Winterly

My wife, her best friend, and I decide to drop acid for the first time.

We lay back on the couch and each of us take the squishy pink pill and chew slowly.

I only eat half of mine. I’m worried about what might happen if I take a whole one.

In time, I stand up and feel my balance shift and sway like I’m on a boat.

There are stars, drifting in the air right in front of me — like dust motes. I wave my hand and watch them scatter and dance.

My wife has fallen asleep. So her friend and I decide to go outside and let her rest.

We walk, talking of little things that I no longer remember.

When I look over to her, she is no longer who I thought she was. She has become an actress that I know well from movies in the 80’s and 90’s.

I note that this is odd but I am distracted by the little village we’re walking through and I say, with some excitement, “I need to remember this so I can include it in the book I’m writing.”

“Yeah, you should.” Her voice is wry and I realize that’s why she brought me here.

We go into one of the little stucco bungalows. It is dark inside, Spanish tile floors and deep red wall hangings. Little faux candles flickering in wright iron wall sconces.

I feel a little self-conscious being with her. People are coming up to her and asking for her autograph. One woman, bursts into tears when she recognizes her. “Is it really you?”

My companion takes it all in stride, gracious and kind and gentle with each of them. She gives the crying woman a hug and the woman’s handbag falls open, spilling out onto the dark tile floor.

I stoop and collect the scattered items. I don’t remember much of what was there. A wallet, I think — pale leather with a gold clasp. But I do remember the handful of jelly beans, picking them up one by one.

I also remember feeling the actress’ approving gaze on me. And I’m a little proud of myself for being chivalrous.

When we go back outside, the actress inspects a little scrap of paper the crying woman gave her and says something I don’t quite understand about pie.

“How sweet,” she says. “She said I can have it on my wheels.”

I realize it’s a joke. Not “pie” but “Pi” — there’s a bicycle there, leaning against a low concrete wall.

As she swings her leg over the seat of the bike, I ask the actress if it’s hard having all those people know who she is?

“Who do you think that I am?”

I’m flustered for a moment. There is a frankness in her manner and I’m embarrassed by it.

“Uh, you’re my wife’s best friend?” I say, faltering at the end as I start to realize…

She gives me a pitying, kind look. She steps off the bike and comes back to me. Placing her hands on my chest, she stands up on tiptoe to kiss me.

It’s a light kiss, brief and gentle. The kiss of a sister or something an old flame would give you, long after your time together.

And then she is gone… Away on her bicycle I suppose. I’m not sure because I’ve woken up, wondering why I would have a dream about Winona Ryder of all people.

Then I realize who it really was.

It hits me like a blow… but the thought is surprisingly comforting.