Story Five

I arrived in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia in the summer with Nick. We'd been together for nearly a year. We weren't getting along very well. Nick often went into rages, for no reason that I could see. Still, I stayed with him, undecided about what I should do next. Like many people in abusive relationships, I lacked the self-esteem to leave.

The youth hostel where we'd stayed the previous summer was closed. We walked down the busy main street, wondering whether we should just go on to Vancouver. As we walked along, we saw a familiar person just ahead. It was Mike, a small time drug dealer we'd met the previous summer. Mike sold weed, acid [LSD] and mescaline. [This was the '60's and there was a market for it.]

"How are you guys doin'? asked Mike, as we gave each other big hugs.
"Not bad at all," answered Nick. "But we do need a place to crash for a few days."
"You're welcome to stay at my place," said Mike.

Mike's place was a tiny rundown house - a shack, really - on the edge of town.
Just inside the front porch was a bee's nest. We had to dodge them, as we entered the house. It was a standing joke that they were 'guard bees'.

Mike introduced us to his girlfriend, Simone. She was a dancer at a local bar, so she worked nights. We didn't see much of her during the day, because she was sleeping. Simone was a difficult person to get along with. There were several people staying at the house, and she managed to bully and intimidate every one of them. Once, when she complained about how messy the house was, everyone got together, and cleaned it up. When she got home, she didn't say a word about how nice things looked.

I couldn't understand why Mike would put up with the way she treated him. He was such a calm, reflective, and spiritual person.

I stayed out of Simone's way as much as possible.

While Mike sold drugs to get by, his true love was music. He played the guitar, and he was good at it. Not the sugary stuff, but Dylan, Cohen and others.

Mike was from a city in Ontario - Hamilton - the place where I was born. We hadn't met there, though, as my parents moved out west when I was just a few months old.

To the amusement of all, Mike and I looked so much alike, that shopkeepers, and everyone else, assumed that we were either husband and wife, or brother and sister. I was 5 feet 4 and one half inches tall, while Mike was 5 feet 4 inches. We both had blondish brown hair, and hazel eyes. We were both of a slim build. We both had birthdays in the month of June.
Although there was no way that we could be related, the similarities did seem rather amazing. We had had to both travel to B.C. in order to meet, we said, since we had missed out on meeting in Hamilton!
Our conversations often turned to religion, reincarnation, and the paranormal.

Every evening, Mike would play his guitar and sing. I just loved that. Mike had once been a performer, but he developed stage fright to such a degree that he just couldn't play in public anymore. With a crowd of friends around him, though, he was just fine.

Often at night, some of us would go out for a long walk. Mike had a back problem, which was helped by walking. The summer evenings were warm, and the air was scented with flowers. The moon was bright in the sky. On these nights, I began to wish that it was Mike I walked beside, rather than with Nick. While Nick behaved himself around other people - only showing his bad temper to me - I had begun to realize that he had no right to treat me as he did.

Once, when a group of us were tripping on acid [this was the '60's after all] I began to feel anxious. Every time Nick said something to me, his voice sounded thunderous and frightening.
I finally told him to "Stop talking! Be quiet!"
Well, Mike noticed all this, and he softly asked if I was having some bad feelings. I said "yes", and he immediately brought out his guitar. He spent the next hour or so playing songs that I liked, and sometimes he'd have to stop playing one, when the bad feelings started to come back. I felt a bit embarrassed at all the attention, but it worked - no bad trip. [NOTE: It could have turned out much differently. Drugs can be dangerous]

The next day I thanked him for what he had done. Then I gave him a copy of a poem I'd written. I said, "I know there's a big hill in Hamilton, called 'Hamilton Mountain'. Seems to me, this may have been meant for you." Mike thanked me gravely for the poem.

Nick decided to head out to Vancouver. I briefly thought of staying where I was. Somehow, things seemed all wrong - Nick with me, and Mike with Simone - both Mike and I treated badly by our companions.

If you think I should stay, and explore my feelings for Mike further, choose this link.

for the sixth story