Did the MDMA Work?

The pills were in capsules, I’d never seen them like that before. We took one each at home and began walking down towards the gay village. I was sipping on the beer he brought. They’d strictly said, “No alcohol.” But the night had already started many hours ago, and I was bored. Anyone who knows me knows I can’t stand being bored. 

This is the time to be in Montreal. The temperature sways between mid to late 20s. The trees have transformed from depressing browns to confident greens. Several streets closed off, reserved for pedestrians: graffiti, benches, random musicians, intentional performers. The bars and restaurants spill out as terraces on the streets. Their lights and cocktails tease us into evenings of possibilities and mischief. I look at the people at the tables, and wonder if they’re this cool and this happy all the time. Their delight is very convincing. 

We didn’t walk on Mont Royal for very long. I led us left towards Parc LaFontaine. “So many people out,” he said, just as I was noticing that it’s so quiet I could hear each conversation I was eavesdropping into. My head turned towards sharp English accents some metres to our diagonal back. When I’ve seen my ex, it’s always been my instinct to run away. But the more logical part of me slowed me down. I don’t mind being seen with this gorgeous specimen of a man. He had his arm on my shoulder and I slid my hand under his shirt, lightly stroking his back. 

“I’m not high, I don’t think,” I told him. 

“I hope not. It’s only been 20 - 25 minutes.” 

“I know. Well, maaaayyyybe I’m feeling it. But I’m just thinking, your skin feels so good right now, but then again it always feels good.”

“It will feel even better,” he said and he pulled me in closer to him. 

I obliged but didn’t really believe him. I’ve been working on my spiritual growth for the past nine months, and I like to think my body knows a good thing when she sees it. Still, I wanted the drug to surprise me, of course. 

We’re out of the park and he keeps looking at Googlemaps. I wondered if his sense of direction is so bad because he hadn’t lived here that long, or because he grew up looking at directions all the time. Or because our brains were wired in the way they are. 

“Elle va nous effectuer immédiatement,” he told me. It’s going to hit us suddenly. I felt a tingling of something but wasn't sure if it was the drug or placebo. I smiled at his use of "elle". MDMA is a girl. 

We passed by the backyard of an apartment building and chose to have a little sit. I made my seat on his lap and looked at the leaves shimmering on the tree branches as he planted soft kisses on my cheek, neck and shoulder. I imagined myself living in the buildings surrounding, coming out here on these benches with my morning coffee for the cool, crisp air. 

We continued our way and, as he predicted, it creeped up on us without warning. “I feel it now,” I told him, “I feel it in my thighs.” My legs were no longer part of the unit of me, but an extension. My feet could well have been hovering over the ground as I tried to find my place on them.

“I feel disoriented,” I told him,

“So do I,”

 He kept trying to navigate on his phone. I grabbed his hand and lead him down to St. Catherine. It comes in handy to know the city.

I wouldn’t say the place had as much security as an airport, but it was 66% as serious. After they scanned our tickets, we went through another line to show our bags. By now I was light-headed and mildly nauseous. I pulled myself together, “Just get through this.” 

I was right. Once inside, everything inside me settled. While there were only two rooms, I was high enough that it felt like an endless loopy maze. I was enjoying the music but wanted to have my pee before I got too comfortable. It had been asking to be let out since we were out on the street. He came with me and waited outside. 

Being in the bathroom brought back the earlier unpleasantness, and it was confirmed that I needed to keep moving, to stay close to the music in order to feel good. At least for now. 

I rushed through my business. He was waiting outside. It was such a good feeling to see him. A combination of immense joy, gratitude, excitement. He stood tall and boyish in his white t-shirt and neat hair. He is always very handsome. Was I more in love with him right now than I am at any other time? Not necessarily, but there’s always this extra relief to see a familiar face when you’re vulnerable in a place. The night was full of drugs and sinister music. 

What is it about techno that makes it good on stimulants? It’s fast, sure, but why did I feel alright in that (musical/emotional) darkness? 

I met his friends for the first time. She was there with her boyfriend. Her hair was a mixture of chocolate and fire. She looked like the 20-something-year-old version of someone I know. I kept thinking about this. She looked like one of those cool French girls who are unbothered by opinions or rules. The type of person to whom life comes easily. I don’t mean to say that she’s bitchy or judgemental, not at all. Teenage-me would have been intimidated by her but now I know she’s easy-going, low-key amused at all times. She looks like the friend in her group who gives the most sensible advice, who’s not consumed by her emotions. The epitome of chill. I could tell she was amused and surprised when I reached over to her for a tender hug when she lent me her scrunchie. I also now knew that scrunchies are back in style.

Her boyfriend had a blond moustache. While more upbeat than her, he matched her vibe of not taking anything too seriously. They were not sensitive/emotional little love-bugs like me and my boy here. 

I was very, very grateful that they didn’t try to small-talk to me. I could feel the electrons run up and down my body through steady streams, and my lips had turned into fuzzy clouds. This was not the night for making best first impressions. I felt comfortable without forming any words in my mouth. 

Stepping out to smoke means we had to adjust to new atmospheres. The new lighting was serious and shaming. As we walked past the vestiaire, I felt like I was a high teenager passing my parents’, trying to downplay my presence. Nothing going on here.

Walking down the stairs, I tried to keep my breath steady. We squeezed through some people who seemed very at home. It was more intimacy than I’d expect at a club. The smoking area looked and smelled like a packed backyard of a house party. Like everyone was friends with the hosts. Dark and warm. I thought I’d want to smoke but was content with moving my lips around and being held by my man. His kisses were slow and deep, and he couldn’t control the waterfall of compliments coming out of him. Was he having tunnel vision? I wasn’t. I was swimming in his admiration, while also having a giggle as his friend looked at us with an, “Awww” and a heartsign. I couldn't tell how much of it was sarcasm.

I did notice that I was sensitive to his very light touch, even through my skirt or my hair. But honestly, I don’t think our kisses changed in intensity. I was having so much fun, I was happy to be there with him. Was it the best I’d ever felt with him? Not necessarily. I’d say our most romantic moment was when we were sober in his car, watching rain fall into an ocean. 

I liked it. I like being his girl. It was a long time since I’d been out dancing with a partner. I love it. I love that I didn’t go into the night wondering if I’ll go home with anyone, meet anyone, like anyone, shoo away anyone. I could feel some eyes on me but all the gross men left me alone because I was there with my man. I continuously turned around to look at him, knowing what a sweetheart he was behind those sunglasses. Everyone secretly loves a juxtaposition.

Even though I was using mdma for the first (proper) time in over a decade, I wasn’t as high as him. He kept referring to the motions and intensity. For me, it was pretty smooth. A more of an everything’s-where-it-should-be-and-all-is-good kinda feeling. I think I did them wrong. I went into anthropology mode. I liked the music but I wasn’t as wildly energetic as I thought it would be. I’m usually the jumpiest girl in the room. When I was drunk at the work Christmas party, I skipped around the room like a child. I observed the lights around the deejay, going diagonal, then horizontal like a jail cell. It was meditative to follow them, but I wasn’t in awe. In fact, they looked pretty stupid. Instead of this manic, “IM SO happy!” it was more of a, “Yes, indeed I am so happy. But I am happy all the time. It’s my default state.”

What was up? Is this an incorrectly marketed drug? When I did it ten years ago, it had kicked me in the emotions much harder At some point, it occurred to me that it might be because:

a/ I’ve spent the past two years practising being zen, and now it’s part of who I am. I’ve never been truly the type who needs drugs to be insightful, or thinky/think about the universe and how it works. It’s my default setting. 

b/ I use Wellbutrin and Biphentin on a daily basis. In fact, I’m on the latter right now. So I suppose, when my body’s on low-grade meth consistently, a cute little mdma is just that. 

c/ I run on the mountain whenever the weather allows me. Am I simply accustomed to these hormones? Is it annoying to compare a runner’s high to mdma? Do people like that exist?

I looked over at him and he seemed to be chill, too. He kept asking me, “Ca va?”, and then apologized that he kept asking me. I assured him it was okay and that in fact I appreciate it. 

I like this boy so much. All the things I like about him accumulated into one. 

I like that he’s excited, I like that he wants to go and show me all the places, I like that he’s always smiling, and even when he’s upset, he’s still content and peaceful. I like his eyes, his hands, his hygiene, the length of his arms. I had a sudden urge to tell him, what I like the most about him. That he brought a $5 bill just so I could check my jacket, that he noticed I was running my fingers through my hair and asked me if I wanted to tie (“attache,” en francais) them. I pulled him close to me and said into his ear, “You’re such a good person.” 

He smiled and hugged me and said in his cute French accent, “I am trying to be,” and told me I am too. 

Our deejay's set was over and we were ready to go home. I was shocked to get a glimpse of daylight as we headed down the stairs. We are in the summer when the nights are short. We’d also just done a drug that shrinks time. It was a sticky, cold feeling being outside. “J’ai froid,” I told him as we headed towards my house. I was surprised he didn’t mention an Uber. 

“Tu veux mon pull?” he offered his jacket. I know he gets cold easily. When we're out, he'll choose to hang in the sun while I prefer the shade. He doesn't even wear shorts, and always a t-shirt, while I'm out in spaghetti straps and cool cotton dresses. 

“No,” I declined, “Mais je peut prends ton bra,” as I lifted his arm and wrapped it around me. 

The birds were ready to start the day. We saw some giggling people running while crossing the street, guessing they’re from our part of town. He moaned when he saw the road going uphill. “Yep,” I said, “And it always does. Because we are going to a plateau.” I remembered my days of biking to and back from work, and how, like taxes and death, there was no way to avoid this climb. 

Our limbs locked themselves into each others’, and I settled into the deepest sleep I’ve had in four years.

So, I guess this started out as a note on a certain drug and what it’s like, and you ended up reading about how I’m crushing on this boy.