nitrous oxide

Friday night, my friends convinced me to try nitrous oxide. Laughing gas. These things are not at all unusual at Senior House; kids pass out acid like chewing gum, they sip beer like Pepsi, and still somehow manage to be some of the most talented engineers, researchers, and mathematicians in the country. At least the ones who don't flunk out.

Normally, I wouldn't be interested in this kind of adventure, but we were all lounging around in Sarah's suite, enjoying some hookah and listening to Beck (not at all fitting to the atmosphere). Someone pulled a can of nitrous out, and everyone was so interested in doing it, that the idea of saying no seemed almost uncomfortable. I wouldn't say that peer pressure was involved, exactly, but there was certainly some peer influence. Back home at Wellesley, you can be assured my friends would tell me not to "kill my brain cells." I love my Wellesley friends, but sometimes their company can be boring if not stifling.

The gas seemed colder than expected when I inhaled it deeply and closed my eyes. Everything suddenly began to pulsate, the whirring whoosh of helicopter propellers throbbed in my ears. When my eyes opened, the world looked like a kaleidoscope, yet beating like cardiac cells. It was too much all of a sudden. I closed my eyes and pressed both palms against my moist face. "Amy, Amy..." I could hear them calling my name, and as though someone hit a fast-forward button in my mind, their calling sped up, faster and faster, the noises rang in my ears like high pitched screams. I groaned. Another deep breath of oxygen. And the reverberating receded, as quickly as it had begun. Back to earth, back to earth.

I looked around. My friends on couches, giggling, and the sweet scent of hookah everywhere. The world was crystal clear and crisp once again.