Meltdown Eulogy [Story]
This story is about Randy Harrison and myself, Nathan Hazelwood. It was a beautiful day for a trip to the lake. Our caravan was rocking the tunes and all the boys donned sunglasses and floral button-downs. âwant another hit?â I offered to the chauffeur. He accepted readily for his pupils began to dilate and he knew what was coming next. âlet me get another bong rip tooâ he said while driving 80 miles per hour on a scenic winding road.
âWe better switch-off, buddyâ I said to him in apprehension. Randy stomped on the gas pedal while ripping off his shirt in handfuls of tatters. âWoooo Hooooo!!!â He screamed with half of his body hanging out of the car window.
My mind wouldnât shut off: âI wonder how much the insurance pay off will be when this idiot crashes.â âWe mustnât miss the 135 exitâ âI already lit this cigarette twice.â âShould I do another line?â Nirvana was playing from the stereo, the CD skipping from overuse.
The two cars pulled into the dirt parking area. Randy did a burn-out, making dirt and rocks fly everywhere. dink, dink the sound echoed of little pebbles hitting other cars in the area, but no real damage was done.
âWelp! We should get started, only got four hours âtill sunsetâ announced Gabe, who had arrived in the other car. The others lazily pulled themselves out from the synthetic bliss of tunes and air conditioning and into the cold heart of mother nature herself.
A couple miles into the forest and Randy tripped on a rock and gashed his shin âOOOOOAAAHHHHH!!â The echo was palpable. âSHHHHâ said Andrew âThere's rangers all around, and you know we shouldnât be hereâ âsorry, I was high⌠and you were going too fast, andâŚ. Do you have a bandage?â Suddenly we all noticed the pool of blood that had doused his clothes and the dirt below. He seemed rather detached and unbothered. I think I saw him swallow a miscellaneous pill as we resumed walking. I was not to be blamed for what happened next.
We arrived at a scenic outlook right next to a river flowing off the lake. Our private little bluff was about ten feet above the shallow and rushing river. âI canât believe that we havenât seen anyone on our way up hereâ said Gabe as he carried a heap of branches.
Just that moment, our wild card, Randy, immediately rose, took off the remains of his shirt, faced the expanse about the lake and screamed âFUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU, DUMBASS!!!!!â at full volume. Well actually, he was saying something much more vile that I cannot repeat. A couple birds in the distance took flight. âOh great, its another meltdown eulogy for our sanity.â
By this point we were all coming up on the acid, but the vibe began to head south ever still. âIâm going to go mark my territory, dear fellowsâ I respectfully offered before entering the darkening bush. But by the time I got back, Randy was fully naked, having shat on the ground near our camp, panting and howling âAHHH WOOOOOO WOOOO WOOOOOOO!â
Gabe and Andrew were trying to quiet and calm him when he collapsed onto all fours and ran straight into the woods. âwe gotta make sure he doesnât hurt himself!â I offered. Gabe countered âI told you this would happen again, Iâm staying here!â âNo time, heâs getting away!â yelled Andrew. With that, we chased after him.
We ventured deeper with flashlights drawn and wandering wicked minds. We got turned around almost instantly, losing track of the camp. Clinging arms together, Andrew and I resolved to follow the crackling of the bushes just 25 feet away. Our senses heightened, adrenaline pumping, lysergic acid surging through our membranes. The shadows crept and swarmed. Every shape morphed and jumped out at us.
Slower and slower, we paced into a small clearing, breathing ever heavier. There he was, hairy like a true werewolf. Randy clung naked to a tree. He was sweaty, his eyes were bloodshot, he looked at us like how prey looks at hunters. I would be surprised if he could speak or even understand English at this point. No doubt he had taken the rest of the LSD.
He collapsed down from the tree in front of us and passed out. We dragged him along the lake shore in the general direction that we came from, eventually finding home base. The rest of the night was haunting and contentious. Set and setting, and people, they say when it comes to tripping.
Me and Randy have a long history, you see. I've seen this man smoke a plastic bag like a cigar, get waterboarded, and drink his own piss before this point.
He was sat by the fire, perched up like Smeagle, staring at me. The flames morphing his face into a thousand different demons before my eyes. We were mystified in the dead of night, silent but staring.
Suddenly this gremlin said âI know why your dad doesnât love you, Nateâ âHuh?â âIâm going to fuck your momâ I jumped up âWhat the fuck did you just say, you fucking asshole?â Randy jumped up from his seat and grabbed his knife, and hardened his gaze. "Go ahead" he snarled. I put my hand on my knife, because like Hunter S. Thompson said, âYou can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug.â
We were in a standoff for what seemed like hours. With my hand on my knife I imagined bleeding him once and for all in a million different ways, but I was frozen and unable to act. Suddenly he reached for his bag and sprinted away. When Gabe, Andrew and I left in the morning, his car was gone and we never saw him again.