This is a coming of age story set on the coast of New England in the mid-sixties. It is the summer after my eighteenth birthday, between high school graduation and freshman year of college.
***
After supper on Sunday my dad headed back up to the city house and I decided to wander over to the Thompson cottage to see what my friend Steve was up to.
Mrs. Thompson was sitting in the living room watching Wagon Train. The picture was a little snowy, but not too bad considering how far we were from Boston.
"Oh Hi, Billy!" she said cheerfully. "How ya been?"
"Pretty good," I said.
The common situation on the Island was wives and children all week long, with working fathers appearing on the weekends unless they had saved up vacation time. The Thompsons were no exception.
Mrs. Thompson was a heavy set woman who pulled her dark hair straight back with no thought to fashion.
She waved the lighted end of her Parliament at me. "Steve's in his room."
I entered the bedroom just as the tone arm dropped on "House of the Rising Sun".
We spent a while getting reacquainted and exchanging stories of the year just passed. Then Steve leaned over and in a low voice said, "Hey, you want to smoke some marijuana?"
"Marijuana?!" I whispered in surprise.
Now I had read about marijuana in Newsweek, but it was as remote from my life as Timbuktu. The stories I had read were full of bewildered disapproval of American college kids getting their kicks smoking strange cigarettes.
Since I was about to become a college man myself, I thought, "Why not?" If this is what they do in college, then let's just jump in and find out.
"Lizzie brought some back from school. We've been smoking it. Lemme go get her."
Steve went out and came back with his sister. Liz was a couple years older than us, already half way through her education at a small liberal arts school down in Maine. She was wearing a printed pullover top and Bermuda shorts, her long dark curly hair hanging loose. She smiled broadly, her blue eyes sparkling.
"Sooo, I hear you want to smoke some reefer," she said mischievously. "Let's go down to the beach. When you're outdoors, you can really feel the world all around you. It's kind of, I dunno, almost spiritual, I guess."
We headed for the door, Steve telling his mother obviously, "We going out."
"You're going out now? It's getting dark!"
"Yes it is," said Lizzie.
We headed to the beach and found a sheltered spot to sit down. Liz produced a reefer and a Zippo lighter that she used to fire up the joint. She inhaled the smoke and turned to me.
