Woodstock Day One
Woodstock
Day One
“I would never underestimate your father,” Livy said as we zigzagged down our row, trying not to step on anyone. “There’s no way he’s gonna find out you’re here. He’s not a wizard.”
“Oh, yes he is!” I called from behind. “He can figure out anything.” I was seconds away from confronting her about what she had done at the Beatles concert when I spotted Leon sitting all by himself.
Tie-dyed-skirt girl was no longer talking with him.
She had moved down to sit with the couple in front.
Relief coursed through me, and I forgot all about challenging Livy.
As soon as I walked up, Leon patted the ground next to him.
“My curiosity about you continues, Suzie,” he said after I’d settled down on the blanket, like he’d been pondering things to ask me while I was away.
Hearing him call me Suzie again made my heart soar.
It had been caught in his butterfly net.
“About what?” I asked, a little afraid to hear the question.
“Nothing bad—I just want to know more about you.”
No boy had ever asked to know more about me. When he grinned, I could hardly look at him. He was, without a doubt, the most adorable boy alive. “What do you want to know?” I asked.
“For starters, I don’t know your last name.”
“Withers.”
“Suzie Withers,” he said with a cute smile.
“I’ve never really loved my last name, but I suppose it could be worse.”
“Yeah, man. You could be Suzie Butts, or Suzie Cobbledick.”
I pushed his thigh. Laughed out loud. “That’s not a real last name.”
He chuckled through his words. “Yes, it is. I have a buddy named Cobbledick.”
Hiding my face in my palms, I said, “Withers is just fine. What’s your last name?”
“Wright.”
“That’s a good one.”
“I like it.”
“What else do you want to know about me, Leon Wright?” I flipped my hair behind my shoulder, a bit flustered but happy he was next to me.
“Let’s see.” He squinted one eye. “I know you’re from Memphis. And you sing like a songbird. What’d you do all summer?”
While the stage lights bounced off his face, I studied his darling chin dimple. I wanted to curl up inside that dimple. “I worked. Read lots of books—”
“Where’d you work?” As I opened my mouth to explain, he said, “Wait, let me guess. At a restaurant?”
I shook my head.
“You helped at your dad’s office.”
I chuckled. “He’s kind of retired.”
“Already?”
“He was old when I was born.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “Were you a camp counselor?”
“No, but that would have been fun.”
“A lifeguard?”
“No, but that would have been even more fun.”
“I give up, Suzie Withers. What’s your job?”
I considered making up something glamorous—telling him I’d been on the Cypress Gardens waterski team all summer or had had an internship at Sun Records—but I’d decided to give up lying earlier in the day, so I told him the truth.
Something about Leon gave me the courage to be honest. “I worked as a bra clerk at a fine department store,” I said, with a definitive nod.
“And no. It wasn’t in the least bit fun. ”
If the way he gawked at me wasn’t so hilarious, I might have cussed myself for not lying.
“Whoa!” he said, throwing his head back. “I was not expecting that.”
I leaned toward him. “It wasn’t my choice. All the cool departments were full.”
His face glowed like a harvest moon. He tapped his chest. “It would have been my choice.”
I sat up straight with a glow of my own. “Why’s that, Leon Wright?”
Thrusting a finger at my breasts, he sang a line from “My Favorite Things,” then hung his head. “I told you I can’t sing.”
“Stop saying that. Yes, you can.”
He looked up, touched the tip of my nose. “Better be careful, Pinocchio. Your nose is gonna grow.” At that exact moment, we heard a loud thunderclap. “See there. God’s warning you.”
“He is not,” I said, giving him another push.
He grabbed ahold of my wrists. I wriggled. I pulled. I yanked. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t move my hands from his grip. He twisted my arms behind my back, pulling me into his chest with his chin resting on my shoulder. “Say uncle,” he said.
“No.”
He pulled tighter. “Say it.”
“No.”
“You better say it.”
“Uncle!”
He let go, and we beamed at each other just as it started to rain.
11:00 p.m.
It had never once crossed my mind it might rain at Woodstock.
It started out light, but thirty minutes later it poured.
Instead of raincoats, all Livy and I had were the light jackets her dad had insisted we bring.
And mine was getting soaked. Come to think of it, Livy had said Nick would be in charge of our rain gear.
And our tents. And our food and drink. Nick the no-show.
What in the heck would we do now? He was even more untrustworthy than I’d thought.
“Don’t look at me,” Livy said as the rain made splotches on her brand-new suede hat.
She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and yelled into the night sky, “Dammit, Nick. This is all your fault!” When she opened her eyes, she caught me peering at her with frustration brimming from every pore on my face.
“I don’t know why you keep looking at me like that,” she said.
“I’m not looking at you like it’s your fault; I’m looking at you because . . . Okay, I’m frustrated. I wish we’d brought our own rain gear and not relied on your untrustworthy boyfriend.” Untrustworthy just slipped out. I felt a little bad for saying it, but it’s not like I hadn’t warned her.
“I’m much more frustrated than you are,” said Livy. “Trust me.”
Meanwhile, this strange music flowed from the stage. No harmony, no pretty chords, no singing, just steady unmelodic tones. I couldn’t stand it. It grated on my nerves and added to my frustration. “Who is this guy?” I asked, dying for a pair of earplugs.
“Ravi Shankar.” Livy—well, the old Livy—wouldn’t have liked his music, either, but she swayed her head from side to side with her eyes closed, pretending like she did. “Ravi’s music is transcendent,” she said, like all was well. “Don’t you think?”
I glared at her. It was raining. I was starving. I was thirsty, and I sure didn’t want to talk about—much less listen to—transcendent music.
A large pumpkin-shaped guitar with an abundance of strings and tuning pegs lay across this Ravi guy’s lap. So big he had to play it sitting down. “What’s that instrument he’s playing?” I asked, in an irritated tone.
She answered me in her signature know-it-all voice. “A sitar. Ravi taught George Harrison how to play so he could use it on ‘Norwegian Wood.’”
Ravi. Livy acted like she knew him personally. Before I could respond, another thunderclap crashed. Seconds later it started to pour. People stood up and yelled, cursing at the rain to go away. But the rain didn’t listen. It only got worse. And Ravi played anyway.
In my mind, we had two choices. One, we could stay put, like most of the Woodstockers. Two, we could run for cover. We could head into the woods and use the trees as a leaky umbrella. But that option meant we’d lose our seats. And, worse, we could lose each other.
There was no second option. We had to ride it out.
Johnny removed his jacket and placed it over Livy’s head. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders like he was keeping her warm. And left it there. They looked like boyfriend and girlfriend huddled together. I expected him to kiss her at any moment.
Leon had a better idea. “Let’s do this, you guys,” he said, unzipping his rainproof sleeping bag. “Huddle in.” He tried placing it over all four of us, but it was too small. So Johnny unzipped his and laid it half across Leon’s, creating a much bigger umbrella.
Now, this was a wonderful choice—all of us squeezed in together.
It got even better when Leon poked his head out and invited Slim and Dave to join.
Because that meant I had to scoot closer to Leon.
So close our arms and legs looked glued together.
Just touching him sent a jolt of electricity from my head down to my toes.
I peeked out into the crowd. Everyone else had had the same idea. It looked like one giant patchwork quilt hovering over the pasture.
Livy’s mood changed again. This time for the better.
With a shimmy in her shoulders, she rubbed her palms together.
“This is cozy,” she said before looking right at me.
“Ready to get high?” I hesitated just long enough for her to add, “We have to make it through this rain somehow. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if you were high. ”
With only a second’s thought, I answered, “Sure.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Leon turn his head toward mine.
“I scored this lid from one of the booths at the bazaar,” Johnny said, pulling a baggie out of his back pocket.
“Cat called it great stuff.” With fervent curiosity, I watched as he spread the grass onto a rolling paper.
Leon held his lighter close while Johnny picked out the seeds and sprinkled them on the ground.
“Next year they’ll be turning this pasture into one helluva pot farm.
” He chuckled, twisted an end on the robust joint, and then handed it to me. “You get the first toke, love.”
My readiness to be daring trumped my nerves.
Besides, I knew just what to do. I’d been watching everyone around me smoke since I got there.
Without another thought, I took the joint from Johnny, pinching it between my thumb and index finger.
Dad’s voice rang in my ears, warning me that I’d go straight to hell.
But I did it anyway.
While Johnny lit the end, I put the joint to my lips and sucked. Hard. I drew the smoke into my lungs like a pro. But the second I did, my lungs hurt so bad I hacked it out like a capital-A Amateur. Embarrassment lit my skin on fire. I wanted to die.
Leon pounded my back. He thought he was helping, but he only helped to embarrass me more. I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks had turned bright crimson. God’s already punishing me, I thought but went right back for a second puff.
This time I didn’t cough. But I didn’t feel anything, either, so I smoked the joint a third time, then passed it to Johnny.
After it came back to me for a fourth round, with Johnny’s “roach clip” attached to the butt, Leon whispered in my ear. “Not trying to be your keeper, but since this is your first time, I’d stop.” He gave my thigh a gentle squeeze.
Livy noticed. And cut her eyes toward us.
My shoulder was tucked inside his armpit, my thigh on top of his.
I might as well have been sitting in his lap.
I met her eyes with a look that said Don’t you dare say a word.
Because that’s normally what she would have done.
She would have brought attention to how close we were sitting, and I would have been mortified.
Within seconds, fireworks exploded in my head.
It buzzed like bees were trapped inside.
Livy had been right. The grass made me feel so damn alive!
My nostrils took on a life of their own.
Holding my hand outside the sleeping bag, I let the water pool inside my palm.
Then I took a big sniff. Each raindrop had its own odor. And its own face!
My cheek was so close to Leon’s, I almost kissed him—in front of everybody. If he’d been facing me, I probably would have. Because every time he moved, brushing his thigh against mine, heat spread from my toes up to my nose.
If this was what Nick called euphoria, I had it.