Years ago I had a friend. I was in my twenties, living in a second unit in the Los Angeles area, going to school at Cal State LA. My friend Barbara was a fellow music student. I first noticed her in chorus. The school had a large chorus as well as an "a capella choir". I was in both and so was she. I noticed her because of the way she did her hair and the way she held herself. She piled her straight blond hair up on her head in a precise design, every day. Never was there a hair out of place. She dressed very neatly and carried herself with a certain amount of stiffness, almost haughty. She was overweight, not grossly so, and had a round soft face.
I did not become friends with her then. I wasn't inclined to befriend someone who looked like that. It was through piano classes and the sharing of a piano teacher that I got to know Barbara, along with a couple of other music students, all of whom became my closest friends at that time.
Somewhere, some time between the time I first saw Barb and became her friend she changed. She let down her hair and became a full-fledged hippy. She tended toward sloppy in her movements, knocking things down as she walked, even though she still retained some of that haughty walk. Barb was the one who got us all into drugs. She sought them out, made arrangements to buy them, introduced them to the rest of us. I was with Barb the night I got arrested for possession, because we had just bought a lid of grass from a friend who lived near UCLA. If it were up to me I wouldn't have bothered hunting down these dealers. I didn't care that much about the drugs. I tried them because we do that, I think, when we are young. We try things.
Barbara swallowed pills without water. I had never seen that before and was struck with wonder at it. I tried it. I learned how to do it. I never liked it and now I hunt down water but I can do it if I have to.