Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
cool. Everyone knew what level everyone else was on, and what kept things cool was the ulti-
mate freedom from judgment. Everything was everything, and that included the potential to
be cool. Jimmy was on the ultimate level with drugs, not only comfortable with any drug in
any mode but hungry for something to test, something that might break out, break in,
break
on through to the other side
. . .
Jim Morrison was still rocking out and would continue for another year. But I didn't do
needles, didn't want to and in fact couldn't watch without the dizzies. Besides that, I couldn't
handle downers. I once tried a red Mike Dunn gave me. He stole them from his mother, who
had full bottles and didn't miss a few. He popped two and advised the same dosage, because
one Seconal wouldn't get it. I told him I'd try one and then take another in a while, as neces-
sary. The one turned my legs to jelly, then my hips, torso, arms, eyes, brain and so on. I eased
back in the grass, paralyzed, and got up six hours later with severe sunburn and a hammering
headache. Mike asked, “Cool, huh? You want another?”
“No, thanks. I think I'll cut back for now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I'm sure.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Okay.”
Meanwhile, Jimmy waited for my reaction—my amazement and admiration—but all I
could muster was my one go with reds, or rather with a red. So I nodded slowly and said, “Hit-
ting Tuinals. That'll be like . . . jumping off a cliff.”
“Yeah, man. That's good, because it's downers. I mean it's all like a big cliff with anything
you hit, but like with downers, you jump off and keep on, you know, going down.”
“Yeah,” I said, though I didn't know. This was years before bungee jumping, so I didn't ima-
gine springing back. I only saw a nosedive at terminal velocity.
“You like downers?”
I shrugged. “I couldn't ever get into downers.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to the last of the cereal.
“Well, I gotta go. See you, Jimmy.”
He nodded, slurping, but he called out when I was at the door. “Hey, man. I'll let you know
how it went.”
“Yeah.”
Dead by the weekend, Jimmy let everyone know how it went. Nobody could be too sur-
prised, but death is always a surprise, even as it seems foregone. Sadness filled the airwaves as
old friends called with the news. Jimmy dominated thoughts till the first notes of his mother's
lament, stock audio from the bereaved parents file: “Such a waste!” Jeanette and Harold had
been oblivious for years that Jimmy got wasted long ago. Denial compounded in her claim
that Jimmy was about to join ranks with the
Doctahs
of the world; or maybe the
Lawyahs
—an
