Garden Of Eden

 OK. So here’s the question.  Where do I post a story whose subject matter touches on more than one group? Would I be able to post in say, “I have a herd time saying “no” group and also in “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word” group?  It’s these questions in my everyday life that holds me back from really ,“socking it to them”, group?  Knowing this simple matter of the pre-sequence would allow me to post this story in,” My voyeuristic tendencies is making me go blind” group as well as, “I use wayyy too many quotation marks in my stories”, group.


 

I remember (see what I mean?) . The year was 1971 or ‘72’. I had just finished another pint of mint gin.  A well traveled friend of mine suggested we hitch hike to Florida from Connecticut. Without hesitation, (which was VERY uncharacteristic of me), I agreed. Four hours later we were sticking our thumbs out on Highway 95, (I think) on our way to Clearwater Florida.  Before we left, we needed to stock up on the necessities  such as amphetamines and mint gin. With a smile on our faces, and a swagger (or stagger. Your choice), in our step, we were off!

 

The paths of our travels were crossed with interesting, influencing  characters.  My first “True” hippie relationship blossomed during that trip.  She was a brunette and stood up to my nose. She smelled like candlewood and her breath like hashish.  Her smile swept me away whenever she looked at me with her kaleidoscope eyes. 

 

Approaching us at about 35 MPH, was a red and white VW micro bus. (Of course!)  We all jumped in the back, laid down and rested for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. My “ol Lady” laid down next to me, smiled and ran her petite hand through my wind blown hair.  Not being able to survive one assault to my rationality after another, we started rolling like thunder under the covers.  She gently swept my weather torn  hair out of my eyes, grinned and whispered in my ear.  Like the true blue hippy chick she was, she said we should wait until the,” perfect place”, (a green meadow,  dotted with splotches of electric blue violets harboring a blossoming apple tree) presented itself.  Then we could make sweet, thirst quenching  love. We could explore and discover ourselves as we bask in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Our very own Garden of Eden .

 

We made it to Clearwater without ever finding it. Instead my best friend and she “bawled their brains out” on the dirty floor of the flop house we crashed..   

The End.

 

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!”
Bonocular Bonocular
56-60, M
Feb 12, 2010