“Wow, far out. I like the way you talk, man,” Stoney said. “I’ve been down south myself, man. That way of talking is cool shit, man. It’s definitely got musical qualities.” His eyes had an ethereal glow, the pupils little more than fly specks.
“You here to fuck?” Moon Child said.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I replied.
“Whoa, you guys,” Henri said. “Our friend Aaron doesn’t know when we’re kidding.”
“Then why is he here?” Moon Child said.
“He’s a flatlander,” Orchid said. “Visiting the zoo.”
“You got a guitar?” Lindsey Lou said.
“I own a Gibson acoustic. But I didn’t bring it.”
“Far out,” Stoney said.
“What kind of music do you play?” Lindsey Lou asked.
“Bluegrass and country, Woody Guthrie and Cisco Houston stuff.”
“You mean the Cisco Kid, the guy who rides around with that fat slob who’s always saying ‘Let’s went, Cisco’?” she said.
I saw Moon Child push a bong under a chair with her foot. “I didn’t mean to break in on your meditation,” I said.
“If you’re not here to fuck or meditate,” Moon Child said, “why are you here?”
“I dropped by to take Miss Jo Anne for some ice cream.”
The boy and three girls stared at me as though looking at a memory they couldn’t quite recall. Henri brushed a fly out of his face. Orchid reached into a small Indian-beaded drawstring purse and took out a joint and put it between her lips. “Ice cream?”
“Yeah, Trinidad has a great ice cream store,” I said.
“Fucking far out, man,” Stoney said.
Orchid half grinned at me, then lit the joint, the rings on her fingers a tangle of color under a lantern that hung from the ceiling. She took a deep hit and offered the joint to me with a lascivious wink. “We share everything.”
“Thanks, I can’t handle it,” I said. “Same with alcohol.”
“He’s a narc,” Moon Child said. “Ask him.”
“Are you a narc?” Orchid said.
“I’m a migrant. From the San Joaquin down to the Rio Grande and everywhere in between.”
“That’s heavy, man,” Stoney said. “Like a poem. I mean like ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ or some shit.”
“Y’all want to go for a walk?” I said. “We can knock on Jo Anne’s door and pile into my car and get us some chocolate sundaes. My treat.”
“What do you say, Henri?” Lindsey Lou asked.
“I’ll have to pass,” he said. He slapped at the worrisome fly again.
Lindsey Lou looked at me. “Sorry, Kemo Sabe.”
“Because the professor doesn’t want to go?” I said.
The kids dropped their eyes. Henri grinned at me. “Maybe another time, Natty.”