I Just Stare And Stammer

“What?” She asked, giggling. Her giggles were like the sound of wind chimes...

“Gabe... my name is Gabe,” I couldn’t say definitively that I wasn’t blushing, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about it, so I did the only thing I could think of to hide my embarrassment. Many people have a hard time believing it now, but back then (shit, is it really more than two decades ago?) I wore my hair pretty long (Some time in my 30s I started encountering the scourge of the burnout, to wit a receding hairline. I stopped fighting it and these days just shave my head). I shook my head so that my hair hung down to cover my face, looking through the blonde locks at her eyes. Were they really glowing or did it have something to do with the two tabs of Phoenix I was riding?

Steve, who at that moment looked suspiciously like Grimace (Yep. Definitely the acid.) started laughing. Now don’t get me wrong, I liked Steve a lot, but he had a laugh that when I was sober sounded like babies crying and cats fucking. Tripping it was something like having a white hot railroad spike jammed through my sinuses. At this point my face was definitely a distinct shade of red . “We still on for tomorrow night?” He asked.

I took a quick swallow of my coffee, which was way too hot to be downing like that, and nodded in the affirmative, “Yeah. Your place?” My eyes were still hidden by my hair as I rose to my feet, but they were focused on Carrie.

“Sure. I’ll let the others know. Where you off to?”

I chuckled and shook back my hair so that my eyes were visible. A blind man could see that my pupils were the size of pennies. “Gonna go follow the sparkles.” I flashed my lopsided grin, picked up my fedora and did the Fred Astaire flip with it and dropped into a theatrical bow (This was before fedoras became associated with man buns, vaping, and neckbeards. I’ll never forgive those bastards for taking my fashion statement and turning it into a warning sign.). This got me a smile and a giggle (Wind chimes, I tell you) from the feminine vision in front of me and a wry smirk from Steve.

“Alright. Later bud.”

I looked up from under the brim of my hat at the girl and extended my hand with a flourish, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise” She said, placing her tiny hand in mine. Now I know it’s corny as all get out, but Grampa woulda plucked me as bald as I am now if I didn’t jump on this chance. When you bow to a woman and she gives you her hand there’s only one thing to do. I raised it to my lips and brushed them across the top knuckle of her index finger.

Steve laughed again. You’d think that if someone did that to a guy’s obvious girlfriend he’d be pissed, but Steve and I had been friends for about two years at that point. He knew I was a bit of a ham, and he was also pretty secure about the fact that I wouldn’t do anything like that to a friend.

And under any other circumstances he’d be completely right. My nickname among my friends was Saint Gabriel because they all knew that they could leave their drunk girlfriends with me and I’d never lay a finger on them. This time it was different though, I knew that if I had a chance I’d take this girl and do things to her that are illegal in Minnesota (thank the gods I was in Pennsylvania). And the way her eyes lit up when I kissed her hand told me I’d have a chance.

I walked away, heading out to follow the sparkles. Turning at the door, I glanced back at the couple I had just left and my eyes met hers for just a moment. With a quick wave I walked out onto Forbes avenue.

I’ve heard a lot of people talk over the years about sex on ****. Potheads who love it. Speed freaks who get off on the constant erection (even if that’s the only way they’re getting off. You can’t cum on meth), cokeheads talking about the rush. No one ever talks about fucking on acid and that’s probably because watching your own dick turn into a banana slug while all six of your partner’s eyes open up little mouths that laugh at you can be a little off putting. Until that very moment I’d never even had a hard on while walking with Cid. Right now the thing that was making me wish I’d worn sweatpants that day was stiff enough to pry off hubcaps.