Part One: Entry 23
I sit in the living room of Tim van Lier’s tiny apartment in San Clemente where Frank is currently staying. I take an unopened bottle of Robitussin out of a plastic Thrifty Drug bag. I break the seal on it. Then tipping the bottle upside down I drink all of it quickly. I make sure every last drop goes into my mouth.
Frank finishes rolling up a joint. He lights it, takes a hit and passes it to me. I take a hit and pass it on to Jenkins. I exhale and end up coughing out of control for close to a minute. The joint comes around a second time. Once again I’m coughing uncontrollably.
“Oh fuck..., I gotta lay down,” I mumble minutes later when the cough syrup starts to kick in.
“Go lay down in the Bat Cave,” Frank nods to his space in the apartment.
I make my way from the couch across the living room towards a doorway of a split room. It has been separated top from bottom. The top six feet being a bedroom, and beneath its floor the bottom three feet merely a place to sleep—‘The Bat Cave.’ I crawl into the dark space hoping a little rest will calm me down. The pot and cold medicine have got me a little anxious. I can hear parts of conversation drifting in through the two-foot wide opening of the space.
“He’s trippin’ out... Goin’ nuts.”
“Gnarly tube...got worked, over the falls.”
“Fuck dude...! She’s got a pussy doesn’t she?”
“We should just kick his ass... He’s fuckin’ mental... Just like Ben Gilligan and the morning glory seeds... Losin’ it.”
My heart is racing, I can’t calm it down. I try putting my hands over my ears thinking some of the discombobulated conversation is about me. It’s causing me to freak out making my heart go crazy. It doesn’t help.
“I can fuckin’ hear you talkin’ about me!” I yell out through the opening. This is followed by laughter.
“Were not talkin’ about you,” Frank responds.
“You all hate me!” I yell out to more laughter. “Fuckin’ sick Goddamnit...gonna die!” I economize my words with the strange sick dizzy buzz from the medicine augmenting the pot.
I crawl back out of the bat cave. “I gotta go to the hospital,” I slur.
“What the fuck?” Frank laughs.
“I’m gonna die!” I hand my keys to Jenkins.
“What are we gonna tell ‘em at the hospital?” Jenkins asks.
“Tell ‘em I drank a bottle of Robitussin. Just drive towards there just in case my heart stops or somethin’.” Jenkins agrees and Frank and this girl Sophia, who is hanging at Tim’s, comes along for the ride.
When I reach the Cutlass’ passenger door I stop and vomit for a second. I get in and Jenkins steers the car out onto Ole Vista, turns right on Palizada and up to Pacific Coast Highway. He turns left on it rather than continuing on to the 5 Freeway obviously taking this trip as a joyride rather than an emergency.
We travel north on P.C.H. for a good ten minutes. Me in the passenger seat lying with my head on the top of the door hypnotized by the sound of the engine. We turn right heading northeast on Camino De Estrella. By the time we near San Clemente General Hospital I’m fine, passed the peak of the high and enjoying the ride.
“Make a three at the next ‘r’,” I’m giddy after coming down from the cough syrup and cannabis as we ride around San Juan Capistrano aimlessly. Soon Jenkins is motoring the Cutlass around slow bends of the entrance road to Dana Point Harbor. He parks at the farthest end of the last parking lot, many of which serve the area. We all walk out onto the jetty to view the night seascape.
Photo by Ashim D’Silva