Different Circles

And he was right. The second one kicked in just like the first: all at once. His high doubled instantly, blasting away the last remaining shreds of sobriety. That numbness and buzzing sensation in his limbs grew exponentially, until it felt like his arms and legs were filled with lead. Even minor movements were an effort. His jaw dropped open. His heart rate kicked up to more than one hundred and thirty beats a minute. His thoughts were now slow, deep, very detailed in a disturbing way. Several times he thought he heard voices or other strange noises coming from elsewhere in the suite. The sensation reminded him of the experimentation he had done with LSD back in his late high school years.

How long does this shit last? he wondered as some other French language sit-com came on the television. He watched it blankly, not understanding a word that was said, completely unfamiliar with the show. But it was too much effort to pick up the remote control and change the channel, so he watched anyway.

He sat like that for the next six hours, in the same position, just staring at the television set. He did not finish his drink. He did not get up to go take a piss. He simply stared at the TV screen while his mind jumped from subject to subject at random and his body felt numb and buzzing. The high remained just as strong through this entire period. For the first time in his life, Matt found himself wishing he were not stoned.

Finally, around two o’clock in the morning, the sensation began to ease just the tiniest bit. He was finally able to rise from the couch and walk to the bathroom to relieve himself. After finishing his business, he stared at himself in the mirror for an indeterminate amount of time, marveling over the fact that he had never actually seen his own face before, just photographs and mirror images. In fact, no human being had ever seen his own face before! Not a single one in the entire history of the human race!

“Heavy shit,” he muttered when he finally gathered the mental wherewithal to leave the bathroom.

He went to bed. And he did not sleep. He laid there in the darkness for hours, thinking deep thoughts, thinking bizarre thoughts, wishing he could just go back to the normal marijuana high which typically only lasted an hour or so.

Finally, around seven o’clock in the morning, he dozed off. His sleep was haunted by bizarre dreams and when the wakeup call came at eleven o’clock to let him know it was time to start making the meet and greets and the autograph session, he was still quite stoned, though in a much more manageable fashion now.

He showered and shaved and got dressed, moving slowly, carefully, his mind still full of weird thoughts. He then broke out his cocaine kit and crunched up a few lines. This did not get rid of the heavy-head sensation, but it at least gave him some energy. He picked up the cardboard box full of brownies and carried them downstairs with him to the café in the lobby.

The rest of the band were already there, drinking coffee and perusing the menus.

“Hey, boss,” Austin greeted as he sat down. “Did you have a good night?”

“No, not really,” Matt said, setting the box down on the table and grabbing a seat.

“How come?” asked Steve. “Didn’t you score some Dutch gash like you said?”

“No,” he said, picking up the menu. “Didn’t leave my room at all.”

“Really?” asked Corban. “Why not?”

He pointed to the box. “These fuckin’ things,” he said. “Stay away from them.”

“What happened?” asked Austin.

Matt told the tale of the overwhelming high. His bandmates were very impressed.

“Wow,” said Steve. “I almost want to try one now.”

Matt shook his head. “No fuckin’ way,” he said. “I am still stoned right now, more than twelve hours after eating them. You eat one now and you won’t be able to go up onstage tonight.”

“Aww, man,” Austin said. “That’s a rip!”

“Trust me, you’re better off getting high the normal way,” Matt said.

“Why did you bring them down here then?” asked Corban.

At that moment, Greg Gahn entered the room. He spotted his bandmembers and headed directly for them.

“Hey, guys,” he greeted, his signature grin on his face. “Are we all ready to do our thing today?”

“We’re ready,” Matt told him. “And we’ve already scored some bud for our time in Holland. You’ll just need to find a coke dealer to top off the stash.”

“Well, all right then,” Gahn said, grabbing a seat. He looked at the box sitting on the table. “What’s that?”

“I found a Dutch bakery down the street,” Matt told him. “They have the most incredible brownies there.”

“Oh yeah?” Gahn said, interested. In addition to his fondness for the Devil’s powder, he had a well-known fondness for sweets, particularly baked goods.

“Fuckin’ A,” Matt said. “Some of the best brownies I’ve ever had. They use real Dutch chocolate and everything.”

“No kidding?” Gahn said, nearly drooling by this point.

“No shit,” Matt agreed. “Help yourself if you want one. They’ll go good with your coffee.”