Woodstock Day Two #2
It’s what I didn’t expect that caused my eyes to bulge out of their sockets. Woolly Dude wasn’t wearing any pants! And without realizing it, I was staring at the burly upside-down toadstool between his legs, just dangling there—in front of God and everybody. I almost passed out.
Feeling a flush sweep across my face, I squeezed my cheeks. “Oh! Wow!” I accidentally blurted out before making matters worse. Way worse. Instead of looking away like a normal person, I kept staring! I gave that thing a full-on gawk, with my mouth hanging wide open.
Then for some reason—God only knows why—I extended my hand to make sure it was okay. It was an instinct I had. I did this sort of thing without thinking about it. The day before, I had done it to Leon’s knee after banging it with the car door.
My fingers were mere inches from it when I realized what I was doing. I snatched my hand back as if it was an anaconda, gasped like I was terrified, and pressed a palm to my mouth. Naked Woolly Dude and I just stood there staring at one another for the longest five seconds of my life.
You’d have thought he’d have been embarrassed too. Not a chance. He held up those two Woodstock fingers and said “Peace, baby” in a jovial voice.
Right after that—I swear on a stack of Bibles this happened—while giving me the peace sign with one hand, he reached between his legs with the other. He picked up that toadstool and waved it at me, as if it was telling me goodbye.
In a daze, I stumbled away from the concessions area with a hand pressed against my stomach, praying Leon hadn’t noticed. But when I whirled around to make sure, there he stood, only a few yards away, with a Cheshire cat grin on his face.
As soon as our eyes met, he burst into wild laughter.
He crumpled over, holding on to his Best Cola with one hand and his cold dog with the other.
I just stood there—glaring at him—as he shook his head from side to side.
With no regard for my feelings whatsoever, he gazed up at the sky, all the while cackling like a farm hen.
His face flushed as he gasped for air. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
The only thing redder than his face was mine.
“Are you kidding me?” I bellowed. “I can’t believe you’re laughing. I’m traumatized.”
Leon howled so hard he snorted, placing his hand that held the hot dog on my shoulder for support. He could hardly spit out his words. “As long . . . as I live . . . I’ll never . . . witness anything that good.”
By then we had attracted a crowd. People had stopped to watch, looking at the two of us as if we were a sideshow. A few even chuckled along with Leon, having no idea why.
“Hey, man, what’s so funny?” one dude asked.
I glared at Leon, as if to say Don’t you even think about it, so he raised a hand, flapping away the dude’s question. “Nothing. Just a private . . . joke,” he managed to spit out before dissolving once again into hysterics, like a deranged hyena.
“Looks like a good one,” the dude answered before strolling off. Fortunately, the rest of the onlookers left when he did.
I stared Leon down with one of my signature scowls, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Are you satisfied?”
He shook his head.
“I’m delighted I could be your entertainment today. Maybe I should charge you admission.”
He leaned his head back, moving it from side to side. “If you could have seen that cat’s face when he saw you staring at his johnson. Holy shit, Miss Peeping Tom!”
I leaned in toward him with hands dug into my hips. “I did not mean to stare! I was taken by surprise. Nobody told me Sasquatch was at Woodstock. Naked.”
After making another embarrassing pig snort, Leon grew oddly still. “Oh God, that’s good. Say it again.”
“Say what? Sasquatch?”
“No. Nekkid. I love your Southern drawl.”
“No way.” He’d have to beg me for it.
“Please,” he said, with a crooked smile. “For me.”
“No. You don’t deserve it.”
“Pretty please.” He cocked his head, pouted his bottom lip.
I fought back a grin, but the sight of his silly face softened my resolve. After an eye roll, I finally muttered, “Nekkid,” but not very loud.
With that he removed the hot dog from its bun and stuffed it inside his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, waving the dog at me like Woolly Dude had waved his wiener.
I lunged at him. But he leaped out of the way, holding his Best Cola out to the side.
With both hands I tried grabbing the dog, but he turned his head.
Every time I tried to yank it away, he backed off, waving it at me again.
I sprang toward him, but this time he ran, juking in and around the people in front of him, proving once more he knew his way around a football field.
Seconds later, when he let me catch him, I yanked that wiener from his mouth and whipped him with it, right across the face.
Mustard and ketchup streaked his cheeks and nose.
“You better watch out, buster,” I shouted, shaking it in front of his face.
“Or I’ll lash you with this again.” He tried grabbing it, but I beat him to the punch.
I threw that dog down on the muddy ground and stomped on it.
Watching him laugh got me going, and I shrieked with glee. We just stood there, doubled over with bellyaching laughter. No help from marijuana, just good old-fashioned funny. How many moons have passed since I’ve howled like this? I wondered.
Our bodies were coated in mud, but I didn’t even care.
Leon slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. A match the size of Texas struck deep down inside, igniting a roaring fire.
Fire I didn’t know I had. As I looked up, square into his green eyes with mischief tucked inside the outer crinkles, I wanted to take my finger and outline his pretty lips.
Because I craved those lips. I’d been longing to taste them for the last twenty-four hours.
I’d spent the wee morning hours pressed into his abdomen, yet our lips had not touched.
Kiss me, you fool! Put your mouth on top of mine and kiss me. Right here, right now.
But he didn’t.
“Ready to head back?” he asked instead.
I slumped, ever so slightly, but straightened in a hurry, determined to steel myself against the sadness eager to clog my veins. The last thing I wanted was him sensing my disappointment.
“Sure,” I said, trying to match his upbeat tone.
He has a girlfriend. That’s what’s going on here.
Why else hadn’t he kissed me? He wanted to.
I saw it in his eyes. Surely he wasn’t worried about people watching us.
It’s not like folks at the festival were making out behind bushes.
People were having sex out in the open, for goodness’ sake.
A guy in a pink top hat was walking around buck naked.
So why hadn’t he kissed me? As soon as the opportunity arose, I’d screw up all my courage and ask him. Just wondering, Leon, do you have a girlfriend? I’d say.
He glanced back at the multitudes waiting in line for their manna. “Do you want another soda?”
I shook my head. “I’m not getting in that line again. But I’ll take yours—thank you very much.” I snatched his Best Cola away. “You owe it to me after making fun of me.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, little darlin’. I was teasing you.” He tapped a finger to my nose. “There’s a big difference. Let’s head over to the Hog Farm. Dave told me we might find food there.”
Food was now the furthest thing from my mind. His touch was the sustenance I craved. “What’s the Hog Farm?” I asked as we maneuvered in and around the crowd.
“A hippie commune from . . . New Mexico, I think.”
“So you don’t mean an actual hog farm?”
“Not hardly,” he said. “They’re our festival security. I saw it on the news. Instead of the police force, they call themselves the please force.” He chuckled. “They’re using cream pies and seltzer water in lieu of guns. Should anyone get out of line.”
“You need a cream pie to the face. I should turn you in for what you did to me.”
“So this is war, huh?”
“You better believe it, buster.”
Leon smiled, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and gave me a gentle squeeze. Euphoria settled in until I felt another darn knuckle massage.
Instant buzzkill.