The Girl Scout

by Linda Carter

 

I reach down as the waves lap against my tennis shoes and touch an ocean for the very first time. I am 30 on this blustery, sunny March day.  

We stay right on Capitol Hill in a two-story row house owned by my husband’s friend Bill. Just across the street sits Bullfeathers, the Capitol Hill restaurant and bar rumored to be the inspiration for the gathering place on the sitcom “Murphy Brown.”

Bill gives us the most incredible high-speed tour of the top visits for tourists right after we arrive. Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, then the Vietnam Memorial just as the sun is setting. My husband looks up a name, a kid he knew who got killed in Vietnam.

We shop for seafood at the Fish Market, grilling it over a small barbecue in the tiny courtyard in front of Bill’s place. We drink beers and sleep in the big warm waterbed, while Bill bunks in the guest room.

Bullfeathers beckons us on the second day. I don’t remember all of the liquor, but I do remember beers before dinner, wine with dinner, after dinner drinks.

We devour steak, lobster, potatoes and dessert. We talk and laugh and I get to know Bill. What a cool guy.

Things start to soften as I finish my Irish Coffee. I don’t have a big recollection of what happened after that, but I was with two trustworthy guys and I never worried.

I wake suddenly around 2 in the morning, the waterbed writhing beneath me. I bolt for the bathroom. After, I try to crawl back into bed, but another violent episode wracks my body.

Hours later, my husband finds me huddled on the floor at the end of the waterbed. I am covering myself with anything I can find, shivering without blankets.

It takes most of the day for me to get my sea legs under me, but I am on vacation and my man has some of the best newspapers in the country at his disposal.

Bill lends us his car so Ken and I can travel to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware to celebrate my birthday by the ocean.

Right before we leave, Bill casually places a plastic baggie on the mantle and says with a sly smile, “Happy Birthday Linda.”

I will never forget as long as I live that incredible vista from the hotel room balcony. I see huge ships on the horizon and wonder at the vastness of it all.

The sound captures me. Wave after wave slowly crashing against the beach, wind blowing softly through our balcony window and raindrops starting.

I reach for the baggie Bill so graciously gave us and realize we have no way to smoke this precious gift.

I think of the devices I have seen over the years, apple cores turned into fruit pipes, bongs made out of almost anything, the toilet paper roll—hello!

I use my fingernail clipper to tear a starting point on a roll of toilet paper, making sure to stack the soft folds on the back of the toilet.

Cutting into the cardboard tube isn’t easy with the tools I have at hand, but I manage. You know those little packets of coffee they put in hotels? The insides are foil.

I stretch the foil over the opening in the toilet paper roll and punch tiny little holes in it with one of my earrings.

Within minutes, my man and I are standing on our hotel balcony, stoned.

I am 30 years old.  I am looking at an ocean for the very first time, mystified that any body of water could hold those giant ships with their lights blinking so tall in the night.

I am in love with adventure, with the simplicity of just one evening and the belief that anywhere I go from here, I will always make things work.

Story by Linda Carter 2015