I wrote a something silly to get the creative juices flowing again.
The Gulper: A journey to Pothead Mountain
I went on an adventure today; the first that I've been on for quite a while. It was after one of our last exams, and I went with one friend only, someone that I was only just starting to talk to again after months of silence. We headed out as soon as we were released from our cramped exam desks and made our way through the scorching sunlight of high noon. At first we had planned to bring some other friends along, but they were taking too long, amassing a small crowd, and we were giddy with the prospect of a quest.
"Who else knows about this place?" I asked as we trekked across the baseball field, the interstate roaring by on our left and the trail just meters ahead.
"Potheads, mainly." she replied. "And you'll see a lot of beer bottles too."
I immediately visualized glass bongs and glistening beer bottles shining under the sun. For some reason this made me even more eager to get there, though I'd never touched marijuana and wasn't a drinker.
"I wasn't aware that you smoked pot." I also wasn't aware that the few months I hadn't talked with her could have made such a large difference in the types of people we acquanted ourselves with.
She laughed. "I don't. It smells disgusting."
I laughed too, and we finally crossed a patch of construction, ending up at the edge of a dense forest. She pointed to a vaguely distinguishable trail of patted down vegetation, and we walked along it, carefully stepping over mossy logs and rocky creeks.
Vines and weeds wrapped their tendrils around my bare ankles, leaving red scratches crisscrossing over my skin. I felt a sharp pinch on the top of my foot and looked down to find a surprisingly small ant furiously burying its jaws into my flesh.
"I probably should have told you to wear sneakers." She said sheepishly. "I got scratched up the first time I came here too."
We clawed our way out of the forest, walked along railroad tracks, and descended again into the foliage, though the trail this time was much clearer, and there was a notable absense of ants.
Then we arrived at a small clearing. I could hear the roar of a river closeby, and sure enough, there were crushed beer cans and Dorito bags littering the ground. A small fire pit lay in the center of the clearing. It was surprisingly less elegant than the image I had conjured (though I don't know why I imagined a pothead's retreat to be elegant). There was no glittering glass, but it still had a sort of charm. A sort of solace.
"Here's the Gulper!" she yelled. I walked out to where she was standing, and in front of her was a small river, no more than 20 feet across and 4-5 feet deep.
"It's a great place to skip stones" she said, bending down to remove some slate rock from where we were standing. She blew the dust off the side and skipped it over the water.
"Isn't there any shade?" I crouched down beneath a scraggly tree. A pink towel was placed haphazardly to its side, most likely flung off before a plunge.
"People usually come here at night," She said, "to get high and drunk and stuff."
THe rock on the opposite side of the river, where the water was deepest, was spray painted with the letters SWED over and over, with different fonts and different colors. "Smoke Weed Every Day" I was told once by a condescending Senior. I could picture shouting teens, most likely people I knew well, buzzed and soaked to the bone, spray cans and beer cans in hand as they perched on each others shoulders to make sure their art stayed above the water level.
I could picture the Gulper at dusk, gold as the sun sunk below the horizon and choppy as its visitors made use of its cold water. I could picture, with a little bit of envy, the freedom of living in the moment and not caring one bit if the next day ever did turn itself around.
My friend saw the look on my face, probably remembering how she felt the same way when she was brought for the first time as well. "Do you want to go swimming here some time?"
I looked at her flatly, and she guessed what was running through my mind.
"Just us and some close friends" she promised. "No beer, no pot."
I nodded, and we both grinned. We pulled ourselves up from underneath the shade and started the journey back.
