Friday, October 12, 2018

More from the essay


I want to fast forward because that’s the easy thing to do, but I have to tell you about something that happened in between that evening and the time when the pot kicked in, because it eventually did: I lost my virginity. This time it was my physical innocence, not my psychedelic sense of naivete. That happened later. Not that much later, but later.

It was with a guy named Eric. He was – maybe he still is, I don’t know – a Domino’s pizza deliveryman. I thought he was super old. He was maybe 23.

He was – maybe he still is, I don’t know – a friend of my roommate. Let me stop for a minute and describe Sandy, with whom I shared a home for the better part of my time at UCSB. If the stork and a pear had a baby, that would be my roommate. Sandy was into anime and all things that weren’t her: delicate, flowery, little. Origami, that was Sandy’s sensibility. Concrete in her shoes, that way of thumping through life, that was her reality.


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