textfiles/drugs/ALT.DRUGS/moose-maine-ia

                               MOOSE MAINE-IA    
     
     On June 1, 1991, I returned to my high school, a good seventy miles
away, to see the class behind me graduate.  I had a year of college under my
belt, had dabbled with some good drugs here and there, and wanted to see
everybody and tell them how I'd been and what I'd done, as well as hear their
stories.
     We all met at a specified place at 3:00, and caravaned to the "secret
spot" that we had chosen to throw "the Bash" at.  We pulled into a very
secluded camping ground and found two other keg parties already happening, to
our delight.  By 3:30, our kegs were being rolled up the hill, and fifteen
minutes later, I was double-fisting.  I hooked up with a girl whom I'd often
wanted to get with, and we went for a walk in the woods and smoked a joint.
 We began foolin' around, and I decided that it was too soon to be getting
laid in the woods.  So, we agreed to meet each other later, and mingle around
for a bit.  
     When I returned to the fray, I ran into a classmate of mine who had
always had some health problems.  He had some chronic lung condition, so he
couldn't smoke weed.  On top of that, he had an ulcer which prevented him
from drinking.  The only thing this kid did for recreational mind alteration
was trip on acid.  I greeted him and asked him if he was still tripping all
the time.  My face lit up as he pulled out his wallet, and showed me two
sheets of Snoopy, double-dip, blotter.  I was fairly lit at this point, and
remember trying to ask him if he was selling any.  It sounded weird coming
out, as a result of my buzz-on and anticipation of tripping balls, but he
caught my drift.  My eyes lit up as he answered, "No, dude. I'm giving it
away.  How many do you want?"  Stunned, I just said three.
     By 7:00, I was a trippin', drunk, stoned fool, mixing in between all
three parties that were happening, occasionally seeing someone and sneaking
off to my car to get them baked.  To my utter amazement, the kid who won the
Hebron Cup, the award of awards, the son of a teacher and minister, he who
had headed nine of ten extracurricular groups, he who had sworn drugs were
evil, asked me to get him high.  My mouth dropped and I said to the kid,
"Dude, if I had the last bowl on earth, I'd smoke it with you."  College had
opened his eyes and I sat there, tripping intensely, listening to how he
began experimenting and recreationally using, suddenly realizing that
anything in the world was possible.  I remember wondering if it was the
seventh sign, getting baked with him.
     It became difficult to realize who was tripping, and who was just plain
shitty, so I just assumed everybody was.  I was too drunk to be paranoid, and
I had at least a dozen very meaningful conversations, some with total
strangers, none of which I can recall now.  I didn't want the night to ever
end.  What could be better than seeing a great group of kids graduate,
getting all grades of fucked-up with them, and reminiscing?  Then, I ran into
that girl that I'd never had a chance to mess around with.  Now, I decided,
was the time.  Off we went, and I can't recall a time I've had better sex.
 Perhaps, as good, but I doubt it.  We finished, brushed all the grass and
dirt off of us, and rejoined the party.
     The lovin' had worn away a little of the buzz on, and I started to
consider driving home.  All my friends warned me that I was asking for
trouble, but I got in the "screw it, I'm going" mindset.  After that, forget
it.  My problem was that I was only nineteen, and, while I had no curfew, my
dad always seemed to get up and ask why I was coming in so late if I got in
even a minute after 3 AM.  If I could get home by 2:57, I'd be all set.  At
this point it was twelve, and I was about two hours from home.  Giving myself
an extra hour was essential, because if I was going home, I had to beat that
magic 3 AM limit.  My three greatest fears in life are 1) Burning, 2) Getting
eaten alive by some wild animal, & 3) Tripping in front of my parents for any
length of time.  So, after saying my goodbyes and vowing to keep in touch (I
can never seem to keep that vow), I left.
     I had dropped at around 6:00, so, though I wasn't peaking out, I was
still tripping pretty majorly.  I was extremely paranoid, but realized that
this was one of the greatest days of my life, so nothing would happen.  Every
car I saw, I thought was a cop.  As I was feeling my way back to the main
raod, I kept thinking I was lost.  Eventually, I got outside of Augusta.  I
looked at my gas meter and realized I'd have to stop for gas.  As I wondered
if I could deal with the gas station attendant, I looked to over to the left
and saw a Budweiser Clydesdale galloping down the hill next to the Armory.  I
took a double-take, and realized that it was a moose.  I braked hard, hoping
he wouldn't see me if I stayed still, or something.  Whatever my reasoning, I
was shocked into stopping.  As he neared the main road, I realized I might be
in trouble, because he was definitely heading my way.  An oncoming VW rabbit
perhaps (safely) 250 yards away, beeped its horn, I found out later the
driver did this because she wanted to "scare it away from the road".
 Instead, it pissed him off, because in that second, he lowered his head and
charged my helpless little Toyata Tercel.  Bracing for impact, I had time to
think, "wrong place, wrong-ass time."  Glass rained down all over me, and the
whole car rocked from his 1200 pound frame slamming against it.  I heard him
go, "OOOOFF!" as he hit me, and saw nine or ten antler tips pass by my face
as he rolled over the hood.  To top it all off he gave me one last, good kick
in the right rear quarter for good measure, and took off.  I sat there, hands
clenched to the wheel, and wondered if that had really just happened.  So
much of me said, "Well, you DID take three hits of some pretty good acid."
But, as I flipped on my hazards and sat staring into the warm night through
my half shattered windshield, I realized that my wonderful day had
instantaneously changed to not a click over mediocre.  The cop pulled up
behind me, and I feverishly hid my bag and paraphernalia in my pocket.  He
sort of strolled up to my car, it seemed, and very snidely asked," So, uh,
what happened here?" 
     "Um, I got hit by a moose, sir," I answered, damn near cracking at the
ridiculousness of my response.
     "And where's the moose?" he asked skeptically.
     "I couldn't tell you, man.  He didn't stick around." as I picked glass
out of my hair and chest pocket.
     Ms. Brilliance pulled up in her Rabbit to verify my story and see if I
was o.k., tooting her horn to demonstrate how she'd honked it before.  I
thanked her sarcastically, and watched my intended insult fly completely over
her head.  After asking the cop if I could still drive home, NOT!, I called
my Dad, who told me to get home as best I could.  I was still an hour away
from home, and decided my only hope was AAA.  
     After making my statement, and collecting myself as best I could in such
a situation, a wrecker pulled up.  Out popped, literally, a 5 foot, 300 lb.
man.  I lost it, and really acted strange the whole time I was with the cop,
and I assume he chalked it up to shock.  After my bout of laughter after
seeing this guy, as he was sweeping debris out of the road, he said to
me,"Jesus friggin' Christ, buddy!  Too bad you didn't kill the god damn
thing, maybe I could've gotten some moosemeat out of the friggin' deal!" in
the thickest Maine accent ever spoken.  Again, I chuckled and promised I'd
steer into any animals that charged my car in the future.  
     After an interminable ride home, and countless fish stories of how this
weeble wobble had scored with young girls who were stranded in the past, we
arrived at my house.  The tripping had mostly subsided and this was good
because my Dad was up.  He asked me if I was telling the truth, whereupon I
went outside, snatched a tuft of moosehide out of the lining of my
windshield, and produced it for him.  He laughed, telling me "this could only
happen to you", indeed.  And only in Maine.  I can't wait for the ten year
reunion, can you? 
                                                ---the Lukester