Chapter 6 — The Pack
And thus begins Chapter Six.
Now, children.
There we sat.
Axe.
Nuo.
Stomachs full.
Munchies defeated.
Bodies reclined in the aftermath of what could only legally be described as buffet warfare.
The council nods.
Our eyes met.
We smiled.
That quiet,
satisfied smile shared between two people who had eaten enough food to make movement an optional future activity.
Children.
Life was good.
Then
a voice.
“That must’ve been some good weed.”
The council freezes.
I turned.
Axe turned.
And there
Hat Guy.
Beside him
Ribbon Girl.
The council becomes very still.
Now.
Paranoia is an interesting creature.
Sober paranoia?
Manageable.
High paranoia?
Creative.
High paranoia while carrying rolled joints in your pocket
and a complete stranger casually identifies exactly why your eyes look like they have been marinated?
Children.
Final form.
The council sounds the alarms.
Hat Guy had said:
“That must’ve been some good weed.”
And my brain immediately translated this into:
THE OPERATION HAS BEEN COMPROMISED.
I said
nothing.
The council waits.
Nothing?
Nothing.
Social Cryptid Mode:
ACTIVE.
I stared.
Probably with the subtle expression of someone whose internal legal department had just convened an emergency meeting.
Axe?
Axe chuckled.
Children.
Because Axe possessed that extra seven percent functionality.
She looked at them and said something like:
“No.
We’re not high.
We’re just weird.”
The council pauses.
Convincing?
Absolutely not.
But at least she produced language.
Meanwhile,
inside my head
calculations.
How illegal is this?
How long does one go to jail for weed?
Are these cops?
Undercover cops?
Do undercover cops wear hats?
Probably.
Everyone can wear hats.
Hat inconclusive.
The council watches the panic spiral.
What about the joints in my pocket?
Will they search me?
Will they search Axe?
Will Axe go to jail too?
Children.
Will I see Axe again?
The council grows solemn.
I was already preparing emotional goodbyes.
Not verbally.
Internally.
Axe,
my love.
It has been a beautiful year.
Please remember me.
Tell Carlos I died bravely.
The council collapses.
You were sitting at a resort buffet.
THAT WAS NOT HOW MY BRAIN SAW IT.
To me,
this had become the final free meal before incarceration.
I don’t remember what conversation followed.
Not because eleven years erased it.
Children.
I was present.
Physically.
The ears worked.
The brain refused incoming audio.
Hat Guy said things.
Ribbon Girl said things.
Axe responded.
Possibly laughed.
Possibly held an entire normal conversation.
And Nuo?
Loading.
The council checks system status.
AUDIO INPUT:
IGNORED.
THREAT ASSESSMENT:
UNREASONABLY HIGH.
FAREWELL LETTERS:
IN DRAFT.
Eventually
Hat Guy stood.
Ribbon Girl stood.
The council becomes alarmed.
They know.
They are calling reinforcements.
Then
Axe stood.
The council looks toward me.
I remained seated.
Confused.
Axe looked at me.
I looked at Axe.
She gave me the nod.
Come.
Children.
Axe commanded.
Nuo obeyed.
A very efficient relationship structure.
So I stood.
Still suspicious.
Still expecting handcuffs to manifest from somewhere.
And followed.
Through the resort.
Outward.
Toward
the beach.
The council pauses.
Arrest location?
Apparently scenic.
We walked onto the sand.
Ocean ahead.
Night around us.
And there
a giant ass beach umbrella.
Children.
Proper giant.
Pierced into the sand.
Under or beside it
two beach chairs.
You know the kind.
Reclined.
Long.
Designed specifically for humans whose current occupation is:
beach.
Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl sat together.
Sharing one chair.
Axe sat down.
And I?
The council looks over.
Still standing.
Deer.
Headlights.
No useful thoughts.
No meaningful awareness.
I had followed my girlfriend into a suspicious beach meeting with two strangers
and still had no idea what had been agreed upon.
The council sighs.
Did you ask?
Children.
That would require communication.
I just stood there.
Looking.
Probably trying to identify escape routes.
Ocean:
bad escape route.
Resort:
possible.
Carlos:
far.
Axe:
must not abandon.
The council watches Nuo’s strategic genius.
Then
Hat Guy reached into his pocket.
The council tenses.
This is it.
Handcuffs?
Badge?
Radio?
Gun?
Children.
Joint.
The council goes silent.
A joint.
He placed it to his lips.
Lit it.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
Smoke.
The council erupts.
RELIEF.
Immediate.
Total.
Glorious.
All paranoia evaporated.
My shoulders probably dropped three inches.
The prison sentence disappeared.
Axe and I were no longer doomed lovers separated by the criminal justice system.
Hat Guy was not law enforcement.
Ribbon Girl was not part of an elaborate sting operation.
They were
stoners.
The council cheers.
My people.
And for the first time since the buffet interrogation began,
my brain came back online.
“Ohhhhhhh.”
The council laughs.
That was the sound.
Not:
Ah, I understand.
Not:
I see there has been a misunderstanding.
Children.
“Ohhhhh.”
Hat Guy looked at me.
And immediately understood.
Because he had watched the entire journey happen across my face.
From suspicion.
To terror.
To legal existential crisis.
To salvation.
He chuckled.
“Did I scare you?”
The council waits.
I looked at him.
“Yes, you bastard.”
The council erupts.
And children
friendship.
Just like that.
One sentence.
One insult.
Pack acquired.
The council writes:
HAT GUY — SAFE.
RIBBON GIRL — SAFE.
POT STATUS — SHARED.
NUO — FUNCTIONAL ish.
Finally,
I sat.
Axe curled against me.
The council smiles.
Comfort restored.
Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl on their chair.
Axe and Nuo on ours.
The joint moved.
Hand to hand.
Drag.
Pass.
Drag.
Pass.
Conversation began.
Actual conversation.
Because now I could hear words again.
The council applauds.
What did we talk about?
Children.
History has taken most of it.
Names clearly did not survive.
If they told me:
“Hi, I’m Rahul.”
My brain apparently replied:
Hat.
If she said:
“I’m Priya.”
Archive filed:
Ribbon.
The council sighs.
The ancient naming system remains undefeated.
But the feeling survived.
Easy.
Fun.
Warm.
The strange quick intimacy that sometimes happens when travelling.
One moment
strangers.
Next
sharing weed beneath a beach umbrella as if this meeting had been planned all week.
The council nods.
And that matters.
Because children
this was the first pack.
The council grows quiet.
Before Kasol.
Before Gunman.
Before Beard Man.
Before Bald Man.
Before Ponytail.
Before campfires full of people I had never met becoming family for a night.
Here.
Malpe.
Hat Guy.
Ribbon Girl.
Axe.
Nuo.
Four people who had not arrived together.
Who had no reason to become anything to one another.
And yet
for a little while
pack.
Not permanent friends.
Not numbers exchanged with promises.
Not:
We need to do this again.
Just temporary companionship.
Children.
Later,
I would become very familiar with this.
Road friendships.
People who enter the Archive for an hour.
A night.
A day.
They arrive without introduction,
share something with you,
and disappear before normal life can complicate them.
But at Malpe?
I did not know this was a recurring feature of wandering.
I simply thought:
These people are cool.
The council smiles.
And perhaps the funniest part is that the entire friendship existed because I had misunderstood the opening line.
Let’s reconstruct this scene properly.
The council opens an alternate camera angle.
Not from inside Nuo’s head.
From reality.
Hat Guy looks at the two obviously stoned idiots who have just eaten half the buffet.
He smiles.
“That must’ve been some good weed.”
Axe:
“No, we’re not high.
We’re just weird.”
Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl probably laugh.
Ribbon Girl explains:
“Chill.
We smoke too.
Not cops.”
The council turns toward Nuo.
Nuo:
…
Hat Guy:
“Wanna smoke up?”
Axe:
“Sure.”
Nuo:
…
The council collapses.
Children.
A whole social agreement occurred.
I participated in none of it.
And then Axe stood up,
so I followed her.
This is trust.
Or brain damage.
Potentially both.
The council nods.
From Axe’s perspective,
we met another couple who smoked weed.
They invited us to join.
She accepted.
Simple.
From Nuo’s perspective
potential arrest.
Possible imprisonment.
Mysterious relocation.
Sudden joint.
Salvation.
New friends.
The council laughs.
Same event.
Completely different genres.
And once the misunderstanding dissolved,
I loved them.
Not love love.
Children.
Again.
Temporary pack love.
The easy affection you develop for people who make a strange evening stranger in exactly the right way.
Hat Guy passed the joint.
I accepted.
Maybe offered ours afterward.
Probably.
We had supplies.
The economy of stoners is communal when vibes are correct.
The council nods.
And there we remained.
Night.
Ocean.
Umbrella.
Two chairs.
Four idiots.
Axe against me.
Ribbon Girl against Hat Guy.
Smoke drifting upward.
Conversation getting increasingly less important as everyone got higher.
Children.
There are scenes where nothing technically happens,
but they become memory anyway.
This was one.
No quest.
No spectacular adventure.
No danger once my brain stopped inventing it.
Just people.
A beach.
A shared joint.
And that feeling of:
Oh.
You’re our people for tonight.
The council grows quiet.
Present Nuo recognizes something else here.
I had always been comfortable with known packs.
Friends.
Girlfriend.
Sharky.
People already established.
But Malpe may have been the first time strangers simply
joined.
No introduction required beyond:
We stone too.
The council nods.
A remarkably efficient passport.
And maybe that first temporary pack made later ones easier.
Maybe not consciously.
Maybe no lesson occurred at all.
But years later,
when strangers in Kasol asked:
“You from Kerala?”
and invited me to a campfire
some part of me already knew the possibility.
People can be strangers at one moment
and your people the next.
The council listens.
But let us not assign too much foresight to University Nuo.
He was not contemplating the anthropology of temporary human connection.
He was thinking:
Thank fuck they’re not cops.
The council erupts.
Historical accuracy restored.
And Axe?
Children.
Axe had known the whole time.
She had calmly spoken to them,
accepted the invitation,
followed them to the beach,
and apparently decided her boyfriend would eventually regain consciousness.
The council looks impressed.
Seven percent competence.
Maybe eight on anniversary weekends.
And when I finally sat beside her,
she curled into me
as though none of my internal apocalypse had happened.
Probably because,
from her perspective,
it hadn’t.
The council smiles.
Hat Guy lit another joint.
Or ours joined circulation.
Memory blurs.
Conversation continued.
The beach stretched dark around us.
And our anniversary getaway
which had begun as a deliberate trip for two
now had four.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Romance interrupted?
Not really.
That is the strange thing.
Axe and I had not come to Malpe to isolate ourselves from humanity.
We came to be together.
And we were.
Whether alone in a Jacuzzi,
destroying a buffet,
or sitting beside two strangers beneath a giant umbrella
she was beside me.
The council nods.
Objective remained complete.
I like person.
Person near me.
Nuo happy.
Simple man.
Children.
And so began the first temporary pack of the Wanderings.
Not with a campfire.
Not with introductions.
Not with shared adversity.
With a stranger looking at two red eyed buffet criminals and saying:
“That must’ve been some good weed.”
The council laughs.
Thus concludes Chapter Six.
The Buffet Interrogation.
The Final Form Of Paranoia.
Social Cryptid Mode.
The Beach Umbrella.
The Joint Of Salvation.
Hat Guy.
Ribbon Girl.
And The First Pack.
Children.
From reality’s perspective:
“Want to smoke?”
“Sure.”
From Nuo’s perspective:
I nearly went to prison,
said goodbye to the woman I loved,
escaped the law,
and made two friends.
The council nods.
We experience the world we deserve.
