Memoria

on the day that i found the cannabis vodka, i decided to try to find my old czech friend, Becherovka, in a 750ml size. and i did. last i heard maybe 7 years ago, it was still not available in the united states. it never had been. i got to know Becherovka through my other czech friend, Karla. she regularly went to prague, back in the day, to be a movie star (her parents were bigtime czech stars in the 60s) and bring back Becher.

but i found it on Cannabis Vodka day and ordered it.

today i got it.

i notice the colors on the label have changed, but i don't let it get to me. i open it up barely believing that my college alcohol of choice, so exclusive and superior, is in my hands. i stick my nose to the bottle and take a whiff of the past. i close my eyes and feel myself in san diego. i'm 19. my best friend is this kooky blonde girl from Prague who grew up in LA. all 8 of my roommates are deadheads. we're all smokers and we all smoke in the house. people stay up every night until 2am drinking jugs of gallo burgundy, except me, i have to get up at 5am for work. i open my eyes and it goes away. i close my eyes.

and then it comes.

a bad memory. a memory i had forgotten. ohhhh, i feel it sink it. ohhh. right. hmmm.

i go back in my makeshift office, present day, and give a shot to my coworker. while i'm telling him how great my memories are of it, and how potent it is, there is a second voice saying, "what about (that). what about (that)."

finally, i tell him, not all the memories are good. a friend of mine freaked on it once.

i close my eyes. my friend (c) who later became my predator went manic after drinking a lot of it once. of course we were also doing whippets. the problems started when he couldn't get the whippet into the dispenser. he was moving too fast. he was crazy. he kept trying to get the whippet in to the dispenser long after his hand was cut from the metal handle and long after the blood was dripping down the frozen exterior. i tried yelling at him, but he was in a trance and wouldn't come out. he struggled and bled and struggled and bled until he was able to get it in and inhale it and subsequently turn purple and pass out. i stared at him for a while, caught in time and did nothing. he turned more purple and started mumbling. we were sitting on my futon and he was purple, passed out and mumbling. i shook him. he mumbled more. i shook him and shouted his name and finally he woke up. he knew nothing and thought i was being ridiculous about it all.

becherovka can be dangerous in the hands of a psychopath. be careful what company you drink it in.

it's been 13 years since i smelled these memories. they haven't diminished at all, they just needed a trigger.