Party of One: A Memoir in 21 Songs - Dave Holmes Page 0,49

bag out from the back of his T-shirt drawer. The pills were massive, like something you’d give horses. Each was the exact size and color of an orange Chewy SweeTart. We broke them up with our keys and gobbled up the pieces.

A few minutes later, Andrew’s phone rang. It was his girlfriend, who lived off-campus. Andrew said, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. See you.” He hung up, looked at me, and said, “She wants me to come over. Make yourself at home here if you want. Have a good night.”

And then he left.

And as The Edge’s majestic guitar introduced “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses,” my situation became clear to me. I was alone in a room that was not my own, in a hall where I did not live, waiting for a drug I had never taken—and could not tell anyone I had taken, for fear of getting a reputation—to kick in. Would it happen in a minute? An hour? Five hours? Andrew wouldn’t have had the answers even if he hadn’t left, which he had. I was in the single-rider line for what could either be a brief, gentle whirl in the teacups or a Space Mountain that would never stop for the rest of my life.

The thing about E is that it kicks in all at once. Your entire body begins to tingle, but not in a pleasant, love-struck way. It’s more like your foot is asleep, but everywhere. Your heart rate leaps like you’ve gotten a massive electrical shock. It is an instant panic attack, particularly if you are doing it in total isolation and “Mysterious Ways” is thumping out of a boom box in a strange and empty room. I would have put a finger on my wrist to take my pulse, but I could actually see my veins and arteries pump pump pumping through my skin. Much too fast. Deep breaths, Dave. I grabbed Andrew’s phone and cradled it in my arms like a fragile newborn baby. I told myself I’d call 911 if it got even 1 percent scarier. Oh, but then an ambulance would come and people would talk. No good.

I was going to have to get myself out of this situation. I was going to need a plan. I got up and started pacing, telephone in my sweaty hands.

Boxy, affordable sportcoats from places like the Gap and Structure were popular that year, and I wore them often. I enjoyed the slight Thurston Howell air they lent me, plus there were pockets the perfect size for cigarettes and a Walkman. I fished around for a Camel Light to calm me down. But instead, in my breast pocket, there was something smaller and harder than a pack of cigarettes.

Something perfect.

In the left breast pocket of my black watch plaid sportcoat was a cassette copy of the self-titled debut album by Wilson Phillips.

I pulled it out of its case, and stuck it into Andrew’s stereo with shaking, addled hands. I rewound it to the beginning, hit play, and walked over to Andrew’s full-length mirror to take a good look at myself.

And then track one kicked in.

You will recall that track one is leadoff single “Hold On.”

“I know there’s pain,” Chynna Phillips told me. You do know it, sister. It hit me in this moment that I had a clear choice between joy and fear, between anxiety and actual literal ecstasy, that if I was choosing to freak out, I could just as easily choose not to. Why do I lock myself up in these chains? Is it really fair to feel this way inside?

I spoke out loud to my reflection: “You hold on, Dave Holmes. Things will change. Things will go your way.”

The clouds parted, and a feeling like a combination of strong coffee, an orgasm, and the first warm day of spring trickled into my body. My blood was carbonated. This was great. And as Wilson Phillips predicted, something did make me want to turn around and say goodbye. Goodbye to the isolation, to the fear, to anything that held me back. I threw open the door to Andrew’s room, just as people began their Keystone Light–fueled pre-gaming for a Saturday night. I went room to room, delivering tight hugs and kind words, because even if I wasn’t real familiar with the kids on this hall, I knew they were the finest people I would ever meet. We had a connection. Every song on everyone’s stereo was the best song I had ever heard, until