Goa Freaks: My Hippie Years in India by Cleo Odzer

Author:Cleo Odzer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Blue Moon Books
Published: 1995-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

Not long after that, in one of my normal fits of fury at Neal, I banished him to the upstairs rooms. He was not to come down. I didn't want to see his face. He was either to leave my house completely and never come back or to remain hidden upstairs. He didn't want to leave me, so he moved into the empty rooms.

Now it was much better. Serge and I were finally alone. We played, and he made me laugh. We went to sleep in each other's arms. Occasionally I saw Neal approach the staircase and Look down on us. I'd make faces at him and gestures, and he'd go back to his room.

But Serge still left now and then for a few hours. And as soon as his motorbike could be heard pulling away, Neal came down the stairs.

"NO! GO BACK UP!" He'd be assailed by my screams as soon as he set foot on a step. "GO BACK UPSTAIRS! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU. I HATE YOU."

Of course he wouldn't go. He'd patiently wait out my tantrum, and after a half hour or so, I'd forget I hated him. Soon we'd be spacing around together in coke joy, planning the next scams we were going to pull off—to Tahiti, Alaska, New Guinea. Only when I'd hear Serge's returning motor would I remember my anger. Then I'd shriek again and push Neal to the steps, and finally Neal would collect his things and go back up. Sometimes, though, I didn't hear Serge's bike and would be surprised to see him come through the front door.

"Oh, hi," I'd say and run to throw my arms around him. I was always so glad to see him. And THEN I'd remember again that I hated Neal. Sometimes, though, Serge would be gone so long, he'd return to find Neal and I asleep next to each other. Well, I'd TOLD him Neal sneaked down as soon as he rode away!

One morning I woke up alone in the living room. I guessed Serge had woken early and left.

Then I stumbled on the note. It protruded from the mouth of the bhong.

I've left, it said. I've left because it's Neal you love, not me. I can't take it anymore. I love you too much. If I'm wrong, you know where to find me. I always love you. Serge.

Oh, no!

Frantically I looked around. Serge's window ledge still held the champagne glass, the ashtray, my bent spoon—yet it felt forsaken. I touched the pillow where he'd so recently laid his head. It was cold, damp but cold. He wasn't coming back. I lunged at a pack of his beedies lying on the carpet. One left. But he wasn't coming back for it. I knew he wasn't coming back.

How could he?

I was stunned. Was he crazy? Love me! How could he think that? I reread the note, but its words hadn't changed. He was gone.

I roamed the room. There were my red Chinese pants he used to wear, discarded on a cushion.

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