Woodstock Day One
Woodstock
Day One
Thoughts of Ron using drugs and how long it had been since I’d heard from him gave me a sense of melancholy. My mind had strayed easily, probably because of the band onstage. I didn’t care for their music.
Leon must not have liked them either. After the first two songs, he dug into his backpack and pulled out a pale-yellow T-shirt. “Anyone wanna walk around?” he asked. “See what’s back there?” He slipped the shirt over his head and stood up, shaking out his legs.
At first, I was shy to speak up, but when no one else offered, I jumped at the chance. “I’ll go.”
“Cool.” Leon offered me his hand and pulled me straight up. “I could use a cold brew. What about you?”
“Sounds great to me,” I said and meant it. For the brief time his hand was in mine, tingles shot through me like thousands of tiny comets.
“I need a pit stop first.” He looked down at the rest of our group. “You guys need anything?”
“Surprise us” was Johnny’s answer.
Livy looked at me but never commented.
When Dave and Slim declined his offer, Leon and I joined the slow-moving line of people walking up the hill to the back of the bowl.
“How about that LSD warning?” he said. “Guess we better not drink anything else that’s been opened.”
I thought about the bottle of wine and the jug of water I’d already sipped on and felt my stomach drop. “How long does it take for LSD to work?”
“Not long,” he said, rubbing his knuckles on top of my head. “You’re okay.”
Due to the massive crowd, growing larger by the second, it took a full twenty minutes to reach the top. Once there, we found a village of Porta Potties. I took a quick count. Must have been eighty in that location, but the lines were ridiculous. At least a hundred people in each.
Leon glanced at the lines, then back at me. He twirled me around in front of him, pointing toward the woods. “What do you say?”
“Race ya,” I said and took off.
I may have had a head start, but he caught up with me in seconds, laughing and waving as he passed me by.
With all the people, running proved impossible, but hurrying behind Leon was the most fun thing I’d ever done.
Darting in and around folks dressed in every getup imaginable, we passed people in funky costumes, a guy in a psychedelic robe, and even another topless girl.
After reaching the woods, we barreled down the first path we came to, soon hitting a crossroads with three hand-painted signs nailed to a tree: Gentle Path, Groovy Way, and High Way, each pointing in different directions.
“You decide,” Leon said, a bit out of breath.
“Gentle Path!” I cried and took off.
We scurried past tents and campfires, ferns, and wildflowers. Once we were deep into the woods, he stopped in front of a large maple tree. “Meet me right here?”
I nodded. “Right here.”
Before running off, we both noticed something moving. Not too far away, a couple lay entangled with one another behind a fallen tree. We could hear their heavy breathing, see her bare legs flailing in the air.
I practically spit out my words. “Are . . . they . . . ?”
“Our landmark,” Leon whispered with a silly face, then gave me a gentle push.
Once I’d chosen a large enough tree, as secluded as possible, I pulled one leg all the way out of my jeans and squatted, my bare bottom flashing to God knows who.
Modesty would have no boundaries at Woodstock.
Not when girls were stripping off their tops and couples were having sex in the bushes.
It was the most mind-blowing thing I could imagine.
If Dad could see me now. Just picturing that made me chuckle out loud.
Leon was at the tree when I returned. And our landmark girl was sitting on top of her lover, gyrating her hips, rubbing her hands through her hair. Their breathing had turned into libidinous moans. My eyes swelled into a fixed stare. I couldn’t help it.
Muted laughter swept across Leon’s face. “Would you like to get closer?”
I turned my head toward him. “I would not. Would you?”
“You’re the one staring.”
“I’m not staring! I’m . . . having a look-see. There’s a difference.”
He peered at me, eyebrows pinched. “What is that difference, Miss Peeping Tom?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
He rubbed his knuckles on the crown of my head again, the way Ron used to do. The way a big brother teases a little sister. My heart stung. I didn’t want him thinking of me as one more little sister.
He leaned toward me with an exaggerated stare. “Damn, your eyes are blue.”
A thrill coursed through me. My eyes were the only feature I had prettier than Livy’s.
“Are those eyelashes real?” He lightly brushed his thumb underneath my eyebrow.
“Of course they’re real. Do they look fake or something?”
“Kind of. They’re really long.”
“They’re really mine.”
He smiled. “Let’s go find that brew.”
Gentle Way turned into High Way, with twinkling fairy lights that seemed to go on for acres. Dusk had begun its descent. Swirls of pink clouds, resembling cotton candy, peeked through the trees with an inviting summons. The sun looked like a giant tangerine sinking slowly into the treetops.
We soon stumbled upon an arts and crafts fair, with every hippie item imaginable. Leather goods, handmade beaded jewelry, blown glass, and all kinds of neato tie-dyed clothing were for sale.
“This fair is as cool as the music,” said Leon as we strolled along.
I walked right up to one of the booths, gazing at the tie-dyed halter tops.
In a different world I’d have bought one, but I knew I’d better hold on to my money.
Besides, where would I ever wear it outside of Woodstock?
Certainly not at Union University. Definitely not at home.
Home. Where was home? Would I ever go back?
One booth had a long banner strung from two trees with Smoke written in pink letters. A sandwich board out front displayed the menu: pot, rolling papers, pipes, bongs, roach clips, cigarettes, magic mushrooms. Even LSD! All rules were off in the city of Woodstock.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to an oddly shaped glass vase with a long neck at the top and a shorter one near the bottom. As soon as I asked the question, I regretted it.
Leon winked at the guy manning the booth while handing him two quarters for a pack of cigarettes. “That is a bong. You put the grass down here.” He pointed to the short neck first. “And smoke it up here.”
“Looks cool,” I said, kicking myself for acting so naive.
A few minutes later we stumbled upon a stand with a long line of people, all waiting to buy snow cones. Some of the folks had toddlers on their shoulders.
“Don’t people care that their kids are around all these drugs?” I whispered to Leon.
“Guess not. I sure am glad I don’t have kids here.”
“I’m glad I don’t have kids, period.”
“That makes two of us,” he said as something caught his eye. He leaned forward, pointing behind one of the booths. “Wanna check it out?”
A giant tire swing hung from the branch of a maple tree. Close by, an army green tent had been pitched, with the door flaps tied open. I wasn’t sure which it he was pointing to.
As we moved forward, leaves crunching underfoot, butterflies whizzed around my stomach. Just at the thought of camping with Leon.
“Think we could ride together?” he asked once we reached the swing.
I looked up at where the rope was tied. “Looks sturdy to me.”
He patted the top of the tire. “You sit up here. I’ll hop through the middle.”
Once we were settled, my sandals rested atop his bare thighs. His head, brushed up against my waist, caused goose bumps to rise.
At first, it was hard to get air, but soon enough we were flying. His hair against my stomach tickled and made me deliriously happy.
So delirious I almost missed the monarchs floating into the trunk of a fir tree. Thousands more had roosted within the branches. The tree was shrouded in orange. “Stop!” I shrieked.
He dug his heels into the ground.
“Do you see what I see?”
With his head pressed even deeper into the small of my waist, he peeked around my body. “I see trees.”
“Look there.” I pointed at the tree in a frenzy. “Don’t you see all the butterflies?”
At the sound of his gasp, I knew he had spotted them too. “Holy Mother of God.”
We hurried off the swing, then tiptoed toward the tree. I don’t know why we tiptoed; I guess we didn’t want to startle them, as more were pouring in.
With open jaws, we followed the highway of butterflies out to a small meadow, just beyond the tree line, where thousands of monarchs flickered through the air.
Streaks of the fading sunlight pierced their wings, casting an orange glow on the grass.
Like a waltz of fairies, they fluttered together, soaring high, soaring low, creating a gargantuan kaleidoscope.
We gaped at one another at the wonder of it all, then crept into the open meadow, moving with caution into the swarm.
Neither of us spoke; we were too mesmerized for words.
And we sure didn’t want to take a chance on scaring the butterflies away.
The setting sun above drenched us in warmth as the miracle unfolded.
A butterfly tea party was in progress, and we were their honored guests.
With arms stretched open wide, we turned in circles as the butterflies waltzed around us. Many landed on our shirts, causing us to beam with even greater wonder. Leon’s yellow T-shirt held so many it looked as if they might lift him up off the ground and fly away.
In the distance, another small meadow abounded with goldenrod. Thousands more monarchs swarmed from flower to flower. With chins tilted skyward, we crept toward the meadow, seduced by our enchanting hosts. As we moved closer, I fantasized about Leon asking me to waltz along with them.
Our presence never seemed to deter the butterflies, so once we got to the second meadow, we lay down on our backs in the tall grass. Neither speaking. Neither moving. Just two stargazers marveling at the extravaganza above.
Minutes passed before Leon broke the silence. “Did your parents give you butterfly kisses when you were little?”
I moved my head from side to side, feeling the soft grass tickle my cheeks. “What’s a butterfly kiss?”
He rolled toward me, dipping down toward my face, fluttering his eyelashes. His lips hovered mere inches from mine. I could see my reflection in his eyes as my heart blasted inside my chest. I swallowed, curling my fingers in my palms, waiting for his kiss.
But his kiss never came. Instead of diving into my mouth, he dove into my cheek. His eyelids moved rapidly as his lashes tickled my skin. When he pulled back, beaming at me, I wanted to grab the back of his head and pull his face down into mine, touching his lips with my lips.
“Feels like butterfly wings flapping,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
“I think it tickles.”
“My mom gave them to me and my sibs when we were little.”
A cacophony of voices sounded behind us. Loud. Harsh. Obnoxious voices. We propped up on our elbows, turning at the same time to see intruders spilling into our meadow.
One of the girls bellowed, “What the hell? Wow, you guys. This is the grooviest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Oh my God!” her friend shrieked. “Stu, look at this!”
Their voices, far too boisterous, caused many of the butterflies to fly away. Leon and I pouted at one another. Our tea party had been crashed by unwelcome visitors.
He sat up. “Ready to head back?”
Heck no, I wanted to say. I want to stay right here and kiss you. And not with my eyelashes. But in typical Suzannah fashion I said, “If you want to.”
“We should share. We can’t be greedy. That wouldn’t be the Aquarian way, now, would it?”
“Not the Aquarian way,” I answered with a forced smile, pondering the reality that he must have a girlfriend back home. How could this beautiful boy not have a girlfriend back home?
“Let’s go find that beer,” he said.
“Enjoy the party,” I told the crashers on our way out of the meadow, trying to put an Aquarian-way tone to my voice.
On the way back to our seats, we babbled nonstop about what had just happened. “I read about the monarch migration in National Geographic,” Leon told me. “Blows my mind those little bugs fly all the way from Canada to Mexico.”
“It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Right on. I never thought I’d see one.”
Happening on one in the first place seemed like a good omen to me. Watching the butterflies flying free, without a care, gave me a sense of hope. For my own freedom.
7:10 p.m.
The lines at the Food for Love concessions area were ridiculous.
No telling how long it would take to get food.
Even though I wanted to buy snacks for Slim and Dave, to repay them for their kindness, neither of us were willing to spend two hours in line.
We agreed to come back later, after the rush had died down.
But Leon still wanted a beer. And they didn’t sell beer at Food for Love. There was no alcohol for sale of any kind.
So we traipsed back down Groovy Way and High Way, looking for anyone who might sell beer.
Leon stopped to inquire at one of the arts and crafts booths.
A girl handed him one of hers—unopened—out of her own cooler.
She even gave one to me. The girl told us there were no beer stands because the producers didn’t want drunk, rowdy people at Woodstock.
“Besides,” she added, “you can’t drink while you drop. ”
“Not a good choice,” Leon said with his man-giggle.
“What did she mean by that?” I asked as soon as we walked away.
“You can’t drink alcohol while you drop acid.”
“Oh yeah, right. I knew that,” I said. Lie.
Leon swallowed a smile. “Let’s head back. I can’t wait to tell Johnny and Livy about the butterflies.”
I was excited to tell Johnny and Livy about the butterflies too. But hearing him say Livy’s name made me wonder which of the two he was more excited to tell. He wouldn’t have been the first boy to befriend me just to get to Livy.