Q journal: Pete

Pete was a good friend of mine. I first met him when I was learning
to smoke pot. Don't get me wrong; I'd smoked some herb in my day. But
my manual dexterity and practical intelligence can be very low. My pipe
was clogged and I didn't know how to unclog it. So I went up to my
neighbor's who my girlfriend, Fawn, had met a few days earlier. They
were hippies and I knew they'd be happy to help. The girl was a pretty
hippie girl named Angela. She had a daughter named Zoie and Pete was
the father. They were not, however, a couple at this time. Now, we all
smoked some bud together and this turned out to be the start of a long
friendship. We would hang out frequently as couples. The little girl
was annoying. I think most kids are. That's why when I have kids, I
intend to be a firm disclipinarian, though also a loving father.
Anyway, Pete was a door to door steak salesman. And he was blessed with
a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of chi. He loved to talk and talk about his
sales job. He was so enthusiastic. He saw himself as a hustler. He
always seemed to have plenty of bud and he was very generous about
smoking it with me. I mean he was very generous. For the eight months
or so that we were good friends, he constantly smoked me out. Often, it
was hash. These were still fairly good times for me. It's true that my
girlfriend was a terror but I didn't have any debt or legal problems
back then. Sheesh... anyway, Pete was a hairy, somewhat scroungy
fellow. He was fairly tall and strong. He loved the Grateful Dead.
Angela and he had followed the Dead for years. They'd had various
hippie adventures involving all kinds of drugs and experiences. They
loved to talk about them. Now, Pete was pretty friendly to me. At
first, remarkably so. As time went on, he might have started to think I
was a little weak in the head or something but he remained friendly. I
have so much difficult judging social situations and whether or not
people are real friends. But Pete loved to get stoned and play his
accoustic guitar. He was pretty good at it. He'd tell me about this or
that. Now, me, I don't like to talk that much. I used not to mind
people who talked a lot. Now, I do. I prefer silence, really. The world
is too sad to really merit saying much. I wish people would keep it
simple: "food," "bowl," "book," etc. But Pete wasn't too bad. He loved
to drive and smoke pot. That's how I picked that up. For Pete, it was
okay. He had a strong head on his shoulders. He could handle it. For
me, it's a bad idea. I'm a zombie even without pot. You see, Pete and
Angie would fight sometimes. And when they did, they would really
fight. We'd have all kinds of yelling, banging, maybe even fist-fights.
They lived upstairs, by the way. Now, things probably got worse for
Pete and I about the same time. Angela stopped wanting Pete around.
Apparently, he wasn't giving her enough money. Fawn stressed me out so
much that I had a stomach acid problem. Well, Pete stopped coming
around quite so much. It was okay because his girl still smoked me out.
And one day, my girlfriend intervened in a fight between Angela and
Pete. It ended in Pete begging me to drive him somewhere because he was
afraid they were going to call the cops. Now, I was a little naive.
Things weren't so bad for me back then and I still loved Fawn. It was
raining and my windshield wiper wasn't working. I told Pete I couldn't
give him a ride. He got away that night. One night, the cops came to
our place. Fawn had threatened to kill herself and had went into the
bathroom with a butcher knife. Now, I knew she was jerking my chain but
she'd done it too often. I called 9-1-1. Now the cops didn't really
believe me. Anyway, Pete was cool and smoked me out afterwards. He
seemed genuinely sympathetic. And that's the thing; I think he was a
good friend. Well, it wasn't too long afterwards that Fawn smacked me
and I punched her pretty good. That landed me in jail for a night.
About a month later, I heard that Pete had landed in jail for raping
Angela. Now, Angela was the mother of his kid and had been his
girlfriend for years. I don't know what to believe about it. But I do
know loyalty. I remember Pete loading us bowls and strumming dead songs
on his accoustic guitar... and I know what side I'm on.