Woodstock Day Two #2
“Thanks,” I said, then placed it on the second fret, turning my G chord into an A.
Although it had been shattered into a million pieces, I could still see Rubber Soul spinning on my turntable.
The American version, first side, first track—the first all-acoustic song Paul had ever written: “I’ve Just Seen a Face. ” I was destined to play it.
With a shaky left hand, I found E minor, playing two notes together, a sixth apart.
Here goes. No turning back now. As my fingers struck the chords with a second-nature sureness from all the hours of monotonous practice, I launched into the quick tempo.
With my lips inches from the mic, I closed my eyes and let the lyrics flow.
By the time I got to the chorus, I had regained my confidence and sang with an intense fervor.
People in the audience were clapping to the beat, so I opened my eyes. Most were singing with me. Every cell in my body erupted with joy. I couldn’t remember a time in my life that had been any more fun.
The last verse came before I knew it. Then two short minutes later, when I strummed the final chord, the impossible happened.
The audience jumped to their feet. Their applause seemed to go on forever.
You’d have thought I really was Melanie or Joan Baez or some other famous person. Certainly not me.
Bouncing off of the stool, I smiled at the crowd, then handed the guitar back to Ian. I stepped off the stage, with my head held high.
“Su-zie, Su-zie, Su-zie,” the Hog Farmers chanted again. As ecstatic as that made me, I couldn’t appreciate it fully because I was scanning the crowd for Leon. He was no longer in our spot in the back row. Dear God, had he left?
Behind me, Hugh Romney belted out, “Where do you think you’re going, Suzie Q? Get back here!”
I swung around to see him waving me back to the stage. It hadn’t been as hard as I’d thought. And I had loved every second of it. But where the heck was Leon?
Once again, Ian handed me his guitar. I settled back down on the stool.
This time I knew exactly what to play: “I’ll Follow the Sun.
” It was the first Beatles song I had ever learned.
The way the minor two chord leads into the minor four chord makes the song achingly beautiful.
I’d sung it over and over when I was seventeen, dreaming of Paul and me.
Beatles ’65, first side, fifth track. A perfect tune with simple, beautiful chords.
Under two minutes. It was in the key of C, so I didn’t need a capo.
Without overthinking it, I placed my fingers on the frets and strummed the short intro. With a sudden burst of confidence, I opened my throat and sang my heart out.
As quickly as it started, the song ended. “Thank you,” I said to the audience once I’d strummed the final chord. “I really appreciate the chance.”
Once more, all one hundred of my new friends, including the little children, stood up and cheered, as if they truly were my family. I’d never felt the kind of love and acceptance they offered. It made me long for more.
After handing the guitar back to Ian for good this time, I stepped off the platform like I was Joan Baez. Like a crocus blooming in the springtime, I had awoken from a long dark winter. Never had I felt more alive.
It got even better when I spotted Leon. He had moved to the side of the stage, with his arms open wide. I headed toward him and folded inside.
“You did it, Suzie. You were so, so great,” he said, stroking the back of my head.
Hugh Romney made another announcement. “Wow! Isn’t it great when life surprises ya? Let’s give Suzie Q another big round of applause.”
The Hog Farmers continued to cheer and clap—at least I think they did—but I had left my body and levitated to the top of the commune, the same way I had when I’d first heard Crosby, Stills & Nash.
Two of my favorite Beatles songs had flown out of my mouth without a hitch, in front of a hundred people.
All the drugs at the festival couldn’t have given me that kind of high.
“Who wants to follow Suzie?” Hugh asked. “Just kidding. Quill’s starting down in the bowl anyway. We’ll pick back up later.”
“Great job,” a hippie dude with a ponytail said while walking past. His hair was as long as mine.
“Hope you’ll come back,” a girl told me. “I’d rather hear you than Quill any day.”
“Your lady sure has a nice set of pipes,” another hippie said to Leon while walking past. “Come back tonight, Suzie. Sing us all a lullaby.”
I smiled in appreciation but found it hard to look at Leon. Someone had called me his lady.
The time had come. I had to find out if he had a lady back home.
But how? Phrasing the question just right was critical.
I couldn’t say, Hey, Leon. Do you have a girlfriend back home?
That seemed abrupt at this point—weird, even.
What about Am I your lady? Lord no, that sounded even worse.
I was just about to muster the courage to say Do you have a lady back home? but we were interrupted.
A topless girl with giant boobs painted as if her nipples were daisies stopped in front of Leon. “Come back later, why don’t you?” she said. “We could take a trip together.” She brushed a long, seductive finger all the way down his arm. Then followed it with a slow wink.
A slight smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t say a word.
When Daisy Tits left, Leon looked at his feet, scrubbing a finger across his brow. “Not sure what to say to that.”
I didn’t know what to say either. Because I wanted to slap her. She had ruined my chance to ask him about a girlfriend. “Did you have any idea people would be walking around here without their clothes on?” was all I said, with a slight hint of irritation in my voice.
“It’s all part of free love, baby. Ready for some chow?”
He seemed eager to change the subject. So I just dropped it. For now. Until I could muster the courage to ask him if a lady was indeed waiting for him back home.