon as the paychecks came, it seemed they were gone. Between food, cigarettes, and everything in between, I was left with nothing to save. In the blink of an eye I was falling right back into my old pattern of work and parties. I was just barely getting by, and still had yet to pay back the $250 to my mother.

Only two weeks into my job I received a letter in the mail from Mitchell. It bluntly informed me that he would not be coming back to Minnesota and all plans for traveling together were officially shot down. He wrote that he had secrets I could never understand and he couldn't make a relationship with me work. He said he was sorry for everything of mine he'd wasted.

I called Deah the night I received the letter. "I don't want to be here anymore," I said in between the sudden waves of crying. Deah was who I had stayed with in Washington. She'd only been living there for ten months. We grew up together in Brainered. She is my best friend, my other half. Being so far away from her was wearing on me. Talking on the phone wasn't enough. I needed to be near her. I needed her to keep me sane.

"It will be okay, you'll see," she told me, "Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing." "How? I'm stuck. I've got a shitty job and barely enough money to get through this week, let alone anything to save," I sighed, "And now I don't even have Mitchell."

"Kara, this isn't you. You don't freak out when something bad happens," I tried to argue with her but she cut me off, "Remember when we got into that car accident on Halloween? I was hysterical! But you calmed me down with your stupid jokes."

I smiled at the receiver, "Yeah, I thought you were going to go into a panic attack when I pulled that shard of glass out of my head."

"Then you said that blood streaks were the latest fashion." I laughed. "See!" she said, "You're not the type of person who lets shitty things get in the way. You laugh about it. Everything happens for a reason, right?" "Yeah, yeah. Since when are you the optomistic one?"

One of Dawnielle's friends, James, moved in with us in mid August to save some money before leaving for college. He was easy enough to live with. He was full of questions. He asked me about my ideas for traveling and where I wanted to go next. He was overwhelmingly curious about everything.

I wasn't sure what my next plan was. I had wanted to be out of Minnesota by this time and my financial situation was only getting worse. My job was becoming harder and harder to tolerate. Eight dollars an hour wasn't enough.

I decided to make California my destination for the winter. I figured I'd get a job at one of the resorts and enjoy the atmostphere. My former roommate, Jessi, was living in Santa Cruz, so I had someone to stay with.

I was hesitant to go alone. I was afraid of getting there, chickening out, and coming back home. My mom continuously made a point to say that I didn't have to leave. That no one would blame me if I decided to stay until next year.

She was right, but what she didn't realize was that I needed to leave for myself. It wasn't about proving anything to the world. It was about experiencing something different.

When I came home from work one night, there were two men in their late twenties sitting on the couch with James. They were dressed in rags and looked like they hadn't showered in weeks.

"Hey!" James stood up, "This is Randy and Rizzo. They're hitchhiking through and needed a place to sleep."

I looked at Dawnielle and she shrugged her shoulders. The idea of letting these strange guys sleep in our apartment made me nervous. They offered me a beer, for which I was greatful, and started talking about being on the road.

"We left Cali a few weeks ago," Rizzo explained, "Now its back to New York!"

"What's in New York?" I asked.

"My daughter. She's almost ten, with the most radiant green eyes you've ever seen," his smile grew bigger as he spoke of her, "I called from Cali and she said, 'Daddy, when are you coming home to teach me the guitar?' So I packed up my gear and we got back on the road that night."

As the night progressed, the beer started to kick in. Rizzo was the entertainer and Randy was like his sidekick. He didn't talk much, but laughed at Randy's jokes and encouraged him to tell us stories of the road.

"Tell them about the time you were stranded in Arizona," he'd say. Or, "Tell them about the time those ex-cons held you at gun point!"

James was enthralled by it all. He sat on the floor in front of Rizzo, listening intently to every word. He reminded me of a little boy, hearing stories from his favorite super hero.

"There's no greater feeling in the world than waking up in the morning and not knowing what adventure will find you next," Rizzo said. Listening to him made me itch to get out of Brainerd. I thought of just leaving with them. I'd never been to New York before.

Rizzo played songs on his guitar for us, all drunk and sloppy. If he made a mistake, he'd stop playing and start cackling. His laughter was contagious. He made the mood light.

The next morning I woke up to find them already gone. Dawnielle and James were sitting on the floor with road maps sprawled out in front of them.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I'm going on the road!" exclaimed James. His eyes were almost as big as his smile. I could feel his excitement from across the room.

"Huh?" It was much too early in the day for me to make sense of the world.

"I'm taking this year off school and going on the road. Those guys totally inspired me and I can't wait around until spring. I need to go now."

"Whoa, whoa," My brain was having trouble taking this all in. My hangover was making me dizzy and my mouth was dry, "Didn't you have everything ready for college? Your dorm, your classes, your books... wasn't it all set to go?"

"Not anymore! I've been making phone calls all morning. I just have to cancel my last order then I'm all set to go."

I was baffled. He was scheduled to leave for college in two weeks and in a single morning had cancelled every arrangement for it. As I made breakfast, he hounded me with questions. What he should bring, where he should go, how he should do it.

"I can't decide these things for you. Wherever you want to go, just go there. No one elsme needs to tell you how to do it."

"Maybe I'll be a bum in L.A. or Seattle. I'll just make a sign and sit on the sidewalk," he said.

I laughed at how naive he sounded, "Don't do that. Bums are lazy and not good for anything. Become a street rat instead."

"What's the difference?"

"Bums are beggers. Street rats earn what they get. If you're going to ask people to give you their money then at least be able to entertain them a bit. Buy a guitar or something."

"I don't know how to play a guitar."

I rolled my eyes, "It's just an example. Can you draw? Draw portraits or caracatures for five bucks each."

"I don't know if I can draw."

I was getting annoyed with this conversation, "Well, you won't know until you try."

As I sat on the couch to eat, James pulled out a notebook and proceeded to draw me. I ignored him for the most part, but it was difficult with him directly in front of me, studying every detail of my face as he drew.

By the end he had managed to make me look like a twelve yeare old asian boy and my dreadlocks looked like an octopus had decided to make a home out of my head.

"Maybe you'd better keep practicing."

Later that week I was falsly accused of stealing five-hundred dollars worth of items from a hotel room. My general manager had no choice but to ask me to leave the hotel for good.

Great, I thought. Now I don't even have a job anymore. Everything seemed to be crumbling piece by piece. I tried to find a new job, but no one in town would hire me. The balance in my bank account was quickly decreasing.

Going to California was becoming a fading dream. I wanted so badly to disappear from everything familiar. I probably would have had I not been in debt with my mother.

I wandered aimlessly around Brainerd for several days, searching for pleasant memories everywhere I went. I walked to my hollowed out tree in the woods where Mitchell and I use to get stoned and talk for hours. Sitting there alone wasn't the same. I put my headphones on and tried desperately to drown out the world with music, but whenever I opened my eyes I only saw the empty space where Mitchell would have been sitting if he'd been around.

It was a day for sorrow and longing. Endless thoughts of souls from my past. I missed those people and feared them at the same time.

The bells from town echoed through the woods. I used to love those bells, the sounds of a small town. Now I couldn't escape them.

As I walked back home I took a different route than normal. My stomach felt tight as I walked past a house I hadn't seen in almost two years. Just looking at it sent my nerves into spasms.

The house belonged to Sherri Ellickson, the mother of my ex-boyfriend, Dani. The house was filled with horrible memories from, what I refer to as, my 'darker days'. Memories of my life before the dreadlocks, tattoos, and colorful clothes. My mind wandered back to a time of black clothes and angry music. I remember the friends I had then, their minds warped with darkness and depression. Scars on their wrists and hate in their eyes. It scares me to think that I had once been a part of it.

The house was terrifying for me to look at. I quickened my pace down the street to get away from it.

That weekend, I went camping with my dad since I no longer had a work schedule to abide by. We drove around the mine pits in the next town until we found the perfect spot to camp. The weather was warm and the sky was clear. We kayacked from one pit to the next, admiring the scenery and exploring the area. The water was so clear that you could see nearly thirty feet down into it.

I felt better being with my dad, far from town, far from my thoughts. My dad was truly one of a kind. He was forty-five, but had the spirit of an eighteen year old. He loved extreme sports. He'd take me rock climbing and long boarding. He listened to heavy metal music and played bass guitar. His weird sense of humor made it nearly impossible to be around him without smiling.

His faith in God was strong. It was his reason for living. He knew that I didn't share his bleiefs and he'd accepted that fact years ago. He respected my opinions and never preached. I didn't hide things from my dad. I didn't need to.

I wasn't the only one looking to leave Brainerd. My dad had plans of his own. The house he's had for nineteen years was now empty and up for sale. He was going to use the money to buy a bus. His idea was to renevate it into a tour bus and tour with Christian bands. He'd drive and run sound for them. He figured since I was grown up and moved out this was the perfect time to go off and have an adventure of his own. I admired his love for life. He was constantly talking about his bus.

"You'll have to spend some time on the bus with me," he'd say. It was talking and dreaming about the future that kept him perky.

He'd been single since my parents' divorced when I was ten. I don't think its a matter of being unable to find a woman, but rather being unable to find one who can keep up with him. I knew he was lonely. Talking about the future was good for him.

We built a fire and cooked venesin. He told stories from his life before he became a Christian; the days of LSD and hitchhiking.

"I'm really scared for you to try psychadelics," he said.

"Don't be. I'll be fine."

"Kara, I'm not scared that you'll get hurt. I'm scared because you're like me and I know you'll like it."

He was right and I knew he was worried, but I still couldn't help feeling giddy just thinking about tripping. I'd been wanting to try hallucinagines for a long time, but I was being patient. The opportunity would present itself eventually.

My uncle Brent's band, Phat Sack, was scheduled to have a concert in Minneapolis on August 27th. They were competing in the regional Battle of the Bands. I'd spent the last of my money on my ticket. I'd promised Brent that I wouldn't miss it.

Eight friends and I rented a party bus to get there. We got drunk and puffed on joints the whole way there. I was the only girl on the bus, and the only one under twenty-one. Neither of these facts bothered me.

In the three hours it took us to get there one of the guys managed to get completely wasted then pass out in the back of the bus, but not before mooning every old woman that passed us on the highway.

"So, we'll probably hit up the bar scene after the show," they told me, "What are you going to do? Will you be okay?"

I laughed, "Don't worry about me. I can find many ways to entertain myself."

"Okay, we'll meet back at the bus at midnight."

Phat Sack got bumped to be the first to play, so their chances of winning were pretty much shot down right away. The crowd loved them and they put on an excellent show, but that wasn't enough for them to win.

It was only five-thirty and already I was bored. I had no idea what I was going to do until midnight. I wasn't familiar with the area so I wasn't sure where to go and didn't feel like wandering around alone. I sat outside with the guys and smoked one cigarette after another while I pondered what to do with myself for the rest of the night.

As I sat on the ground, joking and laughing with my friends, a very attractive guy with dreadlocks caught my eye. He was wearing a pair of colorful bell bottoms made of all different kinds of patches. His dreadlocks were new, but long. He couldn't have had them in for more than a few weeks. Most of them were blonde, but several were colored. There were green, blut, purple, yellow, red, black, silver, and orange.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had a warm smile and perfectly straight teeth. I found myself not being able to take my eye off of him. He was beautiful.

Suddenly his gaze shifted to me. Rather than looking away, I matched his stare. The energy he was sending my way took me by surprise. He smiled at me then looked back to the man speaking to him.

I was taken off-guard. He was gorgeous, but I hadn't been expecting any response. I'm not ugly or anything, but I don't consider myself to be irresistable. I'm five-four, 130lbs, with brown messy dreadlocks and fairly tan skin. I've got the Pink Floyd flowers tattoed on my left forearm and the Radiohead monster tattoed on my right. The inside of my right calf is inked with a sun-burst tribal design and the top half of my back had been transformed into a rainforest. I'm unique to look at, but I'm only eye-candy for a certain type of person, I guess.

The dready-boy and I continued to play eye games through the crowds outside of the building. Then he hailed a cab and stared at me through the window as he drove away. I was confused and disappointed that he left. I wanted to go for a walk, but I stayed there in hopes that he'd come back.

He did.

He was gone for no more than twenty minutes before the cab dropped him off again. He lingered outside by himself, only hesitating to speak to me because of my friends surrounding me.

Brent and the rest of Phat Sack came outside to tell us to vote on the back of our ticket stubs for which bands we wanted to win.

"I need a pen," I said, "Someone find me a pen and I'll vote."

Suddenly a pen appeared in front of my face, held by the dready-boy with a very triumphant look on his face.

"I have a pen!" he said.

I couldn't hold back from laughing at the goofy look he was giving me. I felt pretty good about myself that he was taking such initiative to meet me.

When I stood up to talk to him we were instantly surrounded by my buddies from home. They were unbearably curious about this boy who dared approach their little sister. Jason got right up in his face and said, "Dude, I'm not a fag or anything, but you have really pretty eyes," in a very drunken way.

I ducked my head, a little embaressed of my friends.

In response to everyone's laughter, Jason said, "What? It's a compliment!" He swayed drunkenly from side to side as he spoke.

"Actually," the dread boy said, "In high school I had the most votes for the prettiest eyes. It was in the yearbook and everything."

"Really?" Jason was enthralled by him. However, the several beers in him made everything more interesting. I've known Jason since I was sixteen and can still count on two hands how many times i've seen him sober. I usually only saw him at parties and by the time I'd arrive, he'd be tanked. The times I've seen him without a drink in his hand was usually while getting new tattoos. He got new ink every week. I wonder if in ten years he'll have any room left for more.

It didn't take long for Jason and the dread boy to start comparing tattoos. This newcomer had the battle of Armogeddon covering his entire back and several other random tattoos on his chest, arms, and legs. When he took off his shirt to show them, I couldn't take my eyes off his body. He had toned muscles and an abdomen that made me want to touch him.

After a few minutes something else caught Jason's attention and we were able to stray away from the group.

"Interesting friends you have," he said.

"They're good for cheap entertainment."

"That was some intense energy you were sending my way," he said openly, "It was kind of intimidating. I wasn't quite sure how to approach you."

His forward way of speaking was refreshing. Now that I was closer to him I could see that his eyes were a very intense blue, and had a very seductive shape.

"So," I said, "What's your name, dready-boy?"

He smiled, "Michael Blackwell."

"Kara Shepard," he shook my hand and repeated my name under his breath.

"So, uh, can I buy you a beer? Are you twenty one?"

This was usually the part where the guy gets freaked and backs off. I shook my head.

"Eighteen?"

I nodded.

"Thank God you're legal," I blinked and let out a little laugh. I hadn't heard that response before.

"So," he said, "which one of those dudes is your boyfriend?"

I rolled my eyes. How obvious could he be?

"I don't have a boyfriend."

That made him smile. After a moment of silence I asked, "You live in Minneapolis?"

"Yep. I live in a cozy little apartment about ten blocks away. How about you?"

"I'm from Brainerd, but I'm not currently living anywhere since I got fired from my job last week."

He laughed, "Who needs jobs, anyway?" At my skeptical expression he said, "What? I don't work. I haven't worked since I came back to Minnesota a year ago."

"What do you do for money?"

"I make and design clothes and I just started doing high definition video."

"What are you recording?"

"Bands, concerts, festivals, events. Anything revolving around creativity."

I was growing an admiration for this strange character, but somehow I was finding what he was saying unrealistic. I wanted so badly to believe him. I wished the world worked that way.

"Not everyone can be as fortunate as you, I guess," It was impossible to hide the bitterness in my tone.

"Spare me with that bull shit," I blinked in surprise, "You can do anything you want. People need to quit living like fucking robots. New age came and went."

I raised my eye brows, inviting him to further explain.

"New age came and went," he repeated, "The apocolypse already happened," he raised his arms up, spun around, and yelled, "We're in Heaven now. This is it!"

A pleasant thought, but I didn't buy it. My mind kept arguing, but I just nodded and said nothing. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Why are you looking at me like I'm full of shit?" he asked.

I hesitated only a moment before blurting out, "If that was true I wouldn't have lost my job, I wouldn't have gotten dumped, and I sure as shit wouldn't be stuck in Brainered, Minnesota."

He started laughing at me again. And Michael didn't have a suble, ordinary laugh. He had a loud, goofy laugh. If I had really been angry then, it would've been impossible to stay angry after hearing that laugh.

I respected that he was being blunt and brutaly honest with me. So many people are too worried about hurting each other's feelings that they miss the point of what really needs to be said. The truth will be much more beneficial for the future.

"Don't you get it?" he said, "You made that all happen. For one reason or many that all happened because you wanted it."

"But I need money to do what I want to do."

"Don't be like all the other controlled idiots you see around you. Money isn't everything. It helps sometimes, but it shouldn't control you. And besides, if you need money to get to where you're going, you'll find a way to get it."

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. I had nothing left to say. He said things in a way that left no room for me to argue. My brain would need more time to let that perspective sink in.

"Wow," I let out a long breath, "That was a buzz-kill."

"Would it be inappropriate to ask you if you want to walk to my place and smoke a jay?"

"Let's go."

As we walked we discussed our backgrounds and hopes for the future. I told him about my plans to spend the winter in California. I told him about my love for writing and my analytical nature.

Michael was adopted and had, just a few weeks earlier, found his biological mother and family. He'd been married once and had a nine year old daughter named Jackelyn.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Twenty eight."

Wow, I thought. I am closer in age to his daughter than I am to him. It seemed nearly impossible for me to meet and like kids my age. Even when I graduated I hardly knew a single person in my class. I stopped going to public school at fifteen, stopped sleeping at my parents' houses at sixteen, got an apartment at seventeen, and left Minnesota at eighteen. All the while being the youngest at all the social gatherings I went to.

It didn't seem to bother Michael that I was ten years younger than him. he said that girls over twenty-one or twenty-two were too fucked up in the head to deal with anyway.

When I entered his apartment I had to stop and adjust to all the colors. Every inch of the walls and ceilings were covered with different kinds of trippy fabrics and pictures. Spirals, flowers, tie-dye-- it was a mushroom trap. There were Jimi Hendrix posters and pictures of Jackelyn everywhere. The room itself was likie a comfort blanket for my spirit. I was reminded of Tony Powers' apartment back in Brainerd. It was a home in which everyone was welcome. I smoked out of my first bong there, got my first tattoo there, and was there first introduced to reggae music. Tony helped me to get out of my goth phase. He opened up a whole new spectrum for me.

Michael rolled up a join with hash oil on the paper. The first inhale had me coughing, the second gave me a small buzz, and by the third I was melting into the couch. I turned my head to see Michael staring at me.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"I want to kiss you."

"What's stopping you?"

He shrugged his shoulders and leaned in for the kill. He was an agressive kisser. I liked it. I let his hands explore my body, our breathing getting heavier and heavier.

We didn't have sex, but came close. As he rolled another joint I ran my hands over his bare back, taking in the feel of his smoothe skin. I lightly scratched his back and blew cool air over it all. He let out a little moan.

"I love that you do that," he said, "Nobody ever wants to touch me like that."

"I love the feel of the human body. I could do this for hours," That was true. I couldn't help but think about Mitchell at that moment. Feeling a little sad, I said, "I used to put my ex-boyfriend to sleep this way."

He was quiet for a moment then asked when I was going back to Brainerd.

"I have to meet my friends back at the bus at midnight to go back."

"Why don't you just stay here tonight," he suggested, "If you don't have to work there's no reason why you can't stay, right?"

"How will I get back to Brainerd? I'm broke."

He turned to his computer and started looking up bus ticket prices on the internet.

"Thirty-seven dollars," he said, "That's nothing! I'll buy you a bus ticket back. You're staying with me for a couple days."

I was dumbfounded. I had grown so occustomed to only meeting the homeless and jobless guys that I wasn't sure how to respond. His kindness was something almost foreign to me. He was being so nice to me that it almost made me nervous. I wasn't sure what to expect from him.

Regardless, I accepted his offer, not that arguing would have made any difference. If nothing else, it was an opportunity to get out of Brainerd for a day or two. That was something I desperately needed.

He had another boy staying with him, by the name of Tom. Tom was Michael's close friend from Iowa. He was here to make some money working at the State Fair.

Tom drove me back to the bus to tell the guys that I wasn't going back with them. They were all drunk when I walked up and started to cheer when they saw me. Then started to boo when I said I was staying in Minneapolis.

"We were all broke by nine," Jason said, "So we've been drinking right here all night, waiting for you to get back."

Oops. They weren't mad, but I felt bad. I didn't even have my cell phone with me. I'd left it in Brainerd assuming I wouldn't need it.

Michael treated me like a queen that night, He took me out to dinner, opened every door for me, and let me spark every joint he rolled. I got to sleep in a bed for the first time in months. The feather blanket and pillows made me feel like I was sleeping in a cloud.

I woke up the next morning naked and completely at ease. I was alone and wondered for a moment where Michael was. Then a few minutes later he appeared with a cup of coffee for me.

I took a sip and said, "You are wonderful."

Late in the afternoon I called my dad. The second he heard it was me he exploded in laughter.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"I told them!" he said, "When they said you were missing I told them that you were fine. I said you were probably partying and you'd call sometime this evening."

"Whoa, hold on a second. Who said I was missing?"

Apparently, the last anyone saw of me was walking away from the show with some guy with dreadlocks. All the boys on the bus were too drunk to remember me even coming back to the bus. Dawnielle had posession of my cell phone and had been receiving calls from the boys trying to find me throughout last night.

"Your mother is furious," he warned.

"If I call her today, will she yell at me?"

"Most likely."

"I'll call her tomorrow then," that was something I could deal with when I got back to Brainerd.

"Call your phone and talk to Dawnielle. She's been panicking," he chuckled, "Love you, babes."

"Love you, too, pops."

When I called Dawnielle next she was overjoyed to hear my voice. So overjoyed, in fact, that she decided she was going to drive to Minneapolis that night and pick me up. There was no use arguing with her, as much as I didn't want to leave. Besides, this way Michael wouldn't have to spend thirty-seven dollars on my bus ticket.

I wasn't ready to go back. The real world just didn't sound appealing. I knew that the moment I got back I'd have to start looking for a new job. I'd have to go straight back to the pattern I hated. I wanted to stay at Michael's. It was like being in a different world for me. Memories couldn't haunt me here. I kept wishing that an emergency would come up so that Dawnielle couldn't come get me. I just wanted one more day away from Brainerd.

After she called to say that she was only a few minutes away, I turned to Michael and said, "I'd like to see you again, if that's alright."

He smiled, "I want more than one night."

"Good."

He walked me out to Dawnielle's car, opened my car door, and gave me a long kiss. He started to say goodbye, but I cut him off.

"I hate the implications of that word," I said, "I'll see you later."

"See you."

Dawnielle drowned me with questions, her gossip obsession making her unbareably curious about the last thirty hours. I gave her little bits of information, but making her brain suffer was more entertaining than spilling out every last detail. I answered her questions in riddles to the point of her shouting for me to tell her what really happened.

When we reached town, the very site of the "Welcome to Brainerd" sign made me feel ill. I imagined all the different ways I could destroy it. Dynomite, axe, machine-gun; all too cliche. Maybe I could cut down one of those pretty pine trees. If I cut at the correct angle, it would flatten that sign for sure. Or maybe I could just launch some rockets at it and blow it to pieces. Or maybe I've played too many video games.

When pulled into the parking lot for the apartment complex, I noticed a familiar figure standing outside with another thinner male next to him.

"Cotie?" I said. He looked and gave me a smile.

"Hey, Kara. What are you doing?" The boy Cotie was standing with looked oddly familiar, but I couldn't place him. He was tall and attractive with big dark eyes that were analyzing everything around him. I recognized the look because it reflected my own. I was instantly intrigued.

"We were just thinking of going to get some coffee," I lied. I was being pathetic, making the coffee excuse just to talk to Cotie's friend, "Want to come?"

They agreed. Cotie introduced his friend as Brandon. We drove to the coffee shop together. Being in Cotie's presence was both comforting and awkward. He was one of the few friends still around from my "darker days". Dani, the one person I can't help but let terrify me, was Cotie's best friend.

During highschool, we had out clique of friends that sat together at lunch and in between classes. Our group included the outcasts of Brainerd High School. Dani and I were the dark couple, a pair who made it a point to be different. Cotie and Deah dated once, until she cheated on him and broke his heart. There had been others in our little circle, but it was the four of us that seemed to tie it all together. Dani and Cotie were in a band then. Deah and I loved to watch them practice and cheer them on at shows.

It makes me feel sick to my stomach that I was so proud to be dating such a crazy sadist. Our relationship thrived on depression and apathy. Countless occasions of having to convince my friends not to hurt themselves. Sometimes I wish Dani would have actually had the guts to kill himself, as horrible a thought as that may be. At the time I assumed it was my words that stopped him from doing it, but he wouldn't have done it either way. It was merely to get my attention.

I stirred some cream into my coffee and forced those thoughts to the back of my mind. Cotie and Brandon were discussing some death metal band and Dawnielle was eyeing me with this concerned look on her face. I don't even know why I invited them out in the first place, because I was having a very difficult time not letting my thoughts drag me away from the present. I missed Cotie's friendship. It had been a long time since we'd been able to talk about--

"Dani comes back from the military on September 27th," Brandon said.

Hearing that name instantly caught my attention. I looked at Brandon sharply, not understanding his connection with Dani. I knew all of Dani's close friends. In fact, I tried to stay in mild contact with them so I can be informed when he'll be in town. I try to know when I should disappear.

I didn't want to talk or think about Dani anymore, so I tried to change the subject.

"So," I said to Cotie, "where are you living these days?"

"With Brandon over at Sherri's place."

It was then that I realized where I'd seen Brandon before. I was sixteen the last time I saw him. I had been walking out of that awful house with Dani to see a movie when Brandon walked through the door to see his mom.

Brandon is Dani's older brother.

When I put it together, I was so taken aback that I actually started choking on my coffee. Everyone stared at me as I coughed uncontrollably for a few minutes. I couldn't sit there for much longer after that. I kept wanting to scream at Brandon just because of who his brother is. I wanted to shout, "Your brother is a psychopath! Do you know what your precious little brother did to me?" I had to keep chewing on my lip to keep from blurting out something horrible. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I told everyone I was tired and would walk back. They stared at me in confusion as I left.

When I got back I sat outside and smoked a bowl of weed to myself. My new goal for the evening was now to get as high as my brain would allow and then sleep this all away.

I made a mild effort that week to fill out job applications and start making money again. I received my final paycheck from the hotel, which was twice as large as I'd expected. I used the extra money I hadn't planned on having to get more ink done to my back tattoo. Maybe not the most responsible of choices, but it was one that pleased me.

While at the tattoo shop I saw an advertisement on the wall for Harvest Festival. I'd heard about it before, but had never been there. It was a psychadelic festival organized by the band, Wookiefoot. Wookiefoot's style of music was a tripped out mix between raggae and hip-hop. They were the biggest and most popular local band in Minnesota. The band itself was like a family, showing kindness to their fans and giving newcomers a warm welcome.

I wanted to go to Harvest Fest, but whether I'd be able to afford it or not was still in question.

September 5th was my uncle Brent's 28th birthday. It was sort of weird to think that Michael is older than my uncle.

Brent was having a party for himself at my grandparents' house in the woods. My grandma is the most easily-amused person I've ever met. Her yard is over-decorated with all sorts of colorful, twirling objects. She and my grandpa had a small log cabin for a house. It was close enough to town to make little hastle, but far enough away to be quiet peaceful. The rooms were slightly chlostrophobic at times, but it was cozy enough.

Brent had moved back in with them almost a year ago. He enjoyed living there. Some of our friends would give him shit for it, but he said unless he finds a cool girl that wants something serious with him he has no reason to move out again. My grandparents enjoyed his company also.

The weather was nice and the vibe for the day was good. There was a constant flow of people in and out throughout the afternoon and an over-abundance of food. My grandma made sure to remind everyone multiple times that there was plenty of food to eat. And we made it a point to remind her that we couldn't possibly eat anymore. She had already made me finish off all of the fruit salad.

I thought of Brent's birthday party the previous year. While this particular gathering was moderately calm, his last one had been wild and loud. It was at that party that Brent and I had our first ever uncle-niece toke. That night started a completely new bond between us.

As I had done last year, I brought him a bowl of the best green I could find to smoke with him for his birthday. We ducked behind the garage, away from the group so that we could have our special puff.

"So it took one year for you to go from being my niece," he said, "to becoming my really good friend that just happens to be related to me."

I hit the pipe and smiled, "This is true."

I had thought those words several times but hadn't said them out loud. It made me feel good that he had thought the same thing.

"Alright," he said once the bowl was gone, "Enough of this sappy crap. Let's go play some music."

Brent and a few others broke out the guitars and home-made drums. We sat around the fire, singing and jamming, letting the reality of the summer's end sink in. Autumn was just around the corner. I longed for the colorful leaves and crisp smell of the cool, moist air.

I embraced this opportunity to enjoy the company of this family. I looked at the different faces around the fire and tried to look into their spirits. We're all going different ways, I thought. Part of me started to feel sad. I worried that I'd never again have a moment like this, that I'd never feel this kind of comfort again.

The true realization, though, was that this was not the end, but the beginning of something different. My mind then let go of the sadness and grasped onto the next phase of our time. I sang louder with the instruments and let all of my negative energy out through the rhythm. My voice acted as a magic wand and in a single note change every pessamistic thought spiraled off my tongue and into the night.

When a couple friends dropped me off at the apartment later that night, Brandon was walking toward his car. I waved and he came over to say hello.

I was still feeling high from the music. It was all replaying itself in my mind. I had a feeling it would be stuck in my head for a while. My blood was wired with energy. I wanted to be somewhere beautiful, away from town.

"Would you like to see a really neat place?" I asked him.

"Sure."

We got in the car and I guided him to a place that was truly magical. It was a park in the woods I had discovered two summers ago. Two large ponds set the layout for the area. A paved path looped around it all with stone bridges and flowers. Little waterfalls with rocks and logs connected the two ponds.

This place was my haven. It was almost like a photo album. Every little spot showed me a picture of someone I'd been here with. I've brought probably a hundred friends to this park and haven't a single bad memory associated with it. I called it a peace park. There was something about the energy contained there that made any soul who enters feel completely at ease. It was like a whole different world in itself. In there, all the bullshit that the material world hurts us with is put on pause. In there, none of that shit matters.

Stylish miniature street lamps lit up the path as we walked down the entrance through the woods. I watched to see Brandon's expression when the trees opened up and the first pond exposed itself. His eyes brightened and his smile widened.

All he could say was, "Wow."

I led him up the hill to where I always used to sit when I came here for meditation purposes. I took off my shoes, lifted my skirt, and walked through calf-deep water to sit on the log right above the little waterfall. The clouds had parted and billions of stars smiled down at us. The waning moon was bright white and gave the water a distorted look.

Brandon sat next to me and I packed my pipe. I wasn't sure what to say to him, because all I could think about was, once again, who his brother was. I couldn't help but want to pry at what he knew. I asked him how long Dani was going to be back in town.

"Two weeks," he said. I was looking at the water, but I could feel him eyeing me suspiciously, "Why do you ask?" He tried to make the question seem casual, but it was obvious to us both that there was a lot he didn't know about mine and Dani's relationship.

"Just curious."

Two weeks, I thought. For two weeks that freak is going to be hanging out at his friend's apartment which just so happens to be located directly above my apartment. Time to start looking for a place to stay for those two weeks that is far away from Brainerd. I wondered if Michael would mind my company.

"So," he said, "How do you and Cotie know each other?"

"Well," I started, instantly letting all the vivid memories flood my brain, "When I dated your brother--" I paused because he gave me a look that said he hadn't quite put that together yet.

After a minute, he said, "So that's where I've heard your name before."

"Yeah. We met once back then, but we both looked a lot different. Your hair was much longer then."

He chuckled, "That was when I was spending my time with the goths in Minneapolis. That's a terrible way for me to word that," he thought a moment and said, "I got involved in it because my interest in the culture was too strong to ignore. The people are so... out of the norm. I enjoy observing and analyzing other ways of life, so to speak."

"I'm like that, too, but from an entirely different side. I'm a writer, and I can't help but search for a story everywhere I go. That's a form of analyzation, right?"

"Absolutely," The wind started to pick up and it was getting chilly, so we started walking back towards the car, "So, what do you write?" he asked.

And I must add that I was very relieved that the topic of conversation had drifted away from my days with Dani.

"Poetry, a few short stories, and maybe a song here or there, but my main focus is on my novels."

"I could never have the patience to sit and write a book. What are they about?"

"See, the thing is, I've been on a writers' block for nearly a year. I've been writing more poetry, but I had put my books on hold until the right inspiration comes along."

That was actually the real reason behind my trip to Washington, aside from visiting Deah. I needed something new to write about.

"What did you write about before your writers' block?" he asked once we were in the car.

"Vampires," I laughed at how cheesy my answer sounded. However, it was the truth.

"Really?" he smiled.

"Yes. I had my little made-up world that usually involved death, love, passion, and lots of blood. Not fun to get really into, however fun to write about."

"I've always been fascinated with that genre," his goofy excited look told me he wasn't lying, "I like the dark, mysterious people. I want to pick their brains and see what made them that way."

"For me, it all started at about thirteen. Deah gave me a fiction novel about vampires called In the Forests of the Night, by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. I loved the story so much that I bought it. Then I found out that she had been thirteen when she wrote it. I figured, if this girl can write a book, why can't I? So I started writing and it turned out I had quite a gift for it."

I thought of all the classes I'd failed because all of my class periods were spent writing my stories. I finished my first novel in five months. By fifteen, I had three manuscripts on my shelves.

Brandon concluded the ride with, "You make it sound so easy."

I smiled, said goodnight, and walked inside. All the while, wishing that Dani's brother wasn't such an intriguing person.

I called Michael the next day to tell him I wouldn't be able to make it to Harvest Fest.

"I just don't have the money," I told him.

"That sucks. Maybe we can work something out." I wasn't counting on it.

The day was already off to a horrible start. My mind was "battling", as my dad calls it. Pros and cons using your thoughts a war field. I tried to distract myself with movies, but my mood didn't improve until Michael called back to tell me that I was now on the guest list for Harvest Festival.

"How did you do that?"

"I'm doing the videography for Wookiefoot," he explained, "I told them I needed a cuddle buddy for the weekend."

I didn't really know what to say. I wasn't use to people being so generous. I always sort of had the notion that you need to take care of yourself first, others second. maybe that's been the problem all along.

I got a ride down to Minneapolis that night. On the drive I kept debating in my head if this was the best decision to be making. I heard my mother's voice in my head telling me to put the fun on hold for now and start working again. But when Michael welcomed me with a kiss at the door, his smile reassured me that I was supposed to be there.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him in my absence until I was back. Being in his apartment felt right. I didn't have the negative mindset I had in Brainerd. In fact, it seemed to vanish the second I got out of the car.

The Harvest Festival pre-party was that Thursday, but we chose to rest in Minneapolis that night and drive to the festival Friday. I wasn't sure what to expect that weekend. I was nervous on the drive there. I'd never been to any kind of gathering like this before.

Harmony Park was a music garden in the middle of nowhere. It was right next to a lake and surrounded by tall, beautiful trees of all kinds. It had a loving energy like I'd never felt. It hit me the second we pulled up to the gate. Driving up, I knew I was home.

We signed in and began our search for any member of Wookiefoot to give us our backstage passes. As we walked on the trail around the camps I couldn't help but fall behind observing everything. Tents were crowded and set up only a couple feet apart from one another. Different camps had their own themes. Pirates, peace children, and trippies everywhere. So many beautiful people, each of them tripped out in their own style of dress and hair. I wanted to hug them all and tell them how pretty they all were.

We eventually got our passes and were able to set up our tents shortly before the sun began to set.

"I'm going to wander," I announced when all my things were in place.

Michael gave me a kiss and I walked out to the main stage area where one of the bands was performing.

There were so many neat things to see. So many gorgeous girls dancing and twirling to the music. They let their hips sway freely, some with large hool-a-hoops, some spinning colorful balls on ropes, and some just getting lost in the raggae. The constant thumping of bass set a steady rhythm for all the activity. Circles of odd people, drawn together over music, marijuana, psychadelics, and just mere eye contact. Every person was beautiful in one way or many. No one soul was better than any other.

All signs read, "Welcome home."

I pulled a notebook from my backpack and began scribbling furiously. I wanted desperately to catch every bit of this on paper.

"Let the music be your guide," I wrote, "You can't help but dance. The ground itself is alive beneath my feet. Its like an electric waves of loving energy, forming a connection between all these eclectic hearts.

"Spider-woman is dancing in the hoop. The girl in pink wraps dances solo while allowing no one to distract her trance.

"The beautiful flower children, no older than five--there's no better home for them.

"The men stare at the women, in a daze from their beauty. All of these girls create their auras from seduction, and none of the men can touch them without an invitation. I look at them in admiration, wishing I could be that hypnotising."

One of the dancers approached me and said, "I thought I was the only one here with a notebook."

I smiled and she continued to dance. I watched her with a slight hint of envy. I wanted to dance like her.

I spent a lot of that first night just wandering around the park. There were people from Brainerd there. Seeing familiar faces amongst all the chaos was refreshing. I watched Tony, one of my two tattoo artists, and his girlfriend, Mara, spin fire on the trail. Mara with poi, and Tony with a staff lit on each end. Together they danced to the jumbees being played in the background.

Mara stole many hearts in that ten minutes of fire-spinning. She was wearing as little clothing as the Autumn weather would allow. Tattoos decorated a majority of the open skin. Dancing in the flames, she looked like a tribal goddess.

I'd run into Michael every once in a while, just long enough to watch him use his video camera to flirt with all the pretty girls. I suppose you could say I was jealous of the attention he showed them. I was mostly wishing that I was cute enough to attract the camera's eye. I chose to shrug it off and keep walking. It was too pleasant there to let it bother me.

The more I looked at everything going on around me, the more I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be as high as them. I wanted to be tripping as hard as them. I wanted to pick their brains and see what they were thinking.

It started to get cold. The wind picked up and as the night went on the crowds began to thin. I walked backstage where Tom and Michael starting to get ready to sleep.

I felt a little weird sleeping next to Michael after watching him hit on every pretty girl that got in front of the lense. But there was no argument that I could make with him. We were not a couple and he was free to do what he wanted.

The next morning I woke up confused. It took me a moment to remember where I was. I felt Michael's arm around my stomach and his warm breath on the back of my neck. It was a comfortable way to wake up.

We got stoned and went to the food stands. Michael bought Tom and I coffee and we sat in the grass, watching the band and the people.

The sky was cloudy and the wind was fairly strong. Everyone was dressed in multiple layers and wrapped in blankets. It was cold, but no one was complaining. I loved the Autumn weather. I was happy that it wasn't hot and sunny. That's great for summer, but the Fall needs the chill and dim light, or it just wouldn't be a proper Fall.

Michael and Tom went to get the cameras so I used that as my opportunity to find some of my buddies from home.

Tony and Mara were standing at their camp with a few other people I recognized from Brainerd.

"Kara!" a male voice said.

I turned around to be greeted by a shaggy, smiling trippy in a tie-dye t-shirt with bloodshot eyes and an aura that glowed with joy to be alive.

"Hi, Brett," I gave him a hug and tried to recall when I'd seen him last. I remembered the burn cruise we'd taken. The night we climbed on dinosaur statues and tolked by the Mississippi River. Then we'd blasted some trance-techno music in the car while going ninety miles per hour on the back roads around home.

His girlfriend, Falon, came up to greet me. I'd always been really fond of her. She had such a geeky personality and quirky look about her that I couldn't help but find her presence a curiosity. She and Brett were next to perfect for each other.

I heard someone say something about psychadelic mushrooms as they walked passed us and I drooled at the thought.

"I wish I had some mushrooms," I muttered to no one.

Brett heard me and said, "They're everywhere."

"Yeah," I said, "but I'm broke."

Brett and Falon turned and whispered to each other for a moment, then looked at me and Brett said, "Follow us!"

I walked with them to their camp which was barely on the property, if at all. A few of their friends were smoking at their camp, but they didn't pay us any attention. I stood outside while Falon disappeared into her tent. Brett packed a bowl and I hit it with a smile. Soon she reappeared and instructed me to hold out my hand. In it, she dropped two black mushrooms. They were streaked with blue, the perfect sign of their potentcy. She also put a finger pinch of mushroom powder in there.

Without thinking I shoved it all into my mouth, ignoring the foul taste. Brett handed me a bottle of water to wash them down, grinning excitedly at me as I did so.

"Have fun," Falon said.

"Thank you. You've both made my day better."

I slowly made my way back to my tent to put more layers of clothes on. When I got there, Michael and Tom were just about to puff a bowl. I sat in the tent with them, not quite sure what to expect.

I took a hit and a moment later my body started to tingle. I let out an uncontrollable giggle.

Then I couldn't stop giggling. It was like little waves of electric currents were tickling all my nerve endings.

"Sorry," I said to Michael, "Everything is just funny to me right now."

"That's because you're tripping," he sounded bitter. I felt bad to be this way in front of him. I remembered when my ex-boyfriend, Nate, had eaten mushrooms around me and I'd been irritated that he was tripping and I was not.

I tried to keep quiet until the bowl was gone and it was time to go explore. In the main stage area, a band I didn't recognize was playing. I walked to the beat of the bass drum.

The drums began thumping harder, the solo getting faster and faster as I walked toward the dark trails. As the tempo grew faster, my pace got quicker. The music triggered something in my veins and suddenly I wasn't walking, but levetating off the ground as I went forward. My mind was convinced that my feet were inches from the dirt. Then I looked up at the sky and gasped at what I saw.

Everything had taken on a distorted effect. In the sober world, the sky was purple that night and the trees looked black. However, in my world, when I looked up, the sky was black and all the leaves were purple. I directed my gaze down and started to giggle again. Then I looked up and saw the purple leaves again.

That was when I realized I was tripping. Glowing lights of all different colors flew at me as I walked by. The hood on my sweatshirt hid my wide, dialated eyes from the others passing by me.

"I have a secret," I whispered deviously to no one. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt light and happy. My entire body almost felt on the verge of orgasm. Then when something would trip me out it would put me over that verge for a split second. The world seemed to zoom in on me, intense and vibrant, but over before I could savor the sensation.

I came up to a wall in between two trees made entirely of rubber glow sticks. As I stared, they started to move and float in orbit. I was looking at a miniature universe. I plopped down in the center of the trail to study it closer.

As I sat staring at my colorful universe, people continued to walk by, nearly knocking me over sometimes. Some tried to talk to me, but all I heard was mindless babbling. I watched the bright glowing planets spin and rotate around each other.

I thought about what each one would be like if I lived there. I imagined the green planets being covered with forests of chronic, with glass blown pipes and water-pipes coming out of trees and the mossy ground. The blue planets had the most potent psychadelic mushrooms growing where a single cap would have you tripping for days. The pink planets with LSD and the red with Extasy. In my universe, bad trips didn't exist.

My brain was going crazy thinking about psychadelics. I wanted more. I broke away from the glowstick universe and walked down the trail with the determination to find more mushrooms.

That plan didn't last long. When I walked by the stages I heard The Big Wu performing. The music grabbed me by the hand and led me to the front of the crowd. Without a thought, I started to dance.

This wasn't me. As in, I don't dance. I enjoyed watching others dance, but that was the exent of it. Maybe I'm self-conscious, or I feel that I couldn't be as beautiful as all those other girls. Maybe I just thought I had no talent.

The mushrooms made it so that I didn't care. I didn't notice all of the people surrounding me. I let the music pick me up and take me on a dancing rampage. I couldn't stop moving. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but it didn't matter.

I danced until the band's performance was over. Wookiefoot was scheduled next. People were starting to gather for the final show of Harvest Fest. It was turning into one giant party. Drugs were everywhere. You could tell who was messed up by how many articles of clothing they were wearing. The weather was cold and those who weren't tripping or rolling on extasy were tripped out in as many layers as they could put on. The kids with wide eyes and slurred words didn't notice the chill in the air.

Wookiefoot caught the crowd's attention when different colored lights lit up the stage. The band ran out on stage with neon colored outfits and painted faces. Black lights illuminated all the colors and the entire scene became a psychadelic trip in itself. People dressed as fairies and giant mushrooms handed out 3D glasses. Clowns juggling and swirling lights everywhere.

Everyone danced.

I'd never felt an energy like that before. My trip had faded for the most part, but I didn't care. I was high enough off of the music and electricity pulsing through my veins.

I found Michael and hugged him. Just looking at him was comforting. His eyes were somehow intense and soft at the same time. I wanted to kiss him, but I hesitated. I still wasn't sure how much attention he wanted me to show him here.

"Want to go smoke one?" he asked.

I nodded and followed him through the crowd of dancing trippies. It was hard for me to keep up. I was getting distracted by one thing after another. If it wasn't Wookiefoot, it was someone on stilts or twirling ribbons or glowing lights or fire. There was so much to look at.

In the tent we could still hear the music. I swayed to the rhythm while Michael packed a pipe.

All I could think about was how I didn't want this to end. I wanted everyday ot be as magical as at Harmony Park. I didn't want to go back to the modern world. I wanted to stay and know these people. I felt like I was home.

"What do you want?" I asked him.

"As far as..?"

"Anything. Everything. What do you want?" I don't know what I was really getting at, but my brain was going crazy with millions of questions and ideas and I wanted nothing more than to hear him speak.

"I want a shower."

I laughed, "You could use one, you dirty hippy."

"I'm not a hippy," he said, "I"m a trippy."

Now, as much as you've already seen me use this term throughout the story, this was the first time I'd come in contact with the word. When Michael spoke it, it triggered something in my brain that wouldn't go away.

He was quiet for the rest of the bowl. I wondered if his mind was racing as fast as mine. I was reminded of a discussion I'd had with one of Deah's friends while I'd been in Washington.

I had been sitting in the garage with her friend and he had called me a hippy. I argued with him, stating that hippies are dead.

"You are a hippy or you wouldn't have dreadlocks or hemp necklaces or any of that," he said.

I remembered wanting so badly to slap him for being so naive. I've had to deal with those arguments numerous times. What so many of them don't realize is that the hippy generation is over. Being a hippy has little or nothing to do with style or hair. The hippy movement was something that could never be duplicated.

We are a new generation. We are sons and daughters of the hippy era, but can never be part of what it once was.

I thought of what Michael had said. Trippy. He's right. We're more tripped out than ever before.

When the bowl was gone we layed in the tent, cuddling and resting on each other. We seemed to drift off for a while because when I finally sat up, the music had stopped.

We slowly wandered back out ot the main stage area to find that we had missed almost all of Wookiefoot and all of the fire spinning show.

Michael and I looked at each other and started laughing.

"I don't think we missed anything," I said.

He smiled.

We walked the trails for a couple hours. Drum circles were everywhere. Someone gave Michael a mushroom stem to suck on and his spirit was back up in little time. I loved to watch him smile. His smile was contagious.

Some kids managed to trick him with a glowstick on a string. He was so happy about it that he stopped and smoked multiple bowls with them.

The sky was starting to brighten, dawn not being far away. Still, there were people everywhere. Pretty girls caught Michael's attention and I took a step back.

I can't say that it didn't bother me to watch him pay so much attention to them. I was envious that I couldn't hold his attention for very long. I wanted him to be proud to have me with him. I wanted to be good enough for him to show me off.

Eventually the morning sun began hurting my eyes. I couldn't believe it was morning already. I'd had no sense of time all weekend. The overcast had made it impossible to tell.

We walked back to the tent and slept Sunday away. We woke up sometime in the late afternoon feeling sore and drowsy.

The scene outside was almost a shock to my brain. Almost everyone had left. Ours were the only tents still backstage.

Tom had been up for several hours, but hadn't bothered to try waking us, for which I was greatful. There was still one RV up and running with coffee ready for us. Once we had our beverages, we started to walk through the empty park, reflecting on the weekend.

"Seeing this place without all the tents and flags and trippies running around is weird," Michael said.

I felt a little sad that it was over. I couldn't stop thinking about my first mushroom trip the night before. I wanted to feel that way again. I wanted more memories like that.

"I've never seen anything as beautifully tripped out as this place," I said, still staring wide-eyed at the empty park.

Michael smiled, "I've heard Rastas say that out of every place they've been, it all comes baack to Harmony Park. Its truly a magical place."

"I will definitely be back."

As we drove away I turned around and took one last look at the park, until next year. We listened to Wookiefoot the whole way back to Minneapolis.

The apartment was like a warm blanket for our spirits when we walked in. It was great to be back in a world where there are private bathrooms. I savored every drop of hot water in the shower. My body relaxed and seemed to melt as each gem cleansed my skin.

Tom left that night to go back to Iowa. He needed to work and save some money until he could come back. The moment Michael closed the door behind Tom he looked at me and said, "Wow, do we really have the apartment all to oursevles?"

He swooped me up in his arms and carried me into the bedroom. Nothing could have been more welcoming than Michael's bed at that moment. He pleased every inch of my body that night. Hours of heavy breathing and trying desperately to keep my voice quiet.

I'd lost my cell phone sometime during my mushroom trip. I hadn't noticed until after we'd left. I don't have to go home yet, I thought. This is too good to pass up. I'll go back to Brainerd when I feel like it.

"What do you want?" he asked me before bed, while we were laying naked and exhausted.

The answer was easy. "I want to write," I said, "I want to have experiences and share my stories with the world."

"And what can you do now that would help make that come true?"

I thought a moment, and said, "I want to have the financial stability to be able to dedicate more of my time to writing," Every word I said with as much passion as I could without scaring him, but that was really all that I wanted, "I want to turn my life into a series of stories. I want to make my life story-worthy."

We were quiet for a couple minutes. I was lost in my own thoughts, my own dreams. It made me feel happy to dream about the future. All the amazing experiences lying ahead, just waiting patiently for me and my notebook.

"Here is what's going to happen," he said in a stern voice, "You are going to act as part of my video crew. You will stay here for a week and write. If you don't have anything to show me by the end of this week, you're gone."

When it was the two of us alone in the apartment we were rarely clothed. In the mornings we walked down the block to the coffee shop for breakfast and our usual coffee drinks. Michael's apartment was in the ghetto of Minneapolis. It wasn't a neighborhood I felt comfortable walking around in at night. This coffee shop was a good thing for the area. The neighborhood needed a loving atmosphere.

The manager was a beautiful, gentle woman in her fifties, named Ann. Seeing her glowing face in the morning made every day better. It was something I looked forward to every morning.

After getting coffee we'd sit in the chairs outside while waiting for our eggs. We loved to watch the people walking by. We had a perfect view of the tallest buildings in downtown Minneapolis.

When people came to the apartment Michael would put on as much as a pair of velvet pants. He loved soft fabrics and vibrant colors. I'd put on a skirt and swimsuit top.

Little things he did annoyed me. Like his stupid jokes which would have him laughing hysterically and the rest of the room staring blankly. I still couldn't help smiling at the way he laughed though. I loved that goofy laugh.

Sometimes he would speak to me as if I was a small child, and instantly I'd be on the defense. He loved to preach to me about life. Though I later realized that a majority of the things he crammed into my head actually made sense, at the time I only felt annoyed.

He enjoyed making me tick. He said it was cute when I got angry. To be honest, that wasn't the first time a person has told me that. When I get angry, I have a hard time gathering the correct words to say and it all comes out as gibberish. I tend to pace and spirt out random babbles.

For as much as Michael said he loved life he sure had a lot of hate. He'd rant on and on about the smallest thing and use the word 'hate' repeatedly.

I'm sure I annoyed him as much as he did me, but we were crazy about each other. I wanted to touch him every chance I got. There was something about his company that made me feel happy and I wanted to make him happy.

We took ourselves out to eat every night. While I went for the cheap meals on the menu, Michael would instantly find the most expensive thing on the menu and still want dessert.

Money was nothing special. We had it, so we were living like royalty.

I was never bored. I spent the week with him. We spent most of the evenings running around downtown Minneapolis. There was always something to see or do. Whether it was finding small concerts or fooling around in the dark corners of the porn shops.

Saturday, Michael was asked to record another even called Earth Dance. It was a celebration held once a year to give our appreciation to Mother Earth. Another one of those "give the Earth a hug, hippy things."

We got to the park early. It was only a few miles away from the apartment. The air was warm and moist, and the sun shone bright, making everything sparkle. Mr. Fun, one of the even organizers, smiled at us from under the brim of his colorful top hat.

Mr. Fun was one of the organizers for the regional festivals in the Minneapolis area. He was all-loving and accepting of all people. I'd first met him at Harvest Festival, but only briefly. Regardless of whether or not he remembered me, he greeted me like an old friend.

I sat at a picnic table while Michael started setting up the tripod and video-camera. Two little blonde girls, no older than five or six, giggled and played in the grass. They were almost too beautiful to look at, in their tiny yellow dresses and flowers in their hair. Their mother had deep brown hair that fell in waves to her waist line. Her pale, white skirt blew and rippled in the breeze. Her bare arms were decorated with colored tattoos and long wooden necklaces dangled from her slender neck.

That's what I wanted. When motherhood decides to grace me someday, I want to be blessed with children as beautiful as that. The mother had a bright, glowing aura surrounding her. It was an energy that said she loved life and treasured her family. I wanted that feeling.

More cars started to pile into the parking lot and within minutes the park had hundreds of trippies wandering and dancing.

An older woman in her late fifties with long white hair and a long white ceremonial robe danced across the grass. Some men drummed in a circle with other girls in colorful, glowing dresses danced around them.

The urge to write took over and I dug my notebook from my back pack.

"Watch them dance," I wrote, "The beautiful woman in white with a waterfall of silver hair and aging skin. She dances as if she's twenty. The younger women follow her while the men drum together.

"As their spirits lift, so do the clouds, allowing the sun to shine down on this day of unity."

My little game of observation was put on hold when Mr. Fun announced that everything would be starting soon and for everyone to join in a circle.

Michael was stuck behind the video camera. I walked, slow and shy, to join the others. Mr. Fun was in the center of the circle, along with the elder woman in white.

"I'd ask that everyone would join hands and connect the circle," Mr. Fun was walking around the circle, sending calming waves of energy to us all with his hands. It was like I could see this energy in physical form as warm cloaks for each soul in the circle. Everyone was officially in unity.

The woman in white walked in the circle, burning sage and herbs in a bowl, "Close your eyes," she said, "Breathe deep. Inhale. Exhale. Let your body relax and your mind clear."

I took in a breath and tried to relax, but I was distracted by the energy from the person to my right. My eyes were closed, so I could not see the person. Whoever it was, had long, creative fingers--probably an artist.

"Let your spirit out of its shell," she said loudly.

I heard a low pitched chuckle, low enough for me to determine this person was not female. He was chuckling at the woman in white. I let out a little smile.

He leaned over to me. I kept my eyes closed as he whispered, "I find it amusing when she goes off on her spiritual rants."

I smiled, but kept quiet. I was afraid that if I opened up my big mouth I'd say something too offensive for that moment.

As the woman walked, she moved her hands around each person's face. She guided the smoke from the sage so everyone could personally inhale the scents. I could smell her presence near me before I felt the wind from her hands around my face. I breathed in deep. The smoke calmed all my nervous limbs and I relaxed almost instantly.

For that second, I forgot all the small, petty bullshit I had been thinking about moments before. Like if Michael had noticed that boy whispering to me. Or if my hand was sweaty. If I tried hard enough, could I float up into the clouds?

All those thoughts dissolved. For that second, my brain relaxed. When I opened my eyes, the woman was smiling at me. Then she moved on to the next person.

Mr. Fun directed everyone's attention, "Okay guys, now that we're all in unity we can begin the music. In a moment, the bands will start. Then at six o'clock we'll gather for the prayer for peace. There'll be fire spinning and lots of dancing. Have fun!"

I let go of his hand and stood while the white-haired woman began to speak, "A few of the other ladies and myself are going to put on a demonstration of a dance I was taught by a woman I met years ago..."

I took the opportunity now to study the person who'd been next to me. He was sitting in the grass, watching the women dance. His black hair fell in small, wavy dreadlocks to his mid-back. His eyes were bold, though I couldn't tell their color from twenty feet away. His skin was a soft brown, perfectly accenting his thin, but toned, form. He had two sets of snake bite piercings in his bottom lip, making a total of four silver hoops.

He was dressed completely in earth tones. Black shoes, brown pants, form fitting black t-shirt, and a brown hooded sweatshirt.

He was not just beautiful, but he had an aura of strength and intellect that is rare in this world. I watched him lean back in the grass and spread his arms to the blue sky, taking in all of the sun shine. His comfort with these surroundings was obvious, but he seemed to be seeing more than I did.

I debated in my head whether or not I would take the opportunity to meet him. Michael and I were not a couple. We had the agreement of freedom between us. We were allowed to pay any amount of attention to whoever we wished.

However, I hadn't yet tested this agreement. I'd watched him flirt with numerous girls at Harvest Festival. I wondered if how he would react to showing my attraction to someone else. Fuck it, I thought. I am a free woman and may speak to whom ever I please.

The boy who'd been next to me in the circle introduced himself as Matt. He was eighteen, just recently graduated, and moving to Arizona for college. He was not only beautiful, but intelligent. I spent the afternoon picking his brain. All the while, Michael glared from a distance.

Matt loved photography. He said his only dream is to be able to travel the world and take pictures. So, to accomplish this, he was going to school to become a photo-journalist for National Geographic. He longed to see the jungles of South America and Africa. I admired his dreams.

As it turns out, the woman in the white robe was actually his mother.

When the time came to gather for the Prayer for Peace, Matt stood with me in the circle. His mother gave me a look of speculation when she passed by us. I smiled in return.

Now, what happened next was one of the most beautiful things I have ever whitnessed. In the center was a small circle of all the people with drums. There were probably about twenty-five drums of all shapes and sizes. Around them, we all connected in a circle, holding hands. We were each given a small piece of paper with the words for the Prayer for Peace. As every soul was united in the circle, we began to speak the prayer in unison.

"We are all one global family. All colors, all races, one world united. We dance for peace and healing, peace for all nations, peace for all communities, peace within ourselves. As we join all dance floors around the world, let us connect heart to heart. Through our diversity, we recognize unity. Through compassion, we recognize peace. Our love is the power for the world. Let us send it out now!"

At exactly six o'clock the Prayer for Peace music track was broadcasted all over the world. Over two-hundred and twenty-two cities were playing the song at the same time, just as we were.

The music had sounds of the ocean. I think I heard flutes. All connected, eyes closed, we remained silent until the track faded out. There couldn't have been more than half a second of silence before the inner circle busted into a strong drum beat. The outer circle let their hands fall and the park exploded in a fenzy of dancing and singing. Matt disappeared from my side. I stood in awe. Beautiful girls dancing and twirling in their skirts and tiny shirts. The men with bare chests and colorful pants.

Matt appeared again with a staff. It was lit with fire on both ends. He spun it fast, with little effort. He smiled and danced around me. The fire formed a circular frame around his hypnotic face. He was talented with it. He threw it up in the air and caught it smoothly. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. There's nothing more sexy than dreadlocks and fire.

"I didn't know you spin fire!" I said after he'd put the flames out.

"Does that impress you?" he gave me a sly grin.

I smiled, challenging his comment. I leaned in, kissed his cheek, and danced off into the crowd. I was high from all the energy. Michael was in the drum circle. He met my eyes for a moment, but ignored my smile.

As things began to die down, people began performing on stage, doing belly dances and fire spinning. Gypsies with jewelry dangling from their clothes. It made me smile to hear their jingling clothes every time they walked by.

In my notebook I scribbled down any words to describe the energy of that evening.

"Hundreds are gathered here to celebrate the existence of mother earth," I wrote. Matt continued to dance and spin his staff around me, "Watch him spin, watch him dance. He's pretty to look at. Feel the drums, move to their rhythm. Let the beats move you. The men with their bare chests. The ladies in dresses, seducing all eyes.

"The vibe is love. The aura is lust. Part of me wants to dance with them, but my eyes are focusing on the show. Twirling bodies, spinning colors--its beautiful. They welcome me as if I'm home. Maybe I am..."

Michael had found a cute redheaded girl to entertain his ego. She giggled at his jokes and brushed her fingers on his arms. Whenever his gaze met mine, he cut it short with a glare. The attention Matt was showing me was clearly making Michael jealous.

Lightning lit up the sky like a strobe light in the distance. A storm was coming close. It was nearly midnight and people were beginning to pile into cars to go back to their homes. I had to run to our car just to make sure Michael wouldn't leave without me.

Matt gave me his phone number that night, but I've never seen him since. We've chatted on the phone once or twice, but he moved to Arizona shortly after Earth Dance. We did, however, make plans to meet up at future festivals.

I was disappointed to go home with Michael. He didn't say a single word to me until after he had smoked some pot. I was irritated with his presence. He was a twenty-eight year old man, with a daughter, and a business, and only a small portion of the girls he was dating were even legal. It made me sick. I'd had such a wonderful day with Matt. I started to question how I really felt towards Michael.

Michael handed me the pipe and smiled. When I looked him in the eye, all I saw was his jealousy from earlier and all the little annoyances I'd been letting bother me. I didn't want to stick around long enough to fight with him.

"I think I'm going to go back to Brainerd tomorrow," I said.

He flinched as if I'd struck him. I tried to say that I was sorry, but he cut me off, "I'll cover your bus ticket."

One thing I feel I should mention right now is my love for the band, Radiohead. I first heard them when I was thirteen. A wonderful friend of mine introduced me to them by having me download Pyramid Song on my computer. From the first time I heard their music, to this very day that I write this, I have been enthralled by their music.

Music is a very important thing in my life. My CD cases are kind of like photo albums in my mind. Every song has a memory to go along with it. The list of memories I have associated with Radiohead is endless, and it only continues to grow. What is even more wonderful, is that I have not a single negative thought when Radiohead is playing in my headphones. When I'm feeling down, all I need is a little Radiohead, maybe a little green, and some time with self, and my mood is lifted.

I needed Radiohead on the bus ride back to Brainerd. Michael's goodbye had been short and sweet, with underlines of jealousy and hurt. I had fifteen grams of pot and an ounce of psychadelic mushrooms in my backpack. That four hours seemed like ten. It seemed to take all my concentration to keep my hands from shaking. I was so paranoid that someone had smelled the pot and they were just waiting to search me and send me to jail.

I made it into Brainerd at about one o'clock in the afternoon. It was no more than fifty degrees outside. I had watched the grey storm clouds start to clutter the sky from my window on the way there, and now it was pouring. The wind was blowing lightly. It wasn't until I watched the bus pull away that I remembered that I no longer had a cell phone. I was standing outside of a motel right on the edge of town, with no way to call for a ride.

Inside, the man at the desk was Indian, meaning he was from India. He had trouble understanding me and I couldn't get anything he was saying to me. He would only let me use the desk phone twice. The first time I called my dad, and when he didn't answer, I tried Dawnielle. When she didn't answer, I strapped my pack on my back and started walking in the rain.

I was quite a sight, walking down the road in the rain. I was wearing the thinnest pair of pants, purple and black striped stalkings, and sandles. My shoes had gotten destroyed at Harvest Fest, and all my socks were dirty. I hadn't realized it was going to be that cold. I also did not have a proper coat. I had two sweatshirts. By the time I was fifty feet from the motel, I was soaked from head to toe. I stuck my thumb out to the cars driving by, but they all ignored me.

About a mile down the road I saw a Holiday Inn and figured they at least had people who spoke English that would let me use their phone. I walked off the road and cut down into the ditch to get there. As I was walking down the hill, however, I slipped on the wet grass and all my weight, plus the weight of my sixty pound backpack, all came down on my left knee. Pain shot up and down my leg, but I just bounced back up and kept walking. It was hard to breathe. I was so exhausted. Until that day, I didn't realize how hard it really was to walk with a pack that big after the first half mile.

I limped my way into the hotel and ran into someone I knew there who gave me a ride into town. At the Eclectic Cafe, I got a cup of coffee and sat in the smoking lounge to relax. It was then that I remembered when I slipped in the wet grass. I rolled up my pant leg and blood was running down my leg in thick streaks.

I used the cafe bathroom to change my clothes and clean up my leg. I waited in the cafe until the rain stopped at around four. It was only about a ten minute walk to Dawnielle's apartment and I knew I had an extra pair of decent shoes there.