Chapter Text
August 6th, 1968
Sweat began to bead on Claude's forehead as he waited for his telephone to ring. Today, at seven o'clock in the evening, his parents would call him from Oklahoma for his monthly check-in. It was an hour earlier for them. Pa had probably just finished sending his farmhands home after a long day's worth of corn-shucking, and Ma had probably just finished storing their beef brisket leftovers in the fridge. That was her favorite meal to make on Tuesdays.
Claude moved to New York City at the behest of his mother, who thought it'd be best for him to further his education in a big, upstate city rather than a small, southwest town. He really should have begun his applications before he left home, but his parents were so eager to get him out that he hardly had a month to prepare after graduation. It's not that they didn't enjoy having him home- Ma kept telling him how terribly she'd miss him come autumn- they were just excited to see him moving up in the world. Additionally, they didn't want to see him go off to war at such a young age, and they figured a college education was the most honorable form of draft-evasion. But Claude still carried around his registration card in his wallet at all times. Because the truth was that he wasn't a college student, and he didn't plan to become one.
Of course, when he arrived to the city, he started applying to every school in sight; Columbia, Cornell, Barnard, Berkeley, even state schools. Problem was... he didn't get accepted into a single one. It wasn't that he was dumb, or that his high school grades weren't good enough to be considered. But even he could tell that his applications showed a distinct lack of motivation. It was the work of a young man simply going through the motions. And on top of that, he missed several deadlines. Higher education was just never something he'd been interested in. He would've told his parents this before they sent him halfway across the country, but he knew exactly what they'd ask: "Well then, what plans do you have for your future?"
And, in all honesty... Claude didn't know the answer to that question.
The only reason he went along with this whole plan was because he thought that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery would be all he needed to get motivated, to find his passion. That dream faded pretty quickly when Claude realized he had no desire to wander around New York looking like a lost puppy. His parents set him up nicely with some cash for a tiny apartment a few blocks away from Central Park, and that's exactly where he'd stayed ever since he got off the train. Sure, he left the house occasionally, but only when it was absolutely necessary. His reclusive tendencies had only increased since he'd gotten to the city, which, he assumes, is not exactly what his parents had planned for him. What would he say when they called?
As if on cue, the phone began to ring. Claude took a few deep breaths before answering: "Hello?"
His mother answered. "Claude! Oh, sweetheart, your Pa and I've been thinking about you all day! How are you?"
"I'm doing just fine, Ma," said Claude trepidatiously. He knew what was coming.
His father chimed in. "So, we've been dying to know... which college are you going to? Is it Columbia?" And there it was.
"Well..." Claude paused. He still didn't know what he was going to tell them. He was running on pure instinct at this point, and his instinct was that of a child that desperately wanted to make his parents proud. "...yeah, Pa. I got in. To, uh, to Columbia, that is."
His parents cheered so loudly that he had to pull the phone back from his ear.
"Way to go, sweetie!"
"We knew you could do it!"
"What are you studying? Oh, you're just like your grandfather, Claude! He went to one of those upstate schools, too. He was so smart..."
"You know, we named you after him!"
"You'll be just like him, won't you? Oh, I'm so proud of you, baby!"
"Our Claude, a genius! A genius!"
Claude hung up the phone abruptly. Why did he say that? Why did he say that?! He stared helplessly at his hands. He'd told his parents little lies before- "yes, Pa, I milked all the cows... yes, Ma, I ate lunch today... no, I didn't talk to that shirtless biker on the way home from school..." - but he'd never done something of this proportion. This was about his life, his future.
The phone rang again. Claude picked it up immediately.
"Sorry about that, there's a- uh, a storm, yeah, it's nasty here. Must've caught a bad connection for a second there." Dear God, Claude thought, why can't I stop telling stories?! His parents accepted the excuse graciously and continued to rave about his intelligence and courage. Claude felt awful. How could he have done this to his Ma and Pa, who only ever wanted the best for him, who only ever did right by him?
And more importantly, how long could he keep this lie up?
Claude spent the next month the same way he spent his first: secluded in his tiny apartment. He didn't feel any better about fibbing to his family, and he found that the longer he kept it up, the more expansive the web of lies became.
His parents initially questioned him about funding, as they were willing to send him all the money he needed, bless their hearts. Claude, of course, refused to take advantage of his parents' kindness, and instead told them he'd received a full-ride scholarship. This sent them on another tangent about how amazing he was, but Claude couldn't help but let the compliments slide right off his back. None of it was true, anyway. He couldn't even get accepted to a state school, much less get his tuition waived at a high-end one.
When they asked about his major, he told them he'd gone into education with the intent of becoming a schoolteacher. He figured that was an easy lie to maintain, 'cause it wasn't focused on much other than general education, which he'd already studied. His chosen career choice was surprisingly met with silence, followed by a muttering of "you know, the only teachers I know are ladies..." Crap. Claude forgot, anything to do with children was considered a woman's' work back in Oklahoma. Once again chasing that stamp of approval, Claude told them that what he actually meant was that he wanted to become a professor at Columbia- because he loved the school that much, naturally! This seemed to rectify the issue, and his parents went right back to giving him their undying support.
Claude began to resent the lies he told his parents, while at the same time growing far too used to them. He'd come up with stories to tell them about classes and such to make the fantasy seem more real. The only way he could justify his wrongdoings was to remind himself that it made his parents happy, so it couldn't really be that bad. Never mind the fact that if they found out the truth they'd never speak to him again.
Spending all that time with himself got boring, fast. He had no TV; they were far too expensive. He found himself occupying his time by reading books. Lots of books. Science, philosophy, fiction... it was as close to college as he'd ever get. One day, while at the bookstore, an unusual cover caught his eye. The book was titled "Turn on, Tune in, Drop Out," written by a man named Timothy Leary. The back cover promised the book was "Provocative, Empowering," and "Psychedelic!" It seemed like an interesting read, and at the very least something that would inject some excitement into his mundane life. The man behind the counter at the store had shoulder-length hair, wore beads, and had on frameless John-Lennon-esque glasses. He was definitely what people back in his hometown would call a hippy. Claude had always been interested in those types of people; they seemed so free and happy. They represented everything Claude would never have.
The hippy man greeted Claude warmly as he rang him up. When he saw what book Claude was buying, he smiled brightly. "Right on, man," was all he had to say.
And, somehow, it was the best bit of human interaction Claude had had in the past two months.
After reading most of Timothy Leary's works, Claude could say that he was sufficiently radicalized. He wanted nothing more than to tell his parents all about his findings and new way of thinking, but his desire to win their affection ended up winning that battle. So, Claude continued to let his parents believe he was living as they wanted him to live, and Claude, well, he was going to start living the way he wanted to live.
After reading "The Psychedelic Experience" for the third time, he decided that what he needed was a nice walk in the park. He felt cramped up from being in his apartment for so long, and it's not like he lived far from the park anyway. He felt inspired. He wanted to breathe the fresh Autumn air. He wanted to go out and live.
Turns out, living was not as easy as it seemed to be.
Even though he'd lived in the city for over two months, he still felt completely lost when wandering around it. He'd never had a good sense of direction. He ended up buying a map of the city at some newspaper stall; he probably looked like some kind of clueless tourist. He supposed he still was, really. He hadn't exactly spent time immersing himself in his surroundings recently. At least, not enough to look like he knew what the hell he was doing.
Evidently, he was not the only one to pick up on this. After his third lap around the perimeter of the park, he heard someone call out to him.
"Hey, man, you need some help?"
Claude turned around to find the source of the voice. "Excuse me?"
"Over here, man." Claude let his eyes trail over to the speaker, and. Oh wow. That was... that had to be the most... intriguing man he'd ever seen. He was a hippy to be sure, right down to his dirty Converse sneakers. He wore flared jeans that were just as filthy, as was his blue, cut-off, button-up shirt. On top of all that was a decorated vest. But the star of the show was undoubtably the hair on his head, which was like a fluffy, brunette cloud that perfectly framed the man's face.
He didn't realize how close this man had gotten to him until he could smell him. He'd often heard that hippies were unwashed freaks that shouldn't be within a 12-mile radius of any civilized society. But upon being close to one, Claude found he really didn't mind it. He didn't smell bad, he smelled real. Human. It was a nice break from the nearly clinical perfumes and colognes of the rest of the city.
It was when the man poked his shoulder that he realized that he'd been staring and hadn't said anything for the past minute. "Oh, um... sorry, what?"
The man laughed. His blue eyes crinkled charmingly when he smiled, and upon further inspection, Claude noticed how alarmingly huge his eyebrows were. "I asked if you need some help. You seem a little lost," he said, not unkindly.
Claude startled out of his trance. "Oh, no. I'm- I'm fine, thank you. I actually live in town, I just," Claude took a breath. "Well, I don't get out much."
The man laughed again, "You don't say?"
Claude felt his face begin to flush pink. "Well, you see, I- I don't come from around here. I moved here a while back- early July- from Oklahoma. Stillwater, Oklahoma. My name's Claude. Bukowski." Claude didn't know what was compelling him to say so much, but he guessed it had something to do with the enigmatic man in front of him.
Said man smiled even wider, if that was even possible. "Well, Claude Bukowski, it's a pleasure to meet you." He held out a large hand. "My name's George Berger, but I'd like it if you just called me Berger."
Claude reached his hand out cautiously, and upon taking it, Berger shook it wildly. Claude almost had a hard time keeping his balance.
"I was just going around and seeing if I could find any loose change in the park. Wanna join me?" Berger asked. Claude really had no reason to follow this man he had just met, and he knew very well that he could easily be taken advantage of. The guy was clearly in need of money, and Claude wasn't interested in being mugged. And yet...
Claude nodded his head slowly. "Sure."
Claude found Berger annoyingly easy to spill his guts to. Within 15 minutes, he'd basically told him everything that had happened in his life in the past three months. He soon learned that they both really had quite a bit in common. Berger was only a half-year older than Claude, and he liked reading philosophy books. They'd both rejected the lifestyle that society demanded of a young man their age, though Berger seemed far more comfortable with this than Claude was. Unlike Claude, he never graduated high school, and he was willingly homeless.
"Don't you get lonely out on the streets?" Claude asked.
"No way! I've got more friends out here than I have fingers and toes," Berger assured him. He grinned proudly. "I'm actually sorta the leader of a little group here in the city. A tribe of sorts."
"Oh," Claude said eloquently. He never imagined one could be less lonely when living without proper shelter, though he supposed he wasn't exactly the shining example of a socially-equipped home-dweller.
Berger's eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey, I got an idea! Why don't you come meet 'em?"
"Meet who?"
Berger laughed again. Claude was beginning to become addicted to the sound. "My tribe! Woof, Hud, Jeannie, Crissy... they'd all love you!" He slung an arm around Claude's shoulders. "Man, this is gonna be the best! Come on!"
I should absolutely not be doing this, Claude thought as he was dragged along by Berger. Unfortunately for Claude, he found it ridiculously hard to deny this man anything. Especially when the arm around his shoulders made his face feel like it was going to overheat to a dangerous extent.
After walking for about ten more (agonizingly slow, thanks to Claude's flustered state) minutes, they arrived to what was evidently the tribe's current hangout spot, which was, fittingly, under a bridge. Claude was greeted with a smell he had never encountered before, which he assumed was some type of drug. There were young people of all colors, shapes, and sizes curled around each other in various positions in every corner of the overhang. Berger led them to a small group near a fire. The group consisted of a short, curly haired, seemingly zoned-out woman, a similarly dozy-eyed woman with straight, red hair, a tall, lanky black man with an impressive afro, and a wild-looking, blonde-haired white man. They were all so different from anyone he'd ever seen; Claude didn't know where to look.
Despite their proximity to the group, Berger hollered loudly to his friends: "HEY GUYS! CHECK IT OUT!" They all whipped their heads around, looking delighted beyond belief to see their leader.
The blonde one stood up first. "Berger!!" he yelled, clumsily tripping over himself to get to his friend. Berger released Claude to allow the strange man to crash into him. The blonde jumped up at the last second so he could wrap his arms and legs around him. The two boys quickly fell to the ground and laughed boisterously.
"Woof, you crazy asshole! Only Sheila can do that without bowling me over!" Berger said joyously. Despite his complaints, he hugged the boy (Woof?) back with just as much gusto.
"What about me, Banana-Berger?" The ginger sauntered up in front of the two with her arms crossed and her thin lips pursed. Berger pushed Woof off and stood up, giving the girl a hug.
"Aw, Crissy, you can jump on me any time you like," Berger said, and Crissy giggled gleefully, burying herself in his chest. The black man and the curly-haired woman approached, their arms around each other.
"Welcome back, Karma-Berger," said the curly-haired girl lazily. "Where've you been all week anyway?"
"Hiya, Jeannie," Berger walked up and gave her a tender kiss on the cheek. "Wassup, Hud?" he nodded at the black man and performed some sort of handshake. He lowered his face to Jeannie's stomach. "Hey little Georgie or Georgina!" He said quietly, and Jeannie gave him a gentle smack to the head.
"You gonna answer my question or what?" She demanded, chewing her gum loudly.
Berger raised himself back up to full height and languidly put his hands behind his head. "Oh, ya know, this and that, here and there. Found us some bread." He reached into his jean pockets and shook them, creating a tinny sound that indicated they held at least a few hundred quarters and dimes. He seemed to remember something, "Oh! And I found us a new friend!"
Claude, who at that moment was feeling a bit like the sole audience member of a play he didn't quite understand, lifted his head. Berger ran over to him and lifted his hand up. "Everybody, meet Claude Bukowski!" Now, Claude felt uncomfortably as if the roles had been reversed, and he had an audience he was not prepared to perform for.
"Uh, hi," he said, ducking his head sheepishly. Berger smiled fondly and let his hand drop back down. Claude felt someone breathing down his neck and turned around rapidly. It was the blonde boy, Woof.
"You're not the feds, are you?" Woof asked suspiciously, squinting his eyes. Claude gaped, unsure how to respond to such an accusation. Berger stepped between the two.
"Hey, cool it man. Does he look like the feds to you? He's our age, for Christ's Sake!" Berger said.
Woof scoffed and tossed his long hair. "Well, he is dressed like he's from a shitty detective movie," he said. Claude blushed, looking down at his slightly too-big beige overcoat and gray tie. He wasn't the best at shopping for himself.
Berger frowned. "Don't be such a dick, Woof. This guy doesn't have any friends, and I like him, so you better be nice, alright?"
Claude didn't know whether to be embarrassed that Berger basically just outed him as socially-inept or flattered that he found him interesting. Nobody around him seemed to mind the statement, which actually made sense. Claude could imagine many of these people had been friendless at least once in their lives.
Woof backed down, putting a hand on Claude's shoulder. "Sorry, man, I just get a little nervous around new people. I protect my own, ya know?" He said, and Claude nodded understandingly. He didn't hold it against him. Woof grinned then, ironically, like a cat. "Lucky for you, I adapt quickly. Welcome to the tribe!"
Claude hesitated. Did this man think he was somehow becoming a member of their clan? He didn't want to be homeless. He just wanted some friends.
Hud walked up and put a hand on his shoulder, where Woof's had just been. These people were all rather hands-on, Claude noticed. "Don't worry about him, man. Woof just gets excited easily, is all," he grinned. "He ain't trying to indoctrinate ya or anything." Woof stuck his tongue out at Hud petulantly.
"Yeah, it's just his way of saying, 'you're our friend now!'" Said Crissy. She smiled and stroked a lean hand down Claude's cheek.
Ignoring the blush he could feel rising from all the touching, Claude carefully detached himself from the hands and walked over to Jeannie, who seemed to be in even more of a trance than when he first saw her. "Hello. Jeannie, right?" he greeted. She seemed kind of out of it, and judging by the interaction she had with Berger, she was clearly with child. Claude just wanted to make sure she was okay.
She stared at him with her mouth slightly open. "Uh-huh..." she said dreamily. She bit her bottom lip and began to twist her hair.
"Wuh-oh. I know that look," Woof teased. Jeannie hit him on the arm and smiled shyly. Claude, in fact, did not know that look. Was this woman okay? Did she need to lie down?
He looked over to Berger for reassurance, who simply chuckled and put his arm around Claude again. At this point, Claude was tired of his face getting so hot at such simple actions. Even though he had technically known Berger longer than he'd known any of these people, he still somehow felt the most nervous around him. Maybe it was because he was their leader. He'd always been anxious around authority figures.
The group settled into a relaxed conversation. They each shared a bit of their own history and current lives with Claude, and Claude shared his story in turn (though he included a few less details than he had with Berger). They were shocked to find out that Claude was a Timothy Leary fan, and this sparked up a rather long conversation about the tribe's shared philosophy. Against the better judgement of anyone he had ever known in Oklahoma, Claude found himself agreeing with most of the things that were said.
As the night grew colder, the members of the tribe huddled closer to each other. Berger still had an arm around Claude, and Jeannie was cuddled into his other side (which she seemed way too happy about). A blanket had been draped over them at some point, though Claude didn't know when. He was feely awfully drowsy.
"It's getting pretty late. I should probably head home," said Claude. Jeannie frowned.
"Aww, don'tcha wanna stay with us tonight Claudey?" She whined, curling up closer to him. Claude shivered, and it wasn't because of the chill in the air.
He stood up, removing himself from her grasp. "No, no- I should really get going. Like Berger said, I'm not very good with directions. If it gets any darker, I might not make it home tonight."
Berger stood up as well. "Don't you worry about that, Claudio- I'll get ya home safe and sound!" He said and grinned.
Claude turned his gaze away from that brilliant smile. "Oh, no, that's okay. Thank you, but I- I don't need-"
"Nah, man, lemme take you home. Wouldn't want some creep walking up to you in the park, all alone..." Berger said, and then he winked. He fucking winked.
What was it about this man that made it so hard for Claude to think straight?
"Ok then. Lead the way, Banana-Berger." Claude said, and Berger's smile got so wide, he thought his face might split in half.
"What street do you live on?"
Claude tried uselessly to remember what turns they'd taken on the way to his house, but eventually he just gave up. It was too dark to see anything not lit up by a streetlight, anyway. Besides, even though he'd met him less than eight hours ago, Claude already trusted Berger more than he should've. The man seemed to have some sort of magic running through his veins that entranced everyone around him. No wonder he was the leader of his clan. Claude would follow him anywhere.
Berger hardly stopped touching Claude the whole way home. Amazingly, it didn't feel intrusive. He kept his arm around him, grabbed his chest when he found something Claude said funny, ruffled his hair... Being surrounded by Berger, his touch, his scent, his hair... Claude felt like he was on another planet.
"This is you, right?" Claude snapped out of his trance long enough to recognize that they were at the bottom of the steps leading to his apartment. He almost invited Berger inside, but he quickly corrected himself. Berger would probably want to get back to his tribe, and even though it was addictive, Claude feared he might overdose if he got any more physical contact tonight.
"Yeah, this is me," Claude said. "Thanks for, uh, walking me home." He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly. He felt a bit ridiculous at needing the buddy system at his age, but he was genuinely grateful. He'd seen a few dangerous characters loitering near his neighborhood that he wouldn't want to come across alone.
Berger smiled. "No problem at all."
Claude shuffled his feet. "So, um... I'd like to see you again, if possible. Th-The tribe! That is. Um. All of you." Before he could embarrass himself further, Berger chuckled and spoke up.
"Yeah, man. Of course. We'll be around."
"Where can I find you guys?"
"Oh, don't worry. We'll find you."
That really should have sounded creepy, but it just made Claude feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe the secondhand smoke was getting to him.
Claude still had one lingering question that he wanted to ask before his new friend left. The tribe had kept mentioning the name of someone he had yet to meet, and Berger seemed awfully fond of this person. Well, if the way his face lit up every time he talked about her was any such indication. Claude wasn't jealous, no! He'd just met the guy, and besides, he wasn't a homosexual. He just figured, well, if Berger liked this woman so much, she had to be something special.
"Berger?"
"Yeah, Claudio?"
"Who's Sheila?"