Blue as a Bruise “How long did Marshall say this would take to hit?” Slumping onto her sleeping bag, Beth stretched her hands to the blue tarp ceiling of their tent, willing them to swirl and blur. Nothing happened. The aim of the acid trip was catharsis after crisis. Since the horror of Sophomore year had passed, Beth decided it was time to remove the root of her panic attacks through the homebrew psychedelic therapy heralded far and wide by psych majors: a tour of the “self ” with lysergic acid diethylamide. The initial fears she had were all about “Alice-in-Wonderland-ing” in her own memories and hallucinating, but after half an hour with the tab on her tongue, all she felt was impatient. It wasn’t like she had any experience with psychedelic drugs. Her expectation was to be roiling in the human selfconscious for the next twelve hours, sunset to sunrise. Marshall had told them to “buckle up for a wild ride” as he passed them the plastic bag before they departed for Blue Spring State Park. Sam scrolled through cooking videos absently on his phone, the sunset on the tent casting his face in a blue sheen. It had been a little too long since his tawny hair had been cut, and a little too long since he shaved his face, but he was still handsome. A timer disrupted Binging with Babish. “Alright, remove the tab.” “Even if this doesn’t work, it feels so good to not be at school right now.” Beth snuggled into Sam’s side, wiggling with how good it felt to be out. Any anxiety she had melted away on the road to Orange City. “I was stifled! I was dying!” Beth lamented, casting a hand upon her brow. “Oh, yeah?” Sam cackled, his fingers finding all her ticklish spots. She howled, legs flailing. Beth had tears of laughter in her eyes, leaking tracks down her face. For a moment, her memory held still, kept that snapshot of them laughing and
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prose
SARAH PAYNE
