Tuesday Night

I'm driving. It's late. I'm tired.

Suddenly, about ten yards in front of me, and man hidden in shadows is slowly walking across the road. Before I get a chance to freak out and slam on the breaks I remember

I'm also pretty high.

I slow down gradually, and sure enough the silhouetted man slowly disappears.

I tighten my grip on the wheel and blink hard several times.

Once again, much closer this time than ten yards, the man appears again, walking in the center of my lane in the direction of traffic. At first I can only see bare feet connected to a old pair of slacks, but as I catch up shadows form up and around his legs and I'm staring right into the face of a semi-transparent black man dressed as though he's on his way to play the token Negro in a Mark Twain novel.

My knuckles grow white as I hold fast and insist that what I am seeing is not real and I am just stoned out of my mind. And once again, the closer the man gets the more transparent he becomes and he is gone. At the next stop sign I come to I take a few extra seconds. Never have I hallucinated so vividly in my life.

And I know that if I had been at all religious, I would have been certain what I saw was real, I had made eye contact with the spirit of an elderly black man. But I didn't, though. I am just very high.

But I can't help but wonder, what if it had been a real spirit? It's not that I would ultimately feel guilty for not believing in him.

I just wouldn't want him to think I didn't believe just because he was black.