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“Come on, baby.”
You look down at the tab, and then back up to where Jim watches you from the doorway of the bathroom.
“Jim, I have panic attacks in crowds,” you say quietly, and he shakes his head.
“I’ll be there. C’mon, babe. You’ll like it. I swear.” You look down at the tab again. It has an Ohm symbol printed on it. That seems really… cliché. You’ve tripped before, naturally, but never somewhere with a lot of people, and only once before on acid… and even that was half a tab. You liked the soft high that shrooms gave you. LSD was a little harsher, and you feel your heart begin to pound a little – and then you breathe. You’ll only have a bad trip if you panic yourself now. It’s just a trip. It will be over, sooner or later.
You place the tab on your tongue, and Jim comes over. He’s already taken his – you’re about to get driven to see the Jimi Hendrix Experience, and you’re kind of hoping you come up in the car on the way. At least that way you might be too high to panic.
“So… what’s this like?” you ask, and he kisses your cheek.
“Wait and see,” he says. “Come on, babe. We gotta go.”
You spend your time in the car becoming gradually way more lost in the lights outside, watching how, with the rain that clears up as you go, they streak across the glass, and you put your fingers up, watching in fascination as your hand blocks them out like a solar eclipse. Somebody once described acid to you as ‘removing the filters that block out 90% of reality’s white noise’. You have to agree. You are experiencing everything, and you like it.
As you pull up, Jim gets out to open your door, and you are astonished by how calm you feel – you are floating, and you step outside. You feel his arm around you again, and as he guides you towards the stage, you surrender yourself to the good feeling.
“Baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “C’mon. Let’s go.” He’s looking at the sky and you follow his gaze – the sunset on the clouds is beautiful. It looks as if the clouds are streaking through the sky – you stop to look and feel Jim’s hand at the small of your back. “Come on, babe, let’s get comfortable.”
As you join some people you know, vaguely, gathered around a fire, Jim kisses your head and you feel his kiss linger to the point where you don’t realise he’s walked away to talk to other people. As you gaze into the fire, the music starts up; the fire dances along to the music, and you watch in amazement before a glass is placed in your hands.
“See. I told you you’d like it,” Jim murmurs in your ear, and sits next to you. “You’re gorgeous. You should see your hair in the light, hon…” He reaches out and runs his fingers through it. “It’s like a waterfall, honey.” You grin at him. “Are you having a good time? Wanna dance?”
“Maybe later,” you smile, and he kisses you, sending slow sparks through every inch of your skin – you’re interrupted a second later by a top on your shoulder, and you look up. It takes a second to realise, with her sunglasses and big hat, that it’s Janis Joplin, but she laughs and grabs Jim’s hands.
“I’ll dance,” she grins, and pulls him up – he laughs, and you wave him goodbye, revelling in where you are, right now. You never thought in a thousand years this would be you, but then who would?
It feels like you’ve been there for hours, watching them dance, when someone lands beside you and leans against you. You laugh as he kisses your cheek, and realise it’s Peter Tork.
“Merry meet, (Y/N),” he murmurs into your shoulder, and cuddles you. “How are you, sweetheart?” You give him a thumbs-up. “Is Janis dancing with your man?” You nod. “Cool. Would you like a smoke?” You nod, and he produces a spliff from the depths of his sheepskin coat, and places it gently to your lips, before lighting it and pulling you to him. You watch the fire dance again, and line up your joint so it seems to be glowing within the heart of the flames.
“Pass,” comes a voice from the other side – it’s Jim, back, and he takes it from you. “Peter, dance with her, she needs to dance.” You refute politely, but Peter pulls you up and giggling, feeling every blade of grass against your feet as you kick your shoes off, you follow him and dance with him and the shadows in turn. You’re really, really happy with this trip – it’s been so good, nothing like the clichéd parade of pink elephants everyone would have you believe acid was. You feel at peace, and at one with everything, and as Peter twirls you, hands in yours, you feel as if you’re melting into each other at that point.
Arms wrap around your waist as the song changes – there’s cheering, and you realise that you haven’t even noticed the crowd around you, not that it’s too packed. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing beyond your circle of firelight really matters, you think, and you look up into Jim’s pale blue eyes. Peter grins and bows, before heading to sit down, and you sway gently. You are one, you think quietly. Even through the leather of his jacket, even where the cotton of your dress meets the bareness of his chest, you are one. The crowd dancing around you looks as if the campfire stretches on, and you dance in the middle of the silent flames, just the two of you.