by Marc Colten
It was June of 1967, the “Summer of Love”. I know that talking about it now, to you, makes it sound as if I was talking about the age of the dinosaurs, and maybe I am. I sometimes feel like a dinosaur that’s lived past its time. I was going to college, not just to avoid the Draft, although that was part of it, but because people had told us that we were the leaders of the future and I really wanted to believe that. At the end of my Junior year I got an invitation from friends to spend the summer with them on a commune in Ohio, about 600 miles away. I didn’t have any money so I decided to hitchhike. No one thought much about it then. The trouble was that after five or six rides I hadn’t even reached the Interstate and I found myself stranded. I stood there on an empty road, wondering what I would do. Until the van came by.
If there was ever anything that said “The Sixties” it was that van. A classic flat front VW Microbus with flowers and peace signs painted all over it. I knew the minute I saw it that they would stop and pick me up. It was like we belonged to the same club and understood one another. The people inside made room for me and the bus started moving even before I told them where I was going.
I made myself comfortable, using my duffel bag as a cushion. The driver looked to be about my age, with the same long hair and beard I was sporting. There was a woman in the other front seat, frizzy blonde hair held in place by a tie-dyed bandana, the beads around her neck clicking as she played with them. Both were wearing steel-rimmed sunglasses against the afternoon sun. A black man and woman were in the middle with me while two white men lounged further back. In a makeshift bunk bed along the side wall on the driver’s side lay a young girl, barely a teenager, younger looking than any of us. She was dressed like you’d expect for a young hippie wannabe. Flower patches on her tight jeans and lots of beads around her neck. Except for her they were all my age, give or take a couple of years. One of the white men had a military style crew-cut but the rest of looked the part. I thought the young girl was sleeping until I asked them where they were going.
“Frisco,” she said, “Haight-Ashbury. Tired of the whole suburban scene, man.”
I thought everyone was going to the West Coast until the others started naming other places. The two white men in the back were going to New Mexico and Oregon, the black man to Chicago and the black woman to Minneapolis.
“You two aren’t together?” I asked.
She looked annoyed at my presumption that they were traveling together just because they were both black and had matching Afros. It would be years before I got that message, along with the rest of white America, but the man didn’t seem too bothered by it.
“No man,” he said, “just traveling.”
The sleepy teenager said “We’re all just traveling. Glad to get the ride.”
I leaned forward and asked the two in the front seats where they were going.
“Just traveling,” the man said. “Just traveling.”
“Anywhere you want to go,” the woman said.
I told them again where I was headed and how they could drop me off when we reached the Interstate.
“Don’t sweat it,” the man said. “We’ll take you all the way there.”
The teenager turned slightly and spoke without opening her eyes. “They’re taking me all the way to San Francisco. Gonna sleep all the way there.”
The bus smelled of exotic oils, scented candles and marijuana. I felt calm and sleepy just inhaling the air. There wasn’t any conversation. We just lay back and relaxed as the miles rolled on. After another half hour we stopped again to pick up another man; this one carrying a cardboard sign that said “Detroit”. I made room so he could be comfortable.
The teenager smiled in her half-sleep. “They’ll take you all the way there,” she said, “right after we see it.”
“See what?” The newest passenger seemed to think we all knew.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. No one mentioned anything before.”
“Something special,” the teenage girl said. “So special.”
“You’ll see,” the driver said. “We’ll be there soon.”
No one said any more about it and it seemed that only the driver and his girlfriend knew what it was we were going to see. When I asked about it the sleepy girl laughed and said “They won’t tell. It’s a surprise, but it’s gonna be great.”
I wasn’t worried. I was among friends; brothers and sisters was more like it. With luck it would involve drugs or something just as nice. We rode in near silence, just as comfortable as we could be, for another hour until the bus made a turn and started to bounce. I sat up and looked out the window. We had left the main road and were driving down a rutted country lane.
“Is this it?” a man in the back asked.
“Almost,” the driver said.
“Just a little ways up here,” the woman in the front said.
“Gonna be so nice,” the sleepy teenager said. She didn’t even sit up to look. “Gonna be so nice.”
The two men in the back laughed and when I looked back at them I could see they were staring intently at the girl. She was so young, yet there was something grown up about her. As if she wasn’t afraid of anything. As if she was experienced far beyond her years. Still, I wasn’t too happy about the way they were looking at her. I’ll admit I was looking at the woman in the front and the black woman sitting right next to me and wondering what we were about to experience together, but the girl seemed just too young. I truly wanted there to be grass and wine and sex, but I hoped it wasn’t going to get ugly.
The doors were thrown open when we stopped and we all jumped out. The teen woke up and stretched. With a few others I took a second to find a private tree and relieve myself. Then we were ready for a walk.
“The road only goes this far,” the driver said. “We have to walk a little way. You can leave your stuff.”
With the driver and his companion in the lead we started walking into the woods, following a narrow path. We weren’t in any particular order and occasionally one person would fall behind or another would be moving to the front. Naturally the men seemed to congregate around the women. The path ended at a clearing about 100 feet across.
“Almost there,” the driver said. “Just on the other side of the clearing.”
By this time I had fallen further back and the last of them passed me. I don’t know why but I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Maybe it was the wolfish grins the other men were giving that teenager. Maybe I knew that all the peace and love in the world wasn’t going to protect her. I slowed more and more until I was alone in the center of the clearing as they approached the other side. I thought of returning to the bus, getting my things and backtracking to the highway. There were a couple of hours of daylight left and maybe I could get another ride.
The driver’s companion let the others pass and then walked back to me. “Is something wrong?”
She was so beautiful, like an angel, her long hair swaying in the evening breeze. She wore turquoise beads around her neck, silver bracelets on her delicate wrists and rings on almost every finger. I didn’t know what to say to her. Only she and the driver knew what we were going to see and obviously they thought it was exciting enough to round up total strangers. Maybe there was nothing to be worried about.
“I’m not sure I want to go on,” I told her, although I knew I couldn’t explain why.
“Oh, but you must. You don’t want to turn back now, when we’re so close.”
She was right about that. So close. There was also the setting sun. What if I didn’t get another ride? I’d be stuck on the road in the dark when I had a perfectly good ride waiting for me. We’d see whatever it was that waited on the other side of the clearing, maybe even spend the night there. Then, in the morning, we’d be back on the road. When she reached out and gently took my hand in hers I found myself both reassured and excited by the feel of her soft skin. On the other side of the clearing the other passengers were disappearing into the trees, like fireflies winking out, until they were all gone from sight. As she gently tugged at my hand I felt my resistance fade and I began moving forward again.
Then there was shouting from up ahead. I pulled back and her hand tightened on mine. I could feel her rings pressing into my fingers.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” she said. “It’s just a little way more.”
The yelling continued for a few more seconds and then stopped abruptly.
“There,” she said, “you see? It’s all right.”
I looked around, unsure of what to do and then I saw dark shapes in the trees around me. There was no way the others could have circled around us that fast. Whoever they were they were running past us, cutting me off from the way we had come. I pulled back again and the woman’s hand tightened on my hand, trying to hold me in place. I yanked my hand free and ran as fast as I could.
“Don’t run!” she yelled after me. “There’s nowhere to run to.”
I don’t think I got far, nowhere near the trees. There was a flash of light and suddenly I couldn’t hear or feel anything, even as the ground seemed to rush up towards me. I saw the leaves and dust fly away as I hit the ground and then settle down around me. After a few moments the ground began to move past me and I realized, as if it was happening to someone else, that I was being dragged or carried, and not back towards the van. Then I passed out.
I opened my eyes in a dark room, lying on my back on something soft, but unable to move. At first I could not see much more than the dark surface above me but as my eyes got accustomed to the darkness I started to make out patterns. There was a wall to my left and a vertical pole on my right. I concentrated on breathing, seeing if I could take deeper and deeper breaths, until it began to hurt. It was like “pins and needles” but much worse and it soon spread to my entire body. I could flex my fingers a bit, despite the pain, and move my legs a little.
I kept trying to move, to turn my body using what little control I had over my arms and legs. Over and over again I tried to turn, but the pain drove me back. What amazed me the most was that my brain was working even if my body wasn’t. I could see and hear and think, although it didn’t take much thinking to know that I was in trouble. Anyone who kidnapped me for money was going to be disappointed, and very mad. It also didn’t take a genius to realize that if I could get out of there, the sooner the better.
The pain was easing up and again I tried turning over. Once I was on my side I could see that I wasn’t alone. I was on some kind of palette raised off the floor, probably supported by the pole I was now facing. I moved my head and could see another pole at the foot of the platform. Across from me, on the other side of a narrow corridor, were other platforms with people on them. The man across from me was the black man from the van and it looked as if each of us had another platform above us and at least one below. I still had no idea where we were. I couldn’t see enough to tell if we were in a truck or a building. We didn’t seem to be moving and the only sounds I could hear were people breathing and a humming sound, which could have been my ears ringing. My body still hurt but I could move enough to roll over on my stomach and start to crawl to the edge of the platform.
When I looked over the edge I could see that there were at least three platforms between me and the floor. Whether anyone would hear me when I hit bottom didn’t seem as important as the fact that I’d probably smash my skull open. I didn’t know which was the smart move; wait or take the risk now. If I waited too long I might miss my chance. If I acted too soon I might get caught and not be able to run.
I had to make a decision and I made it. I crawled forward at the pace I could manage until the pole was pressed into my shoulder. There was no way I could hold onto the pole with my hands. I could flex my fingers but they had no grip in them. I hoped that if my arms were wrapped around the pole I could hold on and slide down, or at least slow my fall. I thrashed my legs sideways until they were off the platform and my entire body dropped out from under me. I knew immediately that it was not going to go well and the pole just slipped out from my arms. At least I was heading down feet first and it seemed as if the pole was on an angle, because it hit me in the legs and I managed to slide down until I hit the floor and lay in a heap. I lay there thinking that someone must have heard and would soon come to put me back in my bunk, or worse. I started as I had before, stretching my arms and legs and trying to make them obey.
The lowest of the bunks were only inches off the floor. Next to me, on the bunk three levels below where I had been, was the teenager from the van. On the other side was one of the white men who had been sitting in the back. I could only climb a short way into the lowest bunks and try to nudge them with my head but I could not rouse them. Finally I turned back onto my stomach and started to crawl. There was no room to turn around, so I just started crawling in the direction I was facing. I’d like to think that I was going to get help, but my only thought was to escape; to get out of whatever I was in and get away. I had no way of judging the distance I was crawling except by the length of the platforms that lined the walls. I cleared one column of platforms and then the next but I didn’t look to see who was in them. I didn’t try to wake them. I just kept crawling. After passing two more platforms I felt a breeze. It smelled nice, like trees and grass. I kept crawling and then stopped when I heard what sounded like voices.
I couldn’t make out any words; just a low murmuring as if they were chatting quietly under the assumption that we were all unconscious. I knew that they could come strolling down the hallway at any time so I started crawling again, praying that the open door would come first and not my captors. I crawled until it became obvious that the breeze was coming from my left and the voices were still ahead. I had to continue to crawl into the breeze even if one of them was standing in that open doorway smoking a cigarette. What choice did I have?
The open door was nothing but a dark space. There was no moonlight or even faint starlight ahead but I was inside and getting outside was all I cared about. I crawled into that blackness and down a rough ramp and into the dirt and leaves. Officially it was already summer, but the cold night air felt great. Even if they found me gone. Even if searchlights came on and alarms went off and they all came running after me, it felt great to be crawling through that dirt. After a long while I was moving faster, finally on my hands and knees and, even though I had no idea where I was going, I planned to keep moving as long as I could.
I don’t remember when I stopped or why. I just know I awoke with the sun. My body didn’t feel as bad and I managed to get to my feet and start walking. I never saw the VW bus and I don’t think I was on the same road we had traveled. I didn’t know where I was or where I was going and I didn’t really care.
* * *
The young boy thought about it for a minute.
“Did all that really happen?”
“Just the way I told you.”
“Did you tell anyone what had happened?”
“I reached a town a few hours later and went straight to the police.”
“What did they do?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what they didn’t do. They didn’t run out to their patrol cars and race off to find those people. They thought I was crazy or high so they locked me up, for vagrancy they said. Thirty days and a jail haircut. Then they drove me to the county line and told me never to come back.”
“So you were kidnaped by aliens.”
“I never said they were aliens.”
“Then who kidnaped you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they want?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to the people who didn’t get away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever wished that you stayed there and found out what it was all about?”
“Every day.”
About the Author
Marc Colten was born in 1950 in Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York. His was influenced by the Cold War and the divisiveness of the Viet-Nam war. His literary influences were the novels of George Orwell and John LeCarre and the short stories of Saki and John Collier.
©2009 Marc Colten
