Phrenectomy

Hey there, it’s me, Bill. Today I was bored and my last story went over so well I figured I’d share another wacky anecdote from my brief yet already fulfilling time on this earth. This is the story of how I shared a bong with a couple of friends, and someone whom I can only presume to be god.
It was a Saturday night in Bushwick, about 2:30 AM. My friend, who we’ll call Jerk 1, their friend, who we’ll call Jerk 2, and I were standing around, smoking, up to no good, the usual. We had cut Jerk 2 off from smoking weed, they were already intoxicated and I was not having any of their obnoxious film student bullshit. We’re sitting on the ledge in front of our building when a man approaches on a bike. I could feel him before he was even in my line of sight, there was a sort of warmth that I’d never experienced emanating from a human before. It was comforting, almost like I knew this dude in another life or something. He bikes up and asks us if he could have a hit. Despite not knowing him, I eagerly passed the giant indiscreet purple glass bong. I did this because I sensed something different about him, but I was probably just really stoned. The bowl was dead, so we loaded this guy a nice fresh full bowl, and let him rip. He takes a massive first hit. Like, enormous. At that point in my life, it would’ve had me on the ground, annihilated by the lethal dose of THC. The sheer volume of the smoke alone would’ve done me in right quick. And he takes the damn hit like it’s oxygen. Up until this moment, I haven’t said anything. I was still feeling this feeling, like a light was shining inside my brain or something. As soon as I see this guy take this massive fucking bong rip, my jaw drops and I go “Woah there big guy…”. At this point, he’s still inhaling and I’m wondering to myself, “Is this man ever going to recover from this monumental hit?” Then finally he exhales. He chokes it out like a goddamn champ. Coughing, obviously, but who wouldn’t from a hit that big? “You good, man?” I inquire. He’s still coughing but gives me a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. So I ask his name. “Oneg.” he says. Oneg?? Fucking Oneg?? What the hell man, that’s the coolest name I’ve ever heard in my life. I just go “Oneg…” in response, because I am honestly just stunned on the spot. And you gotta see this guy, he’s got a little mustache and a friendly face and tight little biker shorts, he was so cute. So I ask him, “Oneg, do you live here?” He nods, and I am shocked despite the fact that Jerk 1 and I have only lived here for about 2 weeks and have definitely not met all our neighbors yet. He asks where I’m from, and I tell him I just moved from CT. He’s like “Oh yeah, New Haven, clam pizza haha” and I’m utterly appalled. “NO.” I assert. “No?” he echos. “No. Absolutely the fuck not”. He nods in what I think is agreement. It was silent for about 45 seconds, and I was just taking in this odd atmosphere. I was genuinely sure I was talking to God. I hit the bong, cough a few times, whatever. I’m good. Theres more silence. “Oneg? I like your vibes, man,” I say in a very affirming manner. He says he likes mine, so I ask him, “What vibes do I give off?”, Jerk 1 and Jerk 2 are just watching this happen, probably laughing. Oneg finally speaks after a moment of consideration. “You give off very chill vibes”. Alright, that checks out. He seemed saint-like, almost holy and sacred. Maybe I was just stoned outta my shell, but I felt like I was physically within proximity to something powerful. We start to pack up the bong and say our goodnights. “Let’s go in”, he says, as in all of us. I had forgotten he lived in our building, and I must’ve looked shocked. “Is that okay?” he asks. “Oh. Right, you live here too.” I remember aloud. We parted ways, and once up the stairs I go “Huh. Cool guy, right?” Jerk 1 and Jerk 2 are in awe of whatever the hell just happened, and after processing the situation, ask me “What the fuck was that?!”. ”I think… I think I just met god?” I said, and of course, they think it’s fucking hilarious. Little did I know that in the months to come, I would have many more borderline religious experiences. New York City was always crawling with folks who insisted God had a message for me. And it was never a bad message, they were always good ones. Really good ones. I don’t believe in god but I think the universe was looking out for me during those times because it knew I sure as hell wasn’t. I may have only lived in Brooklyn for a short stint but it aged me quite a bit and not so gracefully. The rate at which I grew and learned important life lessons was rapid, to put it mildly, and it took years to process all the trauma I had been through in only 6 months. However, to say I regret it would be half a lie. Half the truth too, I really could have done without the strife, but what I learned in that shitty little sinking trash heap of a city is knowledge I am extremely grateful to have now.
Have you ever found god in a stranger? Seen Jesus in a potato chip? Be sure to let me know, I’m always interested in those types of experiences. Have a beautiful day, and be good to each other.