There was no one else but me in a pair of my ratty blue jeans and my denim jacket. I was dressed in one of me crazy ripped up shirts with a skull on it and standing to the best of my ability in my steel-toe Timberland boots.
Of course, I was equipped with the usual tools of my trade.
I had my pack of smokes and my little pipe. I had my lighter to light my smokes and a sheet of psychedelics, which I was sold off, one piece at a time.

There was tiny flask tucked in the inside pocket of my jacket, which, as wobbly as I was, I used the contents of my flask to keep my levels straight.

There was only me and my faulty rebellion. There was me and my insanity, and me with my thoughts and ideas. I stood with watering eyes, looking off with a full understanding about a song called Lucy in The Sky.

I was standing in the field behind my old junior high school. I do not condone the events of this morning or the previous night, nor do I condone the lifestyle I chose at the time, yet, either way, this was me as a crazy kid, alone and afraid, and just trying to make my way.

It was morning, sunrise, and me, I was alone. I was longhaired, with my eyes all wild-eyed and bloodshot. I have little memory of the night before. I have even less memory of where I was or what I did.
I am not sure why I was by myself or if something happened to separate me from the crowd. It is possible that I embarrassed myself. it is equally possible that I took too much and interacting with others was too much of an ordeal for me to handle.
I’m not sure how I found myself here, of all places, at the back of a school that I detested and expelled me.
For whatever reason, I found myself here often, although, I was never sure way. Perhaps this is because I secretly wished that I fit in and made my way through, successfully I mean, like a kid is supposed to do.
I often had dreams of being good student. I imagined what my life would be like if I lived a more socially acceptable lifestyle.

I’m not sure why I sat in the far rear corner of the schoolyard or hid in the darker side of the field beneath a tree. I just remember that I decided to come out at the start of daylight to watch the sky change.

My pupils were huge, due to a chemical reaction from the psychedelics. The sirens and imaginary sounds in my head went off like a pinball machine with bells and whistles, but at last, the effects were finally starting to fade. The fireworks behind the walls of my eyelids and the hallucinations were dwindling as well. The ride was still in motion though; however, I was slowly coming down in stages of realization.

The wind was calm but the air was cold. Perhaps this was the first cold day of the season. The leaves were changing. I was elsewhere before this. I was sure of it. But I’m just not sure where.
I was most likely with the same old crowd, doing the same old things, and tired of feeling the same old way.

I am not sure why I found myself at the back of my old school. More than likely, I told my Mother I was sleeping out at a friend’s house with hopes to crash somewhere.
I say this because I did this often, however, as an uncomfortable outcast and as someone that often felt the melancholic sting of being unfit or the discomfort of rejection, I often stayed out and meandered through my town, hopefully finding some place to go and eventually finding somewhere to stay until the sunrise.

My memory of this is small, like a tiny window, or perhaps my memory is like a glimpse of something, which I know happened, only I’m not quite sure what or why.
Maybe this was just me being me at the time; too young to understand what life is, too young to think I could make it on my own.
I was too young to understand what I was doing to myself but too old to believe in fairytales and old enough to pretend that what I was doing was acceptable.

Suffice to say that I was at an impasse. I was stuck in a personal stalemate. For the time being though, I was okay to be alone. I was okay to be where I was and okay to find a moment of deep introspection.

The sun was on its way up. I know this for certain. The grass was field was fading from green and appeared crinkly. The grass was stiff with a crust of morning frost that made the field look like tiny blades of faded green plastic, withering in smothered directions, and crushed down to nearly flattened state.
Winter was coming. I knew this for sure.

There was no one around to talk with but me and my thoughts. There was no one to impress either or defend myself from. I remember the feel of cold air on my face. I liked it. The sky was clear of troubled weather but there was no warmth for the hand, which was fine because I don’t mind the cold so much. I always saw this time of year as a moment of reprieve from the hostile nights of long summer days.

I was alone but not lonely. I was okay to be by myself and not have my lonesomeness feel like such a threat.
I didn’t feel uninvited or away from the crowd. Besides, I was fine to change the scene. More than anything, I wanted to quit the whole crazy scene I was with anyway. I just didn’t know how.

I wanted to quit my group of friends. I wanted to find my way to someplace else. I wanted to feel like Joni Mitchel said in that song about a river just before Christmas. “I wish I had a river I could skate away on” only, I never learned how to skate, but either way, the idea sounded nice.

I was unsure if this was the end of an evening or the end of another chapter. Something was about to change, but what?
I swore there was a better way. I swore there was more to see in this world than my little town.
I figured there was more to see than just parts of Florida or New York City, which were the only other places I had been to.

Walking home, the night was still in my bloodstream and my vision was still trippy with the residual trails.
The trails are streams of hallucination that trail behind any moving object. The sky was lit up now, orange too, like any best sunrise you could imagine in autumn.

Lord, I wished I had a river that I could just skate away on.
My side of the world was coming into a new season with another year down and a new one to begin. I was always unsure about how this world moved.
I knew it always spun in the same direction. Still though, at the time, I wished I knew a better way towards happiness.

I remember the sky and how this looked to me, beautiful as ever. I was brave for the moment. I was brave to be me and not because of the chemicals in my system.
No, I was brave because there I was, a crazy kid in a crazy town, defying the night and staying out until sunrise.

For the time being, I had what I needed. I had me. I had my pack of smokes. I had my little pipe with the remnants of my last bag, which I toked on to soften my descent into reality.
I had L.S.D. in my system, romantically, I might add, which is why I do not condone the events of this night—yet still, rather than reach into my reasons for depression (or recovery) I was high as I could be, walking homeward bound with a huge orange sun, pushing upwards in the sky, and music playing in my ears.
I believe the song I listened to was Simple Man by a band called Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Of all things, at least I had music. On this morning, at least I had me. At least I had the warm velvety buzz in my veins to help distract me from the cold lonely thoughts.

This was me. This was me in the years of my crazy rebellion. This was the romantic part of my tragedy. This was me, just looking for a river to skate away on. (Just like the song.)
This was me looking to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair.
Of all things, this was me. I admit to it.

I am older now. Just turned 47, in fact. I’m happy to be who I am but sometimes, I’m still looking for a river to just skate away on.

By the way, did you ever listen to the song Tuesday’s Gone after a long, crazy all-nighter?
I remember this, just before I put out my last smoke, walking in, and then walking through the doorway of my bedroom to crash.
Ever hear this song when the sun comes
You should listen to it.

You might like it . . .

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