RAVE

“What is your dirtiest fantasy?” asks Kristina, next to me, her beautiful breasts almost fully revealed by her silvery top glimmering in the semi-darkness. We are all sitting on blankets thrown together on the grass, some of us crossed legged, some smoking languidly rested on one elbow, others half participating in the conversation and half focusing on cutting the next line. What she wants to achieve, with this mischievous question, is not a deeper understanding of our bunch, thrown together, after all, in a pretty random manner just like our blankets. She wants to initiate some sexual intimacy. Her small hand resting on my thigh, she has been telling us that this is her first night out since the father of her two-year-old child and she agreed on opening up the relationship, and about how this makes her feel free again. Aided by the impressive amounts of drugs she has consumed over the course of the past few hours, while the sun was slowly, lazily disappearing behind the trees that surround and hide us, Kristina has started feeling like she wanted to have a bit of good old fun with some strangers at a rave in the forest. And how can i blame her? Everyone here is pretty damn attractive, she included. Her dark hair is gelled back reveiling a pure, beautiful forehead, and her breasts – well, i have already touched upon that. Then why does her hand on my thigh not awake anything in me? I’d like to keep on playing with the possibility of this sexual intimacy, i am really enjoying the flirtiness, the sensuality that fills the air. 

But i also enjoy the drug-induced confessions and open-hearted conversations. A part of me wants us to keep on talking about our sexual and romantic fantasies, as we have been doing for a while, discussing fantasies, non-monogamy, queerness, all night long. This has been getting more and more fascinating, lately. You can never know what the stranger sitting next to you in kinky gear at a club will decide, for whatever mysterious reason, to share with you. Much more interesting than any random sexual encounter. Momo, for instance, whom i literally just met and taken with me for a cigarette only to give my friend space to hit on a beautiful girl, told me a moment ago, with eyes so deep and earnest that made a remote corner of my heart tremble, that he thinks he might be asexual. Wow. Isn’t this way more intimate and soul-shaking than a hand down your panties? Also, who knows where that hand has been before, so, no thanks, i’d rather avoid catching a UTI just for some forest fingering. Thank you, really, please keep telling me about what made you start questioning your sexuality. I can listen for hours.

The bass booming from the speakers massages my soul, i feel like i am floating in a warm, thick liquid. Talking and sitting and smoking is very pleasant, i could do this all night. I feel safe and comfortable. Present.

“What has always intrigued me the most is the fantasy of group sex”, Kristina goes on, determined to not let me have this all night; in a conspiring whisper, she specifies “an orgy” for those of us who are not paying attention, and the little girl in her blushes sweetly for a second. And, just like that, i can picture it so clearly: our beautiful group, so random, so mixed, so Berlin, rolling around like puppies on the colourful blankets that isolate us from the cold that started to rise from the sandy forest ground. It’s a cute picture, the different skin tones melting into each other, the limbs acquiring a life of their own, detached from their bodies, and in the background, the forest, silenced by the music but still looking gravely at us, a few dancers just a couple of metres away, dancing on, some of them surely enjoying the view, others pondering if they are brave or confident or high enough to join in. It all looks very pretty and fun – yet it feels so distant. 

I sense something in me growing colder, more detached, and, as it happens, more uncomfortable and nervous. No more present, just anxious. I don’t know how to get out of this situation, so i grow chattier, filling up the moments of sexy silence between us with words words words. Slowly, most of the group gets up – they go back to dancing, flirting with strangers and friends, taking some more drugs on their favourite tree. I am relieved. 

Berlin’s nightlife is particularly good at reflecting these conflicting selves back at me. The one who has helped me leave behind the insecure little girl that held me back for so long – a casual, chill and careless version of me, who craved spontaneity and passion, who thrived in poorly-lit clubs, entangled in the embrace of sweaty strangers. No expectations no regrets no self-consciousness. And another, newer one, who is starting to feel detached (do you think yourself superior?) from this superficial hedonistic world and from these glamorous and empty (such a snob!) people, who craves intimacy and connections and deep music experiences and wants to lose herself in the bass, in movement, in another kind of darkness. I haven’t been able to let myself go and be either one for a while now. Every time i get close to getting what i want, to being one of the versions of myself i want to be even for just a moment – something stops me. I cannot commit to anything anything, not for a second, everything feels fake. Or is this just an excuse? Keep your foot firmly in the door, at any time, at all costs.

*

“Sometimes i look at these people, some of my oldest friends, and feel like we have absolutely nothing in common. It’s such an alienating feeling!” I turn and see this long skinny person sitting next to me. Confused, i look him hard in the face, barely visible in the thickening darkness, trying to figure out if we already talked, tonight, if we have been introduced. Who are you, kid? How dare you interrupt my reverie? Almost indignant, i remain silent while he keeps on talking – to me, to himself, who knows. Absorbed in my tired inner conflicts, i miss pretty much everything this gangly stranger is saying.

“You know, this drug they all love so much has never done it for me, for some reason. It makes me sort of sad.” Something in his genuine tone dissipates my confusion and discomfort. “I just moved to Berlin, so much later than all of them. Guess i kinda hoped they would grow out of this kinky Berlin phase, if i’d gotten here ten years after them. But look at them go!” he laughs, gesturing at the rave being slowly swallowed by the night. What is he high on?

Someone is setting up colourful lamps against the birch trees, turning their thin white trunks into bright poles shooting up to the heart of the forest, their branches into psychedelic lungs breathing gently in the wind. Everything looks magical and alluring. But there is an hypnotic quality to the voice of this weird big-eyed person sitting next to me that makes me drift further and further away from the idea of going back to the party. 

“Have we been introduced?” i asked smiling at him. 

“Not sure. I’m Tarek.” the boy smiles back and his large eyes seem to contain a multitude of stars. 

“Thanks for what you were saying. I was kind of thinking the same. This city often makes me feel like i don’t really know anyone i go partying with.” 

“Yes, i get you,” sighs Tarek, and, in his chemically altered state, i know he does get me. “It’s like we are all living different dreams, searching for different meanings. And everyone is so alone.” 

I very much enjoy his way of expressing himself. 

“Yes” i nod. “You know, what i have been curious to explore, lately, is what music can unveil within us – rather than escaping in it. An introspective experience, an inner journey. But not many of my friends get it. Maybe because this way it’s no longer only about the fun.” 

“No, more a research.”

“And it’s a lonely one, which is scary and sad.”

“But also worthwhile, isn’t it?”

Sitting next to each other, looking at the few dozens beautiful people dancing, laughing, kissing, mouthing words we cannot hear, smiling comically intoxicated smiles, we create our own tiny world. A bubble of the deep mutual understanding that these situations can create, shields us. It feels like we are watching a film, invisible witnesses of the human tragedy. 

When i got to the forest, i told the friend who invited me that this was the night i finally tried their beloved miao miao, this drug also Tarek referred to. Their kinky drug. Why not, right? But, for some reason – maybe i’m too deep in my honeymoon phase with Lily to allow myself to feel the arousal everyone always told me would bring, maybe i took too little, maybe it’s just not my thing – it had zero effects on me. The only one i recognise, from other similar substances, is the unbelievable pleasure it turns the act of smoking into. Sitting in the now full darkness next to Tarek, i talk and listen and smoke one hand-rolled cigarette after the other, and man does this feel good. I know very well how disgusting my mouth and my whole self are going to feel tomorrow, but right now i choose to not care. I inhale with a sensual joy that runs shivers down my spine, and our voices in conversation, relaxed yet vibrant, embrace me sweetly.

“Speaking of introspection: this summer, with this bunch, i had one of the most intense psychedelic experiences of my life so far. We rented a house in the mountains. We had a pool, and the whole weekend in front of us. We were in the middle of nowhere!” 

I remember this, my friend told me about this weekend, but i cannot remember him telling me about this Tarek kid. I nod and he goes on. “We all took some acid, they added some mepha, of course, but i decided to go full acid. You have no idea what happened next! I am walking upstairs, for some reasons, and suddenly – i see myself: at first i am absolutely sure that i am looking into a mirror. But no!, no mirror was hanging in this staircase! Me from another dimension or simply another time, maybe just a few minutes in the future, was staring at me straight in the eye.”

“What are you talking about!” i shriek, delighted.

“I swear on my life, i saw myself from another world, clear as day, and he wanted to tell me something.” 

“Of course!” i interject, smiling in amazement.

“Of course, you say?”

“Oh don’t mind me! Please go on – what next?!”

His laugh is almost a scoff, but despite being unable to tell if i am being serious or not, he must sense my genuine interest, for he goes on: “Well, i still don’t have the words to explain this, but…” his large eyes smile and shine, he is like a child recounting a dream now: “for a moment that felt endless and eternal, i floated somewhere above the house – i could see my friends in the pool, laughing and tanning and drinking, the woods, the mountains around them – and my other self floated with me, facing me all along. But he didn’t mirror me, he did his own thing. I can still see his face so clearly. He knew something that i did not, and still don’t. Last thing i remember is me raising a hand towards him.”

“Did you pass out?”

“I don’t think so. But i don’t know, really. I just remember the face of Trisha (she’s over there, have you met her?) appearing in my bedroom door, checking on me, and i could not for the life of me look at her! Nor recall how i got to my bed, to be honest. I covered my eyes with my hands, which i remember shook uncontrollably, and asked her to call my Asma (you know Asma right? yes i do, she is the wife of the friend who took me here tonight). For some reason, she was the only one whose presence i could bear, who managed to calm me down, to ease me back into reality from my journey into another dimension.”

Exhaling some delicious smoke, i realise i have been quite literally holding my breath. I never had such intense psychedelic experience, i tell him, and wow i am jealous, but also quite scared. It must have been terrifying. He shakes his head, slowly, and staring at the air in front of him, not seeing anything, he says that this only left him hungrier than ever. Could i understand?

“Yes and no,” i reply after a few seconds. Suddenly i feel so tired, strangely empty of words: and to think that, a moment ago i was so present and into his story and wanted to tell him about my life-changing ego-death experience with lsd in Portugal! But now my jaw is heavy and my tongue made of wood, and my heart inexplicably cold. I am sad and so damn tired and want to go home. Of course (of course!) i try to hide the sadness his question provoked, even though something in his inquiring look tells me he is not buying the casual shrug with which i quickly, carelessly, raise.

“Do you have signal? My phone is completely useless, and i would like to check the sbahn.” Confused, he nods and hands me his phone. It feels so warm in my hand, and i realise how cold i have grown. Connection is almost non-existing, and while i wait for google maps to load, i walk away from him to go tell my friend that i am leaving, thank you for the great party, have fun and say bye from me to everyone. I spot his shaven head and get closer, i hug him tight. The gorgeous girl he hooked up with is next to him, with a friend, chatting and dancing. Are you ok?, asks my friend, sorry i left you alone all night. No worries, i smile, i had a great time, talked to a lot of nice people – but now i go. I wish i could cry on his chest and fall asleep in his arms.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“No trains for the next three hours.”

“Ouch. I am sorry.”

“Do you think i could cycle along the tracks?”

“Forget it! We are in the middle of nowhere, Berlin is really far, and it’s night. I won’t let you.”

“Fuck.”

Tarek’s phone is still in my hand, its warmth gone, it feels like it could cut my palm open. My friend gives it back for me, i have no idea where Tarek is. I feel high (on what?) and tired at the same time, but somehow the sadness is slowly lifting while i realise that there is nothing i can do about this, nothing i have to do, no one i have to go back to. Just breathe in the present moment. My friend and i dance a bit, but the sexy dark-haired creature who lured him into the forest a mere hour ago has clearly not been satisfied yet. She glues herself to his back and slides her glimmering naked arms around his body, in a second her tongue is to his ear. I smile. Message received. 

People come and go, some talk to me, i laugh, i joke, i dance, i politely refuse more drugs. Why does everything feel so distant? Why don’t i want to take something and push through the night? Why don’t i choose to enjoy the rest of the night, actually, instead of just pushing through? The sadness has been replaced by a bittersweet melancholic feeling. I draw a very deep breath which i wish for a second would knock me out, and turn my back to the small, colourful, surreal party, to my friend and his fiery companion, to all the smiling and high people whose names slipped out of my brain a second after having been uttered. There is a tree which has been calling me all night, and now it’s time for me to answer. Its bark is moist but somehow warm under my palm – i still feel the cold blade of the phone i held until a moment ago –, and its touch immediately calms me. A wave of peacefulness goes through me, and i exhale.

*

Sitting on the tree, i start rolling a cigarette. Now i am ready to wait these couple of hours, whatever might come my way, whatever might happen – let it come. I feel serene, warm, one with my tree. From here i can watch the rave unfold and enjoy every second of it, get lost in my thoughts and in my feelings. I am here.

Lit by a neon pink light, i see Kristina, far away from me, next to her friend who is now playing some funky disco music. It takes me a split second to recognise her. Everything feels distant and blurry like a dream i am waking up from, already forgetting it. As familiar as all of this is, i never get really used to it. Kristina’s beauty, a discoloured sepia picture of someone i knew in another life, gives me a sort of uncomfortable small electric shock that reminds me that i am not dreaming about a previous life, about some long-forgotten lover. I am most definitely not here.

“It certainly sounds cheesy, but – i was sure to find you here!” Tarek smiles his goofy smile and i am so happy to see him.

“Sorry for stealing your phone.”

“No worries. How are you?”

“Fine, i guess. I missed the last sbahn and now i have to wait three hours, i think, but it’s ok.”

“Do you want some nose spray?”

“Yes. Please.”

Tonight i found out that you can mix ketamine and water in a nose spray. It makes doing it almost too easy. Waiting for Tarek to be back from the darkness which swallowed him as fast as it revealed him a moment ago, i adjust my weight on the tree. Where will he sit? My body prepares for a long couple of hours of talking nestling on a tree, and instinctively positions herself on the correct spot, balancing with the imaginary weight of Tarek. I loved how he showed up without asking me if he could join me or if he was bothering me. As if he could read my mind, or rather feel the state i was in. He knew i needed some company.

He comes back with the nose spray and, a large smile brightening up his face, throws it at me. He finds the right spot next to me, that spot i made for him. We take some k and we peacefully wait, in silence, for its thick warm wave to rise and embrace us from inside out. My range of vision narrows and darkens, my muscles relax, my hearing becomes muffled. God, how i love this feeling. Sometimes i like to imagine it taking me back to the primordial soup, or an ancestral womb. 

“Your story earlier really touched a nerve, you know.”

“I figured. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. This has been a great concern of mine for quite a while, since i started exploring this world of psychedelics. I am happy to talk about it with you,” i pause. “The things is, what if i don’t have the courage to really go deep? What if i will never know myself, the depths of the human psyche? The thought of being too scared and too weak frightens me.”

“And you think i, on the contrary, am brave, a true psychonaut?”

“Yes! You faced your self from another dimension, for christ’s sake!”

“Sure, but, believe me, that wasn’t on purpose!” 

“Ok but you must have taken a proper dose to get there, no? I am always so careful, so shy. Surely this is responsible and safe and everything. But how i am supposed to dig deeper and face my self from another dimension, one day?”

He doesn’t say anything. In the dark, i can only see the reflection of the rave’s neon lights in his eyes. If i look into them for too long i start feeling dizzy. Slowly, painfully, i go on in a whisper: “Maybe i simply don’t have much in me. Yes, sometimes i think i am simply not that deep, in the literal sense, like, i don’t have such a big cellar to explore. Maybe i am just a satisfied, privileged, slightly melancholic person, and that’s it. These dark depths are what, eventually, push people who leave a mark on this world. What if all i am ever going to do is only simply exist, and disappear leaving no trace?”

“First of all, i don’t see anything bad in simply existing.”

“Me neither, in theory at least. But sometimes i catch myself feeling disappointed in myself – and so sad.”

“Because we will never really understand one another?”

How the hell does he get me so well?

“How do you do this?”

“What!” he laughs.

“How do you express your thoughts, and mine too, so damn well?”

“I simply feel we are very similar, we have very similar thoughts. Probably we even grew up in a similar way and went through life trying to make sense of very similar things!”

I pause and ponder this.

“Ok. And second of all?”

“Ha!” He is visibly pleased. 

“You feel like someone who enjoys a structured conversation”, i say with a smile.

“I do, i do! Well, all i wanted to say is that i am beginning to realise that those of us who are frantically digging, often are (or seem) so ‘deep’ precisely because of our digging. You see what i mean?”

I breathe out through my nose, slowly, relieved. It feels like i am being rid of a tiresome spirit which had been pestering me, putting me down, for years.

“You really think so?”

“Yes, i do. And this is neutral, neither a bad nor a good thing. Like, on one hand, psychonauts are not some kind of geniuses whom mother nature blessed or cursed with special sensitivity or depth. On the other, if you want to reach some recesses of the soul, of the inner world that lies within every human being, i believe you can. The simple fact that you are asking yourself such questions means you are on this path too anyway!” he smirks. “And i am not sure this is a very wise thing.”

“Do you ever wish you could turn back? Revert to a blissful ignorance of yourself?”

“Sometimes i do, for sure! But not often. It’s too late anyway, i am hooked, addicted to the feeling.”

“I wish i could understand this. I would like to and i probably will, one day. But one of the people i love the most in this world told me about some of his craziest trips – and, well, they scared me to my core.” I hesitate. “One time, he was tripping with this guy he was having a very complex friendship with, and he saw him turning into the devil. Like, the freaking devil, evil incarnated. Isn’t this insane?? I think my heart would literally stop!”

“That is pretty fucked up, yes.”

“And another time, he met a ghost child, a little girl. For a decade, he brought her with him in his heart, and she haunted his relationship with psychedelics.”

“I can’t blame him!” Tarek exclaims, visibly upset. “But how interesting is that!”

“You think?!”

“Yeah! Your friend tore up the veil that covers our human reality! He was able to see something which lie behind it, hidden to most of us, yet there!”

“So you think he wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Not at all!”

I pause. 

“Yes me neither. But a ‘rational’ part of me hears myself and tells me i am just as insane as my friend.”

After a few minutes of silence, i hear Tarek’s voice, soft in the darkness: “If this is what is stopping you from digging – don’t let it.”

We talk some more, about paralysing insecurities, about our dreams and our apparently common inability to make a step towards them. About our fear of committing to things. The more we talk, the more i see myself reflected in his starry eyes – and vice versa. I can sense his amazement as i know he can sense mine. This encounter by far surpasses the deepest strangers connections i made in my whole Berlin (night) life, and i feel my heart shivering with joy. Talking with this boy feels like therapy and, at the same time, like a purely physical pleasure. Despite the darkness that engulfs us and the booming bass that tries to swallow our voices, i feel seen and heard – and i see and hear this other human being whom the universe gifted me with in a particularly weird night of a particularly tough period of my life.

Probably we won’t meet again, and that is completely ok, i realise. He held out his hand for me in a moment of great need. His presence, his gentleness, helped me get back into my body – and then guided me out of it again. He warmed my sad heart when i felt nothing could. I will forever treasure this connection.

Slowly, gently, the effects of the drugs we took together start wearing off, leaving me feel naked in a gentle way. My senses are re-awakened, while my soul, worn off by the long and intense talks, is pleasantly exhausted. Suddenly, our bodies remind us of their existence, and that we have been sitting on a tree for quite a while. We both move in a very awake, however tired, manner. We exhale. And we now know that this long, beautiful moment is over. I climb down and Tarek follows. We stand in the darkness which now feels lighter, and, shielded by it yet naked to each other, we smile with all our beings. Tarek steps towards me and hugs me. The stiffness of my limbs melts in his arms. We hold each other, in silence, for a few minutes. How gentle the verb ‘to hold’, how perfect for this embrace! When was the last time i rested in someone’s arms, without moving nor speaking, for this long?

“Thank you,” i smile when we finally let each other go.

“No, i thank you. It was an incredible night.”

“It was. I cannot believe we found each other!”

He smiles sweetly. 

“When is the sbahn coming next?”

I check my phone and realise, with a startled laugh, that hours have passed without neither of us realising it.

“Soon. I better go.”

“Can i come with you?”

*

The sand is soft under our feet, pushing my bike feels like trying to lead a recalcitrant donkey. We leave the music and the laughter behind, following the countless steps that left their mark in the humid, sandy terrain many long hours ago. Finally the trees, those scary, dense, identical trees that make up Brandenburg’s hypnotising forests, part and reveal the railroad tracks. In silence, enjoying each other’s company, we start following them, but, even though i never saw this kid walk before, i notice something odd in his pace. 

“Are you ok? You walk weird,” i ask and immediately want to take it back: please god make him not have a limp or something! How can you always be so clumsy?

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I am sorry.”

I focus on my hands, holding my bike and a cigarette at the same time (how much did i smoke tonight?).

“Sorry. You are right, i am being weird. I just don’t want this night to end.”

“You really have a gift for cheesiness, you know.” 

He laughs, grateful for my joke.

“Well, what would you like to do?” i ask him.

Tarek stops. He looks at me, then up, a bit in the distance. He points at a metal structure over the tracks, which has tiny steps leading to the top for inspections and fixing, i guess.

“Wanna take some acid and climb up?” he smiles.

After a moment of utter disbelief, i start laughing, that uncontrollable, cartoonish laugh that makes you hold your belly and tear up. Is this boy crazy? Just when his happy smile was about to turn into a concerned one, i manage to catch my breath. Wiping my eyes, i nod. “Yeah, why not.”

*

We are walking on the tracks, waiting for our half trip to hit. The veil of night is still very thick and dark, it makes our movements somewhat slower than they should be. Like tightrope walkers, we place one foot carefully behind the other, our arms outstretched in a caricatural way that makes us giggle like children. My old cigarette is firmly between my lips, and i am balancing a can of beer we took with us on my head, which Tarek finds incredible. Laughing a warm laugh, he asks me if i am the daughter of a gipsy circus family who grew up travelling around Europe with their caravan. “That term is not politically correct, you know,” i correct him, turning towards him with a piroette which makes the can fall loudly on the metal track. “Sorry.” He picks it up and opens it, takes a sip. 

“Well? How do you feel?” 

“Light.” 

“Yeah i see that!” 

“And you?” 

“Made of water.”

“What does this mean?” 

“It means that i feel fluid and that i cannot hold things not walk my body does not respond and my eyes cannot really focus everything’s blurry like i’m underwater yet i am the water – yes we are walking on ancient land that was once covered by the oceans we are under the sea and i am the sea you are walking through me actually.”

“Maybe we should sit for a minute,” i smile, holding his shoulders.

Right then – i can feel the vibration in the steel under my feet before my eyes actually catch sight of the headlights – an sbahn train approaches, and, since we are in fact underwater, our reactions are so slow that my brain hurts trying to shout its commands to my unresponsive limbs. Move! I push Tarek to the ground, off the tracks, and hold my breath until the train is past us. 

*

Perched on top of the trellis, we are waiting for dawn to appear in the sky, we are waiting for that slight change in the quality of the air and of the light, in the density of the silence which surrounds the forest. Tarek is rolling a very large, clumsy joint, and i am smoking yet another cigarette. We are sharing the last sip of that opened can of beer which we miraculously managed to take to the top of this surprisingly solid, thin metallic structure. A lot spilled out. What’s left is lukewarm and all the bubbles have left the chat, but for our tired mouths every drop is like manna. 

“Isn’t it crazy how long the nights are already getting? It’s only August, for heaven’s sake!”

“I don’t want to be the one to break this to you, but i think the drugs we took might also have had some impact on your time perception.” Tarek makes fun of me with that smarty-pants smile which i am already fond of.

“Are you lecturing me on psychedelics now, mr i almost got hit by a sbahn train while on acid?” i laugh.

“The train was really far still, you know? You pushed us on the ground like half an hour before it actually reached us.”

“Who needs a lecture on the effects of psychedelics on time perception, now?”

He grins and nudges me with his bony elbow, for once shut up.

“Let’s have a nice smoke, shall we?”

The thick, delicious smoke of weed feels amazing in my poor mouth ravaged by the too many cigarettes and the disgusting piss-beer. I cannot believe how good this tastes. As soon as it fills my lungs, i am transported to another level of high – a plane still relatively new to me. It was only last summer that i discovered the incredible drug-enhancing powers of weed, and i am still acquiring some familiarity with these mind-bending effects. Every time i smoke weed on acid, it reawakens my long-forgotten body, bringing every limb, every centimetre of me back to life. It’s like the lightbulb, which was burning full-power in my head enhancing my perception, is suddenly reminded that there are other rooms to lit up, and spreads its warm glow to every tiny bit of my house of flesh and bones and blood, and everything is alive and bright as a star in a matter of minutes. Every time this happens, it delights me to the point that i start laughing, happy as a child.

“This is one of the weirdest, most interesting raves i have ever been to.”

“We left it at least two hours ago.”

“Well, the weirdest after party ever, then.”

“Agreed.”

“You are one of the weirdest, most interesting people i have ever met, Tarek.”

He smiles sweetly, his bright eyes replying in his voice’s stead. I lay my lightbulb head on his shoulder, and we smoke in silence, admiring the pale pink tint that is finally beginning to lighten up the sky above the birch trees. 

*

“What are you two weirdos doing up there?”

Kristina. I hear her voice in the midst of an acid haze, yet somehow i immediately know it’s her, a sort of trembling sensation in my belly. The realisation of how much i had desired her all night. She is here now, she can see us sitting up here in the sky – how is this possible? Wasn’t she just a beautiful picture faded by the centuries?

“Hi there, girl!” Tarek waves at her. “Wanna join us?”

“Absolutely not, are you nuts? I cannot believe you climbed up there, it’s so dangerous, you must be higher than we all thought you were, when you sneaked away in the night like that!”

“Well, we sure are!” 

We giggle like kids, cannot stop. 

“Look at us, we are high as kites!”

I look down, and finally at her, a large silk scarf is covering her white shoulders and shiny hair giving her an air of modesty that makes my head spin even more than it was before, sitting on top of a seven-metre metal perch. She looks uneasy, she fidgets with her short hair. Why isn’t she going away, what is she doing? She must be tired and cold. Is she waiting for us?

“Yo! Are you ok?” I shout at her. “You need anything?”

She hesitates, her body language shy.

“I was wondering.. well, would you come down for a sec?”

Tarek laughs, “yeah, climbing up and down this thing is child’s play. What is it you need?”

“Oh fuck it.” She looks up at me. “I feel stupid for earlier, i think i ruined something between us, i was very high. And so now i was thinking… would you like to walk home with me?”

My heart is racing and my head is spinning. Is she serious? Does she really want to take me home? Neither of these two people i am likely to see again. I know that perfectly well, it happened countless times. Then why is it so hard to understand what i am feeling, what i want! The psychedelic connection, the deep talks, feeling seen and heard and understood – is it going to leave me feeling lonely and silly, worrying i overshared with a stranger? And the fleeting, intoxicating sexual connection with a gorgoeus woman into whose body i could melt and disappear for some sweet hours, forgetting about myself and my sadness. After all, sex has always been, still is, my favourite drug. I can feel its arcane, irresistible pull. Something whispers to me that Kristina is just trying to get some warmth for tonight which she must have failed to get during the rave. She might be feeling sad and lonely and in need of company. But heaven only knows how drawn i am to the pain of others when i am the one they chose to ease it. It’s a masochistic addiction which makes me feel more alive than anything else i have tried. It’s so easy.

“I think you should stay, we can talk about this,” whispers Tarek, softly touching my shoulder. He must have seen my inner turmoil unfolding, in a split second, on my face. This?? Now I feel way too seen.

“What the hell do you want from me?” i snap at him. The sudden heath i feel in my chest spreads to my cheeks and my eyes. I feel them burning with angry shame.

“I just want you to stay.”

“Well, i think we have spent enough time together, didn’t we? I was trying to go home hours ago and you just kept getting in my way. What do you want from me, Tarek?”

His eyes narrow. I am trying to shock him, to make him like me less. Stop being so nice to me. We are not pals. I am not a good person, you cannot save me or whatever it is you are trying to do. But hurting him, i realise, is actually hurting myself.

Kristina shivers and pulls her scarf closer to her naked skin. I want to free her from that scarf, kiss her white skin, feel its goosebumps. I want to forget about my stupid self. Without looking Tarek in the face, i take the half-smoked joint, put it between my lips, and start to angrily climb down. Everything inside and about me feels cold and hard.

*

In Kristina’s bed i listen to her deep and regular breathing, and look at the sky outside the window. It’s going to be another glorious late summer day. I cover my eyes and my hand smells of her. Suddenly i feel so sad. I hurry off the bed, go to the bathroom and jump in a shower with yellow duckling stickers on its walls and too many baby soaps on the rack. In perfect teen-drama style, i now see myself from above, curled up on the floor, water flowing over my sobbing self. You are so fucking pathetic. 

Staring at my tired face in the bathroom mirror, i try to look deep into those eyes that never seem to focus on anything for more than a minute. What do you hide? Where does all this pain come from? Kristina’s perfume angrily penetrates my nostrils and i realise i leaned very close to the mirror, on which some cheap and sweet perfumes are lined up next to a pacifier and a scented candle. The combination is oddly grounding, and i breathe in deeply. It’s ok, you are going to be ok, i say to my teary reflection. It won’t happen again. 

Back in Kristina’s room i lean on the door frame and look at her sleeping on her side, her full breast resting on her left arm, her narrow hips drawing a gentle curve in her silhouette. The dark hair i ruffled with my kisses is now covering her pale face, but i can see her mouth peeking out. She is beautiful, but i don’t feel anything, just like the nothing i felt in the forest when she pressed her tiny soft hand on my thigh. My relapse was clearly triggered by what i felt towards that weird sweet boy. Too close, too nice. Run. 

I pick up my clothes from the floor and pulling my top over my head i feel that my face is wet. Tears are falling silently from my eyes. But i still feel nothing. I have shut myself off almost completely. This realisation should frighten me. What the fuck is happening to me, Tarek, i hear myself muttering (are you talking to yourself out loud now?). I search the pockets of my jeans for something to dry my face with and my hand comes out holding various papery items – a dirty napkin (will do), a crumpled receipt, rolling papers, and a carefully folded tiny piece of paper fall on the carpeted floor. 

*

My bike, carelessly abandoned next to the building’s entrance, isn’t even locked. Wow, this was bad. The last few hours are a blur, which feels deeply unsettling next to the crisp, cristal-clear memories i have of the night, well into the acip trip. I cycle through the very German suburb where Kristina apparently lives, but i don’t feel my body, i push on the pedals with all my strength yet my muscles don’t seem to belong to me. I cycle faster and faster, i need to get out of here, i need to go home and sleep sleep sleep s l e e p. Tomorrow is going to be a new day, a new beginning. Back to work, back to my strictly controlled and compartmentalised relationships and projects and activities.

At an intersection close to Pankow (finally i seem to be able to breathe again) i stop and let a few green lights pass, soaking in the sun, feeling (am i back in my body?) the sweat dry on my back, under my armpits, on my neck and forehead and still-shaking palms. Maybe i get a coffee at my favourite coffee shop, and the thought makes me sigh with relief. You are safe now, you did not crumble into many small pieces. Man, did it feel close! I dig my right hand into all my pockets, searching for some change (phone is dead, of course, credit card unusable) and i feel that tiny piece of paper again. Something in the care with which it is folded, its symmetry, tells me it wasn’t me who folded it. Should i open it? Maybe it’s just the end-of-summer wind ruffling my sweaty top, but a shiver runs through me at this thought. 

“As someone wiser than me once said, all we have in life are the connections that we make. I’ll never forget ours. Should you ever want to talk and take acid and explore some more rooms, you know how to find me. (I thought writing down my number was too cheesy even for me.) May you soon stop running. Love, T.”

I look up. Slowly, i feel my self and my body realign. To savour this moment i close my eyes and breathe in ever so deeply. Every centimetre of my skin is alive, tickled by the sun and the breeze and the vibrations of the tram passing me by with a loud clatter. My fingers fold the tiny piece of yellow paper back, gently following its folds, its texture and the words impressed on it by a black pen. They now press it gently to my chest, against my throat, where it then rests in my palm for a minute, feeling my slow and deep heartbeat. Without knowing what i am doing, i take it to my lips. I gulp it down, feel it in my empty stomach – filling me. Then i start pedalling again, calmly now, home.