May 24, 2013
I figured that just this once I would make a journal entry as myself even though Sage Doyle is a pen name. Every word will be true, but I have to say, I’m not condoning drug use in anyway. This was back when I was young and stupid. Now I’m young and smart.
Ok, so my name is Sage Doyle and this is my journal.
SAGE DOYLE’S JOURNAL IN THE STYLE OF WALL GRIMM
Having Romani blood, AKA the blood of a Gypsy, I like to travel. One Summer, when I was 22, I traveled all over the country on a Greyhound bus. I bought a travel pass that I tried to use a year later but…yeah, you’ll see what happens.
The pass was supposed to be a 30 day pass. The way it was explained to me was that the days didn’t have to be consecutive. Every day I traveled would get marked off, but not the days between the bus rides. The expiration day was a year after the date of purchase.
(The same year I bought the ticket, Greyhound sent my backpack to Orange County, California, when I went to Las Vegas, Nevada. I traveled for two weeks with nothing but the clothes on my back and the money in my pocket. The backpack was eventually returned to me in Texas).
Anyway, I was 23 when I planned to travel the country again on the pass. I had a couple of months to travel according to the expiration date. I spent some time with friends and said goodbye. A couple of them saw me off at South Station in Boston. I took the bus, headed to St. Augustine, Florida where a friend of mine was living at the time.
On the way down, as I had something like an iPod and my eyes were closed, this old guy next to me curled up beside me and reached between my legs to grope me. I was like, “wtf?? Hey!”
I stood and moved next to this other guy who told me he was a punk turned hippy and he gave me a drum stick that he chewed up one day after doing too much acid. I still have the drum stick.
There was a change over for the buses at some point and I ended up with a new group of passengers. At a stopover in Virginia, I went to the diner with three guys who just got out of prison that day. I don’t know what crimes they committed but they were pretty cool guys.
Once I made it to St. Augustine where my pregnant friend was living, I decided I loved the town so much that I wanted to move there. I planned to travel then go back there, move into a corner in their hallway and pay them $50 per month. She had other roommates so it was the only space available. Someone else was already living in the closet. It took me over a year to return, and I did move in with her.
My friend is the sweetest person in the world, so I catered to her since she was pregnant and single, gave her foot massages because she was waitressing and had really tired feet by the end of the day. She worked in a Cajun restaurant, and this is when the story gets a little funny.
They had these two kittens, maybe a couple of months old, and they couldn’t keep the kittens and didn’t know what to do with them. I had this genius idea that I would take them with me to New Mexico, because last year when I was in Santa Fe, we rescued a kitten at the hostel and I brought it to this vet who took it in with no charge for care. So of course, I didn’t imagine that between St. Augustine and Santa Fe there would be any other shelter or vet.
These kittens were like my children though. I was trippin’ during much of my visit because a roommate paid me in acid to read his Tarot cards. I was in a special frame of mind. So I’d go to sleep at night on the couch and the kittens would be jumping all over my head. I was having visions that I was a lion and the kittens were my cubs. I’d get up in the morning and feed them jambalaya left over from the Cajun restaurant.
The day before I was set out to embark upon my trip, first stop New Orleans, I knew I had to create a carrier of some sort for these kittens. I spent the entire night awake, trippin’ on acid, designing the most elaborate kitten carrier in the world out of a huge cardboard box. The carrier had rooms. There was a bedroom, a kitchen, a toilet, a parlor, and a play room. There was a kitchen table, a bed, a litter box, a kitten sofa, and toys. There were toys hanging from the ceiling for them to play with. It had wall paper and carpets. I had a flashlight in there that I could turn on so it wouldn’t be dark all the time. I cut out windows. It took me hours to create this masterpiece and I was so happy for the kittens that they’d be traveling in such luxury.
The guy who gave me the acid drove me to the St. Augustine Greyhound at 5am, and I tried to get on the bus with the huge box in my arms, but the bus driver wouldn’t let the kittens on the bus. Well no shit Sage.
Anyway, I gave the box back to the roommate and I was really sad to say goodbye to my cubs, but you’ve got to move on in life when circumstances aren’t in your favor. So I took the bus to Jacksonville, to catch one on the way to New Orleans. In Jacksonville, they told me that my pass didn’t exist, they had no such pass, it was invalid. I was like, “I traveled down from Boston, I switched buses en route, made it to St. Augustine, and from St. Augustine to here, and now you tell me it’s invalid.” I don’t remember the argument but I decided to go outside, have a cigarette and think about what to do next. Some guy, who happened to be from New Orleans, bummed a smoke off of me and we started talking. He’d just been kicked off the bus. We decided to hitchhike together.
I told him that what I had was ours to share, and basically that was $200 and my backpack, many of the contents of which I ended up leaving on a sidewalk in New Orleans in order to lighten the load. I did that because we eventually left New Orleans to hitchhike all over the country.
We walked away from that Jacksonville Greyhound station, where we had both been stranded. We each took a hit of acid and hitched our first ride. And that journey across the States is another story all together.