Flashes of light, sounds, and buzzing, distant voices. The summer of love; the new revolution. The Young Lords, the Spanish alternative to the Black Panthers. Acid, LSD; the ultimate trip, the ultimate high. Hendrix, the Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Woodstock2 at Downing Stadium. Jimi called it a circus. I was there but I don’t remember. I saw God, the end of the world. Pollution so deep I was drowning in it but I wasn’t dead but I was dying. Poisoned, bad acid, strychnine, darkness, eternal dark, more voices, nothingness. Someone trying to steal my Indian fringed vest, the East river; silence.

            There is light now and a clearer voice. I see a face looming over me like a God. I try to focus my eyes, to think, to try and recall where I am but there is only the void of the nothingness inside of me. I look up at this God and listen to words he keeps repeating.

"What is one plus one?" I try to answer this God that fills the only horizon I know. I am frightened now because I somehow realize that I should be able to answer him. I continue to stare into God’s face. His voice becomes quieter now, gentle.  Softly he whispers: "Do you know your name?" Fear becomes thick in my throat, panic fills my being. I cannot recall my own name or who I am. I go back to his first question and think carefully. One plus one, one plus one, over and over I repeat that in my mind. Suddenly I remember… They are called numbers. I look up at God and smile.

            There are others in this place, young people who have been poisoned also. A few have sheets pulled over their bodies. Death looms in this ward, kisses me on the cheek and moves on. It is not my time. Recovery is slow, close to a month. I have lost more than they realize. I cannot add or subtract; I recall nothing of my schooling. My personality is wild, crazed. I keep telling my Mother and sister that I’ve seen God, the end of the world. Who I was before that day is gone forever. The quite shy kid died. He just wasn’t strong enough to survive.