MOOSE MAINE-IA On June 1, 1991, I returned to my high school, a good seventy miles away, to see the class behind me graduate. I had a year of college under my belt, had dabbled with some good drugs here and there, and wanted to see everybody and tell them how I'd been and what I'd done, as well as hear their stories. We all met at a specified place at 3:00, and caravaned to the "secret spot" that we had chosen to throw "the Bash" at. We pulled into a very secluded camping ground and found two other keg parties already happening, to our delight. By 3:30, our kegs were being rolled up the hill, and fifteen minutes later, I was double-fisting. I hooked up with a girl whom I'd often wanted to get with, and we went for a walk in the woods and smoked a joint. We began foolin' around, and I decided that it was too soon to be getting laid in the woods. So, we agreed to meet each other later, and mingle around for a bit. When I returned to the fray, I ran into a classmate of mine who had always had some health problems. He had some chronic lung condition, so he couldn't smoke weed. On top of that, he had an ulcer which prevented him from drinking. The only thing this kid did for recreational mind alteration was trip on acid. I greeted him and asked him if he was still tripping all the time. My face lit up as he pulled out his wallet, and showed me two sheets of Snoopy, double-dip, blotter. I was fairly lit at this point, and remember trying to ask him if he was selling any. It sounded weird coming out, as a result of my buzz-on and anticipation of tripping balls, but he caught my drift. My eyes lit up as he answered, "No, dude. I'm giving it away. How many do you want?" Stunned, I just said three. By 7:00, I was a trippin', drunk, stoned fool, mixing in between all three parties that were happening, occasionally seeing someone and sneaking off to my car to get them baked. To my utter amazement, the kid who won the Hebron Cup, the award of awards, the son of a teacher and minister, he who had headed nine of ten extracurricular groups, he who had sworn drugs were evil, asked me to get him high. My mouth dropped and I said to the kid, "Dude, if I had the last bowl on earth, I'd smoke it with you." College had opened his eyes and I sat there, tripping intensely, listening to how he began experimenting and recreationally using, suddenly realizing that anything in the world was possible. I remember wondering if it was the seventh sign, getting baked with him. It became difficult to realize who was tripping, and who was just plain shitty, so I just assumed everybody was. I was too drunk to be paranoid, and I had at least a dozen very meaningful conversations, some with total strangers, none of which I can recall now. I didn't want the night to ever end. What could be better than seeing a great group of kids graduate, getting all grades of fucked-up with them, and reminiscing? Then, I ran into that girl that I'd never had a chance to mess around with. Now, I decided, was the time. Off we went, and I can't recall a time I've had better sex. Perhaps, as good, but I doubt it. We finished, brushed all the grass and dirt off of us, and rejoined the party. The lovin' had worn away a little of the buzz on, and I started to consider driving home. All my friends warned me that I was asking for trouble, but I got in the "screw it, I'm going" mindset. After that, forget it. My problem was that I was only nineteen, and, while I had no curfew, my dad always seemed to get up and ask why I was coming in so late if I got in even a minute after 3 AM. If I could get home by 2:57, I'd be all set. At this point it was twelve, and I was about two hours from home. Giving myself an extra hour was essential, because if I was going home, I had to beat that magic 3 AM limit. My three greatest fears in life are 1) Burning, 2) Getting eaten alive by some wild animal, & 3) Tripping in front of my parents for any length of time. So, after saying my goodbyes and vowing to keep in touch (I can never seem to keep that vow), I left. I had dropped at around 6:00, so, though I wasn't peaking out, I was still tripping pretty majorly. I was extremely paranoid, but realized that this was one of the greatest days of my life, so nothing would happen. Every car I saw, I thought was a cop. As I was feeling my way back to the main raod, I kept thinking I was lost. Eventually, I got outside of Augusta. I looked at my gas meter and realized I'd have to stop for gas. As I wondered if I could deal with the gas station attendant, I looked to over to the left and saw a Budweiser Clydesdale galloping down the hill next to the Armory. I took a double-take, and realized that it was a moose. I braked hard, hoping he wouldn't see me if I stayed still, or something. Whatever my reasoning, I was shocked into stopping. As he neared the main road, I realized I might be in trouble, because he was definitely heading my way. An oncoming VW rabbit perhaps (safely) 250 yards away, beeped its horn, I found out later the driver did this because she wanted to "scare it away from the road". Instead, it pissed him off, because in that second, he lowered his head and charged my helpless little Toyata Tercel. Bracing for impact, I had time to think, "wrong place, wrong-ass time." Glass rained down all over me, and the whole car rocked from his 1200 pound frame slamming against it. I heard him go, "OOOOFF!" as he hit me, and saw nine or ten antler tips pass by my face as he rolled over the hood. To top it all off he gave me one last, good kick in the right rear quarter for good measure, and took off. I sat there, hands clenched to the wheel, and wondered if that had really just happened. So much of me said, "Well, you DID take three hits of some pretty good acid." But, as I flipped on my hazards and sat staring into the warm night through my half shattered windshield, I realized that my wonderful day had instantaneously changed to not a click over mediocre. The cop pulled up behind me, and I feverishly hid my bag and paraphernalia in my pocket. He sort of strolled up to my car, it seemed, and very snidely asked," So, uh, what happened here?" "Um, I got hit by a moose, sir," I answered, damn near cracking at the ridiculousness of my response. "And where's the moose?" he asked skeptically. "I couldn't tell you, man. He didn't stick around." as I picked glass out of my hair and chest pocket. Ms. Brilliance pulled up in her Rabbit to verify my story and see if I was o.k., tooting her horn to demonstrate how she'd honked it before. I thanked her sarcastically, and watched my intended insult fly completely over her head. After asking the cop if I could still drive home, NOT!, I called my Dad, who told me to get home as best I could. I was still an hour away from home, and decided my only hope was AAA. After making my statement, and collecting myself as best I could in such a situation, a wrecker pulled up. Out popped, literally, a 5 foot, 300 lb. man. I lost it, and really acted strange the whole time I was with the cop, and I assume he chalked it up to shock. After my bout of laughter after seeing this guy, as he was sweeping debris out of the road, he said to me,"Jesus friggin' Christ, buddy! Too bad you didn't kill the god damn thing, maybe I could've gotten some moosemeat out of the friggin' deal!" in the thickest Maine accent ever spoken. Again, I chuckled and promised I'd steer into any animals that charged my car in the future. After an interminable ride home, and countless fish stories of how this weeble wobble had scored with young girls who were stranded in the past, we arrived at my house. The tripping had mostly subsided and this was good because my Dad was up. He asked me if I was telling the truth, whereupon I went outside, snatched a tuft of moosehide out of the lining of my windshield, and produced it for him. He laughed, telling me "this could only happen to you", indeed. And only in Maine. I can't wait for the ten year reunion, can you? ---the Lukester