I honestly jumped at the opportunity to take a trip to the mountains. I found out via the school’s website that Charles Tibbet was an assistant track coach at my alma mater. I hadn’t been to the school in a while, and my girlfriend refused to make the trip with me.
“Every time we go to the mountains you drink too much or you smoke weed and lie to me about it.” She complained.
This is an unfair thing for her to say. In the 5 years preceding my trip to meet Mr. Tibbet, my girlfriend and I had only traveled to the mountains a couple of times, once was to visit Wes. I did get very drunk that night, but she was only upset because I had promised to do the drive back. The other time, I met up with some old writing buddies and yes, we did get sort of high, but as much as she complains about my smoking, my girlfriend definitely gets a kick out of my sense of humor when I’ve been smoking weed.
“So you’re not coming?” I asked her. I had wanted to make a family trip out of it.
“No,” she said. “Just go enjoy the weekend. Get all of that drug use out of your system.”
I called an old friend who was happy to have me crash on his couch for the weekend. We graduated at the same time and at the time of my visit he had a small business renting out camping equipment. He lived alone and grew illegal marijuana plants in his backyard. For his sake, I’ll call him Joe. He was a staunch advocate for the legalization of medical marijuana in the state of NC and when I arrived at his house and parked behind his old CRV, I counted the number of legalize stickers he had. It was close to twenty.
I got there late on a Friday and I had called and spoken with Charles Tibbet the day before I left. We would meet for a late lunch on Saturday and Joe was happy to hear it.
“Tonight, we act like undergrads.” He said triumphantly as he fished out his bong from a closet. There was crappy beer on the table in his living room. “Grab that and meet me outside by the bonfire.
Joe loved the outdoors and the view from his backyard was like a post card. The mountain scene was pristine and we both sat with beers as the fire raged between us looking out at all of the nature.
“How’s life in the legal game?” He asked as he finished packing the bong and moved to open the shish kabobs that he planned to cook over the fire.
“It pays.” I said simply, sipping the beer that was gross but took me back to my early twenties when the whole world was laid out in front of me.
“Why exactly are you here again? Is it job related?”
“No,” I said. “You know I used to write in college?”
“Yeah, I remember that. You were good.”
“I still am,” I said laughing. “I do this thing with some friends, writing stuff, and I’m looking into this underground newsletter that’s been circulating around my town for a while. It’s been around for at least a decade but no one knows who puts it together. I’m just following leads, trying to see if I can find out.”
Joe took a hit of the bong and passed it to me. Then set the kabobs to cook near the fire. He nodded, legitimately impressed. “That sounds pretty cool,” he said. “What kind of newsletter?”
I explained and we talked and drank and smoked until late in the night. I don’t remember going to bed, but I woke up with a shitty feeling in my stomach. I don’t understand why anyone drinks copious amounts of shitty beer. It only makes for disgusting beer shits the next morning and I spent 10am to 11:30 am grunting on Joe’s toilet. He laughed at me and called me a light weight.
“We’re doing it again tonight!” He said excitedly and then I remembered that shitty beer goes great with good friends and good conversation.
I drove into downtown Asheville shortly afterwards where I was supposed to meet Charles at a bakery that he said had the best lunch menu in the city. He was already there when I arrived and I recognized him from the picture on the school’s website.
“Nice to meet you.” Charles said as I sat. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered you the omelette. I think you’ll be happy with it.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
We introduced ourselves and exchanged niceties before Charles asked, “So someone did read that thing I wrote after all?”
“I’m not the only one. A lot of people come across that newsletter in Ladoga, I’ve discovered as much, but the issues just disappear.”
“Well, I definitely knew about it and after I graduated from high school and had to face all of that disappointment, I was itching for an outlet. Some way to let people know what was happening at that place. And then the new story happened and I just wrote it and sent it to that VIV email.”
“Did you ever talk to anyone that made it? That issue you wrote for, someone was printing it at Kid Zone. Was that you?”
Charles laughed. “God no, it wasn’t me. I haven’t set foot in that place in years. That’s rich though, that they printed it there. I corresponded with VIV via email at the time and the person who answered the email was very enthusiastic about my story and about sharing it with as many people as possible. I never met anyone, never got a name, but whoever VIV is, they really care a lot about Ladoga and keeping the people honest.”
“Do you have any idea who it could be?” I asked.
“I think I could help you find out.” Charles said. “Corresponding with VIV made me feel like I knew them, you know? I never thought to ask for a real name. But every now and then, I hear about athletes from Ladoga who make it out and are happy and I’ll email VIV. They always respond. I emailed them earlier this year actually, there’s a girl from Ladoga on our tennis team and she said she went through Kid Zone for a little while before she decided to just have her father train her. VIV sent me a short reply. Just good to hear that not everyone sinks and that it was good to hear from me.”
I got excited. I found someone who received responses from VIV. I was getting closer.
“Can you email her again for me?” I asked, practically on the edge of my seat. “Don’t mention me. But if you can get them to meet you face to face, get a name even, I would be forever grateful.”
Charles smiled and wiped his mouth. “I understand what you’re doing, and you seem like a nice guy, but why is this so important to you? If you respect what VIV does and they want their anonymity, why would you defy those wishes to expose them?”
“I’m not out to expose anyone.” I explained. “This is personal. I want to meet VIV. And I think that whoever it is is wary of my enthusiasm to know who they are. But I don’t want to expose anything. A conversation, an email, any contact would be enough to have me call off this whole thing.”
“VIV is a personal hero of yours?” Charles asked and I nodded. “Fine. I will do what I can. How long are you here for?”
“Until tomorrow, but I’m about 3 hours away. I don’t mind the drive.”
Charles and I shook hands and he said that he would call when he had more news. I went back to Joe’s place and even though it was late in the afternoon, we started drinking and smoking again. I felt like I was celebrating a legitimate breakthrough and I didn’t even mind the way the beer tasted.
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