The Shadow of Amanda - Chapter Two
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(For Chapter One of this story, please see Previous Posts on the right sidebar)
**
We once quarantined our living room after a guest with scabies slept on the couch. We learned of the infestation a couple days later when the younger sister of one of the housemates slept on the same couch and awoke to a broadened view of the possible range of human discomfort. We taped plastic over the doors of the living room and stayed out of it for a couple weeks. Some of us added eucalyptus oil to our bathwater for a few days. Other members of the household were not as worried.
“You know, Phil, if you go through life always trying to be careful to avoid lice and always sleeping in comfortable beds, you’re going to miss out on a lot of things,” Jana said to me one morning in the kitchen. Jana lived in the converted gardener’s shed with her boyfriend. I always thought she was a beautiful girl, although her personal hygiene was sometimes a bit below my standards.
“Miss out on lice?” I said. “That’s O.K. with me.”
“Well, I mean, you’re always all Zenned out and everything. That’s cool. And you live a mellow lifestyle, you know, off the grid. But still, you grind your gourmet French Roast coffee every morning and you have your king sized feather bed and your antique lamps and all.”
Jana was one of the few members of the commune who really could be considered an authentic hippie, if such a category even existed anymore. Her mother was an ex-flower child who lived in Ojai. Jana had been barefoot pretty much every day since birth and was skinny-dipping in the streams of the Upper Ojai Valley when I was sitting in grammar school in a button down shirt from Sears.
“I do enjoy the comforts of life,” I admitted.
“Yeah,” she said. “And I’d love to own a stereo like yours. But don’t you ever feel like being a little bit … a little less careful all the time?” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her loose flannel shirt. I sliced a cantaloupe.
“A bunch of us are going up to Ojai for my mom’s 50th birthday in a couple hours,” she continued. “We’re going to come back on Sunday. Why don’t you come along?”
“I’ve got my piano gig,” I said. “I can’t.”
“Blow it off. Just call them and tell them you’re sick. They’ll survive without you for one weekend. Hey can I have some of that?” She reached over and took a piece of the melon and chewed it with her mouth open.
“Help yourself,” I smiled.
“Thanks,” she said still chewing, a shiny drop of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth. Her flannel shirt was only fastened with a couple of buttons. Her smooth breasts were tan and high. She’d probably never had tan lines in her life. “Garth won’t be going. He’s flaking on me again. I need a date,” she smiled. “Anyway, my mom likes you. She’d love it if you were there.”
“I guess I’d need to pack some clothes and things,”
“Whatever. We’re just going to crash on the floor. You don’t need much. Faith is cooking a big pot of three bean soup that we’re going to bring along.” She pointed to a very large aluminum pot simmering on the back burner of the stove.
Faith was another one of the people who I considered an actual hippie. She didn’t technically live at the house, but just dropped in once in a while on her many travels. When she visited, she didn’t sleep on the couch or anywhere inside the house. She slept out on the open meadow of the abandoned nursery under the moon and stars. If Garth wasn’t around though, she sometimes snuggled up with Jana out in the shed on cold nights. I always thought that was pretty sexy.
A couple hours later I climbed into the back of an ancient VW van, trying to remember if I’d locked the door to my room and wondering if I should have gone to the bank to get some more pocket cash. I toted along an overnight bag with a change of clothes and my toiletries. But I noticed that none of the others who got into the van brought anything except for the clothes they were wearing. The big pot of beans sat covered on the floor between the front seats. A golden retriever climbed in. We all settled down in the back of the van, which had no rear seats, only a couple of big futons and a lot of pillows and blankets.
(For Chapter One of this story, please see Previous Posts on the right sidebar)
**
We once quarantined our living room after a guest with scabies slept on the couch. We learned of the infestation a couple days later when the younger sister of one of the housemates slept on the same couch and awoke to a broadened view of the possible range of human discomfort. We taped plastic over the doors of the living room and stayed out of it for a couple weeks. Some of us added eucalyptus oil to our bathwater for a few days. Other members of the household were not as worried.
“You know, Phil, if you go through life always trying to be careful to avoid lice and always sleeping in comfortable beds, you’re going to miss out on a lot of things,” Jana said to me one morning in the kitchen. Jana lived in the converted gardener’s shed with her boyfriend. I always thought she was a beautiful girl, although her personal hygiene was sometimes a bit below my standards.
“Miss out on lice?” I said. “That’s O.K. with me.”
“Well, I mean, you’re always all Zenned out and everything. That’s cool. And you live a mellow lifestyle, you know, off the grid. But still, you grind your gourmet French Roast coffee every morning and you have your king sized feather bed and your antique lamps and all.”
Jana was one of the few members of the commune who really could be considered an authentic hippie, if such a category even existed anymore. Her mother was an ex-flower child who lived in Ojai. Jana had been barefoot pretty much every day since birth and was skinny-dipping in the streams of the Upper Ojai Valley when I was sitting in grammar school in a button down shirt from Sears.
“I do enjoy the comforts of life,” I admitted.
“Yeah,” she said. “And I’d love to own a stereo like yours. But don’t you ever feel like being a little bit … a little less careful all the time?” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her loose flannel shirt. I sliced a cantaloupe.
“A bunch of us are going up to Ojai for my mom’s 50th birthday in a couple hours,” she continued. “We’re going to come back on Sunday. Why don’t you come along?”
“I’ve got my piano gig,” I said. “I can’t.”
“Blow it off. Just call them and tell them you’re sick. They’ll survive without you for one weekend. Hey can I have some of that?” She reached over and took a piece of the melon and chewed it with her mouth open.
“Help yourself,” I smiled.
“Thanks,” she said still chewing, a shiny drop of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth. Her flannel shirt was only fastened with a couple of buttons. Her smooth breasts were tan and high. She’d probably never had tan lines in her life. “Garth won’t be going. He’s flaking on me again. I need a date,” she smiled. “Anyway, my mom likes you. She’d love it if you were there.”
“I guess I’d need to pack some clothes and things,”
“Whatever. We’re just going to crash on the floor. You don’t need much. Faith is cooking a big pot of three bean soup that we’re going to bring along.” She pointed to a very large aluminum pot simmering on the back burner of the stove.
Faith was another one of the people who I considered an actual hippie. She didn’t technically live at the house, but just dropped in once in a while on her many travels. When she visited, she didn’t sleep on the couch or anywhere inside the house. She slept out on the open meadow of the abandoned nursery under the moon and stars. If Garth wasn’t around though, she sometimes snuggled up with Jana out in the shed on cold nights. I always thought that was pretty sexy.
A couple hours later I climbed into the back of an ancient VW van, trying to remember if I’d locked the door to my room and wondering if I should have gone to the bank to get some more pocket cash. I toted along an overnight bag with a change of clothes and my toiletries. But I noticed that none of the others who got into the van brought anything except for the clothes they were wearing. The big pot of beans sat covered on the floor between the front seats. A golden retriever climbed in. We all settled down in the back of the van, which had no rear seats, only a couple of big futons and a lot of pillows and blankets.
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