*Ring Ring
I looked down at my phone from my desk, seeing the name of a familiar friend. Not exactly someone I would call close, yet properly acquainted. We were in the same grade and I thought he was a nice, cool dude. Six feet tall, son of a faculty, athletic, got the girls, outgoing. You get the picture. I mean, he also had his own car, so I picked up.
Upon answering, he asked with excitement if I was free that Saturday night to go explore an abandoned bridge nearby our boarding school. He was already in his car and wanted to come by in less than five to pick me up, telling me to bring any weed I had left as well and that special bong. I enthusiastically agreed as I frantically began packing for my expedition into the wild.
At the boarding school I attended, there wasn't much to do in the weekends, especially in the evenings with curfew at 10 pm. Those academically inclined studied ahead, in relationships searched for hook-up spots in the woods, and virgins just played games or watched their favorite Netflix show. Then there's us. The outsiders I guess you can say for the lack of a better term. Just random individuals who bond over the love of getting high and having fun.
Although people like me back then didn't have the best reputation, I personally was never a person who cared too much about other's opinion. I instead always sought for my own happiness in life and I found it easy to not care about other's judgement. And within my cliche, I had the reputation of having dank ass weed and the ability to make tight water bongs out of almost anything. So much so, I earned my nickname: Magician.
I heard his car pull up to my dorm just as finished double checking all my gear: wallet, water, homemade-plastic-water-bottle-bong, and the plastic ziplock full of weed. Having confirmed my gear and ready, I got into his car and saw his other two friends who was joining us that night. After the warm greetings and dap handshakes, we hit the road, eager to explore this abandoned bridge.
The way there took longer than expected due to the driver getting temporarily lost. However, we all knew we were close when the car began going off road and toward a tall, dark forest. Entering felt like a halloween pumpkin ride. The road was just wide enough for the car to go through and the sound of leaves and branches brushing along the side of the car was ominous. Then the car stopped. The path ended and we had to get out of the car and was greeted with moonlight casting through the trees and the sound of a river washing nearby. I smiled as I looked around in detail at the leave's silver glow around me and the starry, purplish-blue color of the night sky. Although it was dark, the power and camaraderie we felt being together as a group of four gave us the confidence to proceed with the plan to explore this bridge, which still wasn't in sight.
Leaving the car and toward the sound from the river, we approached a dark, tall silhouette. This was no small bridge over a stream. It was at least a 2-3 story, maybe four story tall bridge spanning over at least a 30-40 feet river. Stunned by how much larger it seemed, the first challenge presented itself. The entrance that led directly onto the bridge platform was completely blocked off by construction, so we had to creatively find a different way. This was where things got really sketchy because we four stooges had to climb up the bridge from the river bank. First jumping up to reach the metal railing and then having to climb above and walk upon it was no fucking easy task to do at night. Especially when the metal railing was cold to touch and wet from condensation. However, my mother didn't raise a bitch. We all slowly marched forward.
We four carefully had to walk sideways on a 4 inch steel beam toward another metal beam that went up vertically up toward the main deck. Getting toward the vertical beam was the safe zone, as it had an easy access toward the secure, wood platform of the main deck of the bridge. As adrenaline was pumping through our veins, the deck relieved all of our doubts and fears as we made it to the top. And Lord, the view from above was quite stunning. Looking down the river, I remember seeing the reflection of the moon glistening against the water. The music of the river splashing against the rocks against the bank. The leaves from the forest rustling. The symphony of sensation was overwhelming and it was beautiful. We got out our bags to prepare the bong, pipe, and joint. Moments like these couldn't be wasted sober. Especially when we had to be back on campus in an hour.
Now what was truly amazing to me wasn't the view from up top or the scenery. When we took out our phones to use the flashlight, we found graffiti all around with the acronym of our school and years: NMH 1987, NMH 1999, NMH 2002, NMH 2013. I looked up and around realizing the historical significance of the spot we just climbed onto. Sensations of happiness, joy, and bliss blended together inside me as one of them took out blue spray paint from his bag. Looking around toward us, we all cheered with excitement as his preparation allowed us to mark our own history. Upon finding a good, visible spot on the bridge, we spray painted NMH 2017 and smoked our weed with a sense of eternal happiness and satisfaction. We felt like Christopher Columbus, scribing his name of Plymouth fucking rock. Why? Because we just made history and people in the future will come to this same bridge and witness our's and previous historical marks made by other NMH students.
Once we finished the weed and cleaned up our kits, we packed to head back home. Now... the way up to the bridge was challenging enough. But climbing down, high as balls, and 15 feet up in the air was another demon of its own. We considered jumping into the water, but couldn't think of a good explanation to provide for our dorm parents when we returned. So we had to climb down the exact same way we went up. And I have to say, I never felt so scared and stupid in my life. I was gripping that metal beam with my dear life as my feet was shaking with each step on the four inch width beam underneath me. Inching slowly in a line.. like dumb, high, sloths.
Once we made it back down, we darted for the car. Because the same beautiful scenery that we saw coming toward the bridge now looked haunted due to our altered perceptions of reality. Holding each-other's shoulders and going in a line, we navigated through the jungle and toward our car... except it wasn't there.
Or we thought so, it was just happened to be another ten feet down the dirt road and we just forgot where we parked it. Driving back was another experience of its own. I know girls feel amazing when they are using a vibrator. But being in a car with friends, high, and listening to loud music with the bass cranked to the max was a vibrator of a different dimension. I felt my body melting into the seats and my face feeling the 45 mph G-force from the air out the window. During the ride, I distinctly remember one specific moment when The Weeknd's "The Hills" played. There is this one part of the song where the bass just DROPS and the bass ominously plays when The Weeknd's says "I only call you when it half past FIIIIVEEEE." Perfectly at that moment before the bass dropped, it was my turn to stick my head out the sunroof. And boy, when I did, the first bass-drop of the song played and a core memory was created. The wind rushing past me, slicking my hair, and the music vibrating beneath me is a moment I will never forget.
Arriving to my dorm, I did my best sober act to walk into my room without anyone suspecting anything. I got back in time for sign in (to confirm everyone is back before curfew) , washed up, and slept like a peaceful baby that night.
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