But, now all thoughts of sex, both good and bad, vanished, as Jake became far more keenly aware of the blaring music filling the room — the wailing guitar and other discordant sounds — and of the hazy, dream-like images closing in on him, emanating from the people around him, as well as from the world outside this house.
Soundtrack: Purple Haze---Jimi Hendrix
Jake scanned the large death-filled living room frantically. There, by the doorway to the next room, he spotted an almost-familiar dark face. Abruptly, he withdrew his mouth from Joanie's and, struggling to drag the words out of his constricted throat, he growled, "Babe, gotta’ see a man about a horse." He was vaguely conscious that his mind was playing word games with him.
Joanie looked up, and followed Jake's eyes as they stared intently into the other room. "OK, but what about later? Will you be coming back to my place?"
To Jake, Joanie sounded desperate to have him ball her; meanwhile, he was desperate to score some H. "Yeah, sure, babe. Your pad. Later."
He dropped his arms from their diffident hold on her, turned, and made for the doorway, an aura of powerful determination flowing around him, cutting through the music that filled the room like the ether.
Ever since the return of these terrifying visions to Jake’s everyday life a few months ago, he had sought out drugs that would obliterate them. For obvious reasons, he’d avoided the hallucinogens to which most of his friends were drawn — at first opting for grass, instead. A joint or two usually did the trick for him, leaving his vision blessedly unfocused and his powerful body lethargic. Lately, however, most of the pot on campus was laced with PCP, which just awakened his special sight, causing him terrifying visions like the one he was having now — visions in which he found himself battling powerful and oppressive demons. So, he'd turned to heroin — horse, H, snow, smack — and that had driven away the visions... at least temporarily... until he needed more... like now!
Jake approached the tall, sinewy Afro-American man he’d spotted from across the room. He was leaning over Joanie’s friend, Donna, one long arm and large hand pressed against the wall just behind her head, as if he owned her. The two men’s eyes locked and a faint wave of recognition passed between them.
“Hey man. I know you from somewhere?” the guy demanded, suspiciously.
“Yeah. I think so, but can’t remember where. Lessee...” Jake had dropped automatically into the ghetto lingo he spoke with his Afro-American friends. It was as though their linguistic patterns took over his speech center. “Yeah. Seems like I seen you over to Stretch’s pad, maybe las’ summer... uh, yeah, roun’ about the fourth of Jew-lie... seems like it was when that really b-a-a-d shit was aroun’...”
Jake looked up hopefully into the dark face of this brother. But as their eyes met, Jake recoiled in horror. In those dark brown irises he saw permanently etched images of men dying, blown apart by land mines, cut down by snipers, shot in the back by their own men. “Viet Nam!” Jake gasped.
The tall black man looked surprised. “You were there, in Nam?” he asked incredulously.
“No man, you were. I can see it. You were.” Jake felt his knees begin to buckle.
“Hey man, you OK? Wow, no you ain’t!”
Links
PCP (angel dust, horse tranq)
Jimi Hendrix
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New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 7 "H"
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New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 5 "Midnight"
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New Year's Eve 1968: Jukie, Scene 2 "One Slick Cat"
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