WORMHOLE SUMMER A Communal Fantasy by Austin Retzlaff Listen to the playlist at http://tinyurl.com/WormholeSummerPlaylist 1 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I’d like to acknowledge: Rebecca Zaretsky, Ted Retzlaff and Ethan Lustig for helping edit this version of the story; Michael Lesy, Peter Gilford and Thom Long for reviewing earlier drafts of the story, and all the people I met at Oberlin, Hampshire and on the road who inspired the texture and substance of this tale. Thanks also to Ken Knabb for his kind permission for the reproduction of his English translations of Guy Debord’s “Critique of Separation.” The full translation can be found on his website, Bureau of Public Secrets ( http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/debord.films/separation.htm ), as well as in Guy Debord: Complete Cinematic Works: Scripts, Stills, Documents, published in 2005 by AK Press. Previously self-published on www.wormholesummer.com (no longer active) *** 2 TABLE OF CONTENTS WORMHOLE SUMMER 1 TABLE OF CONTENTS 3 INTRODUCTION 4 ACT ONE: May 21 - June 10, 2011 4 1-01 Arthur 4 1-02 Commencement 18 1-03 Letters 31 1-04 Hitching 42 1-05 The Party 62 ACT TWO: June 11 - June 28, 2011 75 2-01 Minutes from the Meetings 75 2-02 Into the Wormhole, pt. 1 96 2-03 Notes from the Applecore 107 2-04 Departures, pt. 1 124 2-05 Departures, pt. 2 133 ACT THREE: June 28 - September 6, 2011 137 3-01 Marijuana 137 3-02 The Trade 142 3-03 Briye 150 3-04 Into the Wormhole, pt. 2 163 3-05 Convocation 182 OUTRO 191 3 INTRODUCTION A lot of people have been asking me to tell what happened at Applecore. For a long time, I didn't want to talk about it. But now that I've graduated "college," I have to at least try to make it as a writer if I'm going to justify all the money my parents spent on this liberal arts degree...and "they say" to write what you know...so here's what I know. I almost never see anyone from those days anymore. It's probably for the best. When I do see them, we usually try to smile and write off that whole period of time as the "Wormhole summer." So that's what I'll call this story. But the real story started many mañanas ago–before the Wormhole, before the summer–when I was still a freshman at a "college" where academia went to die and beliefs came true... ACT ONE: May 21 - June 10, 2011 1-01 Arthur We don’t know what to say. Sequences of words are repeated; gestures are recognized. Outside us. Of course some methods are mastered, some results are verified. Often it’s amusing. But so many things we wanted have not been attained, or 4 only partially and not like we imagined. What communication have we desired, or experienced, or only simulated? What real project has been lost? -Guy Debord, "Critique of Separation” *** Hampshire "College." 1600 kids on a farm in western Massachusetts. No majors, no grades, no tests...whatever, you can Google it faster than I can explain it. Why'd I go there? Wish I could Google that one. But anyway, that's where all of this started. At the end of my freshman year at Hampshire, I was discontented, disillusioned, disgruntled, dismayed and disenchanted, but I wasn't about to let my emotions keep me from being happy. Classes had ended a week before, and I was just sort of hanging around, savoring the unprecedented absence of school and social engagement. I had two real friends, an ongoing existential crisis, plenty of weed, and an empty summer ahead. Life was good, no matter what. So now I was deep into the dorm life... On my last full day on campus, I woke up in my lounge-bedroom to the smell of my roommate Easton getting high. "Rise and shine dude," he said, presenting me with a bong. "Thanks," I said with a fatherly smile, taking a massive rip of the weed. "Got any plans today?” "Uh I might go return some library books later.” "Oh yeah I have some too when are you going over there?” 5 "Probably not til after dinner," said Easton. "Gotta work myself up to it. How about you?” "Nothing really Briye and I are going to the commencement ceremony at 1 there's free food.” “That's pretty soon is she coming over?” "Well since she lives on our hall I don't think it really counts as coming over but yeah she said she'd stop by.” "Cool," said Easton, sitting on his bed and picking up his acoustic guitar. "I took some pictures of her the other day and I want her to see how they turned out.” "Did you develop the film yourself?" I said, impressed. "No they're digital," he said. "I mean how they look on the computer." "Naturally," I replied. We lay around for a while, smoking and talking and listening to music. I was lying on my bed when Briye arrived. I opened my eyes to see her face hanging over me, her clean girl smell temporarily alleviating the gloomy squalor of our room. "Hi, goofball." She plopped down on the bed beside me. "What have you done so far today? Oh, wait, let me guess..." "Don't knock it if you haven't tried," mumbled Easton from somewhere over yonder. "Speaking of which...last day of school, there's a first time for everything, right?" He coyly waved the bong in her direction. "Oh, wow! This is great! I always wanted to smoke weed, but the only reason I haven't yet is because I never had the opportunity!" Briye chirped. "Thanks, Easton!" 6 She pushed the bong away and looked at us with that classic pitying, adoring exasperation. "Oh, you guys. I haven't seen you in a while...and now we're about to go home..." "Not til tomorrow," I said. "Are you going to miss it here?" "Yeah! There's nothing to do at home." "You live in New York City, how is there nothing to do?" said Easton with fake shock. "I mean–I think I need something more," said Briye. "Not more than New York City–just more than me so far. I don't know...And also, like, I don't really want to be around my family for that long. They don't get who I am now. You know. Hampshire's so...different." "It's all the same to me," said Easton. "Hey, want to see those photos I took of you at the reservoir?" "Yeah!" she said, jumping onto his bed. Easton opened up his laptop and tilted the screen for her to see. “Wow," she said. "I really like these..." "Yeah," he said, leaning over her shoulder. "You're a great model." "Really? You think so?" "Yeah, I mean...you're gorgeous," said Easton. Normally he could pull off saying that and it would just be his usual self. Briye might even have been kind of flattered. But he wasn't looking at her--he was looking at the computer screen. Briye's abrupt laugh propelled her off his bed and onto her feet. 7 "Are you ready to go?" she said to me briskly, and then, in the same breath, "What have you been up to?" "Nothing really," I said, getting up and throwing on my backpack. "I've mostly just been hanging out and, you know, reading The Electric Kool-Aid –" "– Acid Test , I know," Briye rolled her eyes. "You are literally obsessed with that book right now." "I don't know what it is," I said, as Easton sullenly put away his computer. "I just feel so sucked into that world. But you should read it! It's dope–you have MY word on it. Remember? Like that Joe Isuzu commercial I showed you?" Briye laughed, although she'd barely cracked a smile when I showed her the commercial–I guess people's tastes change over time. "I love that about you, dude," she said. "What?" "You just...you have your own clearly defined interests that don't depend on other people or their opinions in any way," she said. "You let yourself become completely absorbed by things with no fear, I guess. It's great. Don't ever change, like, in that regard." "I need to change," I said. "Oh, not this again," Briye groaned. "No, I mean it, Briye. I don't get people, I don't get college, I don't get anything except reading and watching shit on the Internet. I've never had a job that I could tolerate, I don't have any, like, employable skills–" 8 "Oh come on, dude, stop fishing compliments," said Briye. "The expression is fishing for compliments, and that's not what I'm doing. I'm fucking worried is all! Like, what's gonna happen when I leave this place and go out into the real world, you know? None of this shit is real! Art history classes? Literature classes? How is that going to help me get a real job? I don't have any practical skills or interests, so I guess I just have to go to grad school, ‘cause school's all I know. But I don't even like school, it's just TV, like, it's the TV channel that 'smart' people watch, you know? It's like, pick your distraction, and some people pick drugs, some people pick artsy bullshit, some people pick Law and Order, some people pick school, or maybe all of the above. Either that, or it's just a place to hide. But what really sucks is that if there was something really important, something that wasn't just a distraction, I'd do it, no matter how hard it was. I'd do it in a second. But I don't see anything around me worth doing. It's all just so pointless, one way or another. I don't...man, I don't know..." I shut up and stared at the ceiling. "You'll figure shit out, dude," said Easton, passing me the bong. "You have MY word on it.” *** By and by Briye and I departed, leaving Easton to enjoy the chronic incineration of his short-term memory in smoky solitude. "What are you going to miss the most?" she asked me as we proceeded down the hall. "Obviously the vomit on the bathroom floor." 9 "Ugh, come on Ralph, be honest." "Why, what did you think I would say?" "I would have thought–being able to learn whatever you want." "Really? I feel like I learn more whenever I go back home. Or at least, I feel like there's still something unknown there that I could learn about. Here...I know the deal.” As we walked towards the commencement tent, we passed a finite number of infinitely familiar campus scenes. Everywhere I looked, I saw the tattered heirs of bohemia packing up for the diaspora, glimmering in their designer rags as they shoved bongwater-stained beanbag chairs into the backseats of their parents’ Priuses. "How about you?" I said. "What do you think you'll miss most? The free condoms?" "Oh, obviously, because I'm always doing sex with tons of people," said Briye. "Doing sex? Hahaha–" "Shut up! Having. Having sex. I mixed it up with–" "Yeah, with doing drugs, I remember. Like when you said to Connor, ' I've seen some people have cocaine in the bathroom ' and he, like, ran over there--" "Why do we talk about bathrooms so much?" she said with a wrinkled nose. "Besides, it's not like you've lost your virginity, either...unless you and Easton–" "No way!” “So when do they serve the food?" I asked as we approached the crowded commencement tent. "I thought it was before the speeches," said Briye, "but I guess not." 10 "Damn," I said. "I mean, I'm not too hungry yet. Do you want to just chill and watch what happens?" "Yeah, I know some people who are commencing, so I figured we'd do that," said Briye. “Okay.” “Are you still thinking of not coming back next year?" said Briye as we took our seats amongst the herd of onlookers. "Come on, Briye, like I wouldn't have told you by now." "I know. But you could still be thinking about it." "Yeah, I guess. I guess I am. But what's the point? There's nothing else I'd really rather do. I'm just too lazy and introverted to even enjoy being at hippie college. But I figure I'll just get a shitty normal job this summer, grow up a bit, and then appreciate school more next year." "That's such a lame attitude to have," said Briye. "What? You think I should never come back?" "Of course I want you to come back! But why do you want to grind yourself down? It sounds like you don't really like school, but you feel like you have to get used to it for some reason." "Yeah, that's exactly what I think! Come on, Briye! Hampshire? No majors, no grades, no tests, no expectations? If I can't make it here, where the hell can I?" Briye gave me a look. 11 "Hampshire's not for everybody," she said. "College isn't for everybody. A lot of people drop out, and not just because they can't make it. They just need something different. And I'd rather you leave and be really happy and do what you want, than have you around for three more years and watch you get lonely and boring. You have a lot to give, dude. I know you'll make it either way, but you're the only one who can choose whether you have a happy life. If you're not happy, then go out there and find the place where you can be happy. You're already the person that you want to be. You don't have to change." How many times has someone been so honest and compassionate towards you? But because I was still stoned, because I didn't know that this moment would never come again, I zoned out and my attention wandered to the person sitting directly in front of us. Of course, this was the person who would end up changing me the most. *** “Check that dude out,” I whispered in semi-awe. She looked, and as if "on cue," he turned around at the same moment and looked directly at her. I don't know if you can call a silence between two people a "pause" if they've never spoken before, so I'll describe the silence in that moment between Briye and this guy as "the calm before the storm." There was Briye, staring at this guy in his spiral jacket as if he was the most interesting person she'd ever "clapped eyes on," and there was he, looking back at her with complete solemnity and reciprocal attention. No one looked at me. 12 "If I offered you the chance to change your life right now, would you take it?" the guy suddenly asked Briye. "Um..." she said nervously. "That's an awesome jacket," I said to him. "Thanks, man," the guy smiled emphatically, seeming to forget his previous statement. "I made it myself. And I also made these." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced two business cards, which he handed to Briye and me. "Pretty dope, yeah?” “Pretty dope indeed," I replied, eying the design, which read: ARTHUR ROOMBOTER, DISSOCIATE OF ARTS, HAMPSHIRE COLLEGE - CEO OF SPIRAL CREATIVE INDUSTRIES. "You're Arthur? My name's Briye," she said. "So anyway, where are you all from?" he declared unapologetically. "Originally Istanbul," said Briye. "Rochester, New York," I said. “I know Rochester," he affirmed benevolently, to my surprise. "It's quite the place, man. It's quite the fucking crazy place–YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?!" He laughed and threw his hands up in the air. I had always thought of Rochester as quite the boring place, but I nodded. "Dude, I was there for a weekend last summer. I got hit by a boat while I was on my bike. And then I was staying in the, uh, the cannibal house–" "The what?" I said, unable to continue pretending that my eighteen years in Rochester had been spent as interestingly as his weekend there. 13 "So are you both first years?" Arthur pressed us casually. Briye and I both laughed. "Uh, yes, we are, how about yourself?" she said. I could tell she was enjoying his weirdness. "Only been here a semester," he revealed eagerly with a smirk and a jump of the old eyebrow. "I transferred in, you know...uh...how it is." "Where from?" I asked, ready to hear something about how Reed College was too strenuous, or community college didn't let him do enough drugs. "Well, my first college was Hamburger University–" I busted up laughing, of which Arthur took zero notice and plowed on heroically– "where you literally learn how to become the manager of a McDonald’s, dude. It's a real place, look it up sometime. Anyway, after that, I went to Pratt for advertising, and then I, like, did study abroad in Borneo or some shit–" "What do you mean, Borneo?" I said. "What do you mean, or some shit?" Briye asked. Finally it seemed to dawn on Arthur that we were actual people. "Was that it? I think it was Borneo...it was an island..." "College of the Atlantic?" I ventured on a whim. "Oh yeah! That's it. In Hawaii, right?" Arthur mumbled rapidly, prompting even more cackling from me. "Anyway," he continued with a big smile, "then I transferred in here this semester and it's been great ever since. Where are you guys from?" "What?" Briye said, astonished. "You went to four different colleges? How is that even possible? You only went to each one for one semester?" 14 "Pretty much," he clarified helpfully. "Sorry if I didn't make that clear earlier." "Not just that," she said, "but you went to–what was it, a hamburger college?" I laughed even harder. "And then you studied advertising, and then studied abroad?" "Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Arthur shrugged respectfully. "It sounds irresponsible to me," Briye said, "to waste a bunch of money–your parents', I would assume–wandering around the world, enrolling in random colleges just because you can." It sounded awesome to me, but Arthur bowed his head in grave recognition of her point and said, ”I can see why you'd think that would be irresponsible, but allow me to explain. I'm a random thinker–" "We can tell," I said quickly, trying to be supportive. "It doesn't just mean I'm spacey or ADD," Arthur interrupted, sounding lucid for the first time. “It’s a diagnosed condition that I’m self-medicating–not entirely successfully, as you can see. I’ve been this way since I was a baby. It means that I can’t think clearly unless I’m constantly dissociating. Patterns, logic, systems, deductive reasoning–it’s all extremely difficult for me. The associations I create between ideas may seem crazy to you, but well you know how it is, I mean–” he scrunched up his face and apparently willed himself to maintain coherence, “–to me, they make sense, and I learn more by random experimentation than I would by staying at one school for four years.” Briye and I looked at each other. 15 “And you said...um...shit...you said something else...oh yeah!” He was already brightening up. “My parents have been mad supportive, for real, but never fear, your old uncle Arthur’s got a couple other ways of acquiring additional capital. I’ve been fortunate enough to receive several grants for the research I’m doing (which has helped me acquire the services of some excellent Far Eastern technicians), and that’s been keeping me afloat since I left Hamburger University.” “What sort of research?” Briye asked skeptically. “Oh, just whatever interests me, really,” he chuckled, and elaborated at great length, but I couldn’t maintain focus, and I spaced out. *** The commencement ceremonies were already beginning, and Briye and Arthur carried on their conversation in an undertone. I was still fairly stoned, but one thought kept resurfacing: that there was something very familiar about Arthur. As weird as he was, there was something about him that I intuitively understood. From where had I internalized the feeling of his dada logic? Then it hit me...Neal Cassady. Of course it would take me a minute to think of the most interesting character from the exact book I was reading. I waited for a pause in their conversation, then asked Arthur, "Have you ever heard of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test ?" The way Briye looked at me, it was as if I'd interrupted the Dalai Lama mid-sentence. But Arthur turned to face me as if I was the Lama himself. "You know that book?" he whispered literally. 16 "Know it? Dude, I have it," I laughed, producing it from within my backpack and showing him. Arthur was blown away. He seized the book and began flipping through its pages. “I’ve been looking for this shit for so long, dude! People have kept telling me to read it and I...uh...haven’t done so.” He spewed out ‘one hell of a laugh’ and browsed through the pages willy-nilly. “Dude, can I borrow this from you?” "Yeah, just give it back to me next year, I guess," I said. "What do you mean, next year?" "Oh, right. Well, um, you got a pen?" "So you're going to change schools again?" Briye asked him as I wrote my name and address on the book's inside cover. "I suppose so," Arthur confessed meaningfully. Briye laughed for no reason at this. "I mean, I can't really tell yet. I don't really know where I'd rather be instead." "You and this kid both," said Briye, nodding at me. "Here you go, dude," I said, offering him the book. "Just mail it back to me at this address when you're done.” “Ralph," proclaimed Arthur after a surreptitious glance at what I'd written, "you really don't know how much this means to me. I’ve been looking for this book for a very long time. But it wasn’t just a matter of whether I could find it–I mean, obviously, I know how to use Amazon–but whether I could find it under the right circumstances. So I trusted the universe, as I always do, and waited for the wind to blow and the river to flow, as my mother’s guru might have said, and destiny brought me the book. In a 17 certain way you represent to me a messenger of the universe–I know you’re actually just a regular person like myself, but we’re talking in terms of what this represents to me in terms of my narrative, you know what I’m saying?” Somehow, I kept a straight face and nodded. "And since the universe has given something to me," Arthur explained audaciously, reaching into the pockets of that majestic jacket of his, "I will give something back– to you. Here you go, buddy. Enjoy.” “What's this?” "What's this? What's this?" Arthur repeated exultantly. "This, my friend, is your first acid trip.” 1-02 Commencement And only a few encounters were like signals emanating from a more intense life, a life that has not really been found. -Guy Debord, "Critique of Separation” *** “Are you serious?" I hissed, quickly hiding the paper square in my fist. "You're offering this to me here? Dude, what about all these people?" Arthur just looked at me and smiled. "I'm not taking this here, man," I said. "There's too many people around." "Now I know you've never tripped acid before," Arthur rolled his eyes. 18 "I've read a lot about it," I said stubbornly, "and I don't want my first experience of it to be like...this." I waved my hand at the WASPy crowd, the president doling out congratulatory nonsense at the podium, the pervasive sense of restraint and expectation all around us. "Sorry. Maybe another time, though." "Ralph," protested Arthur mournfully, "I'm surprised at you. Why won't you accept my gift? I thought we were friends." "I am your friend," I said, trying not to laugh. "But I have to give something back to the universe," whined Arthur. "You're breaking the cycle. What have you got to lose?" People were starting to take notice of us. I looked at Briye for help, but she was staring at Arthur intently. "What have you got to lose?!" Arthur repeated outrageously. "Let me have it, then," said Briye. I was speechless. "I'll take it," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You have to give it to somebody? Give it to me, then." "All right," smiled Arthur, warming to this new idea. "Ralph, hand it over to her." "No!" I hissed. "Briye, what the fuck! You've never even smoked and now you're going to trip here? What if you freak out?" "I want to do it," she said. "It'll be a new experience. Just give it to me." "But–" "Come on!" she commanded. 19 Unable to believe what was happening, I handed her the paper square. She discreetly raised her hand to her mouth, then stuck out her tongue at me–a tongue now marked by a spiral. “What if I wanted that for myself, for later?" I blustered. "Ugh, fine," Arthur rolled his eyes, producing yet another paper square from his pocket and handing it to me. "Just don’t expect me to keep giving you this stuff, you know? It costs a lot for me to manufacture, and my prices are competitive, but not that competitive." He was speaking quietly enough, but I was still getting extremely nervous. "Just relax, it's over," said Briye serenely. "You're sure you don't want to try, too?" "Do I even know you anymore?" I muttered, looking for somewhere to put my hit of acid. I ended up putting it in an old Tic Tac box that was lying around in the bottom of my backpack. "Well, let me know if you, like, need anything," I said to her. "She'll be fine," Arthur assured me, looking at Briye the way Easton had looked at those pictures earlier. "You're sure?" I said skeptically. He looked over at me. He could tell I was challenging him. But he just smiled. "I know she's your friend, but you can trust me, dude," he smoothed things over in an undertone. "I've been doing this for a long time. I like you guys. I wouldn't give her anything she can't handle. I'll keep an eye on her. You can, too. We'll help her through her first trip, make it a great experience for her. But there's nothing to worry about right 20