Woodstock Day Two
Woodstock
Day Two
I squeezed my lips together to keep from screaming. The last thing I wanted was to pull Leon into the quicksand with me, but if I didn’t get away from Livy, I’d have to go to the medical tent myself.
Sopping wet, with my arms wrapped around my chest—as if that could keep me warm—I peered at Leon in desperation.
My words tumbled out in a jumbled mess. “I’m trying to be a good sport, but I just found out something horrible.
Everything makes sense now. I should have known. I’m such an idiot. I wish I had—”
“Slow down, little darlin’. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
My teeth chattered. “No, it’s not.”
“Sure it is.” He draped an arm around me, tucking me inside his chest with a firm grip. “What the hell happened?”
“I want to tell you, but . . .”
“But what?” His voice radiated tenderness and calm, especially when he lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m complicated.”
His smile calmed me even more. So much so I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.
“You aren’t complicated,” he said, once my lips left his. “You’re here with Livy. That’s what’s complicated.”
“I need to take a permanent leave of absence from her. Right now.”
His response was a hearty laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sorry. It’s the way you say things sometimes.”
“Can we please sit somewhere else?”
Without hesitating, he bent down and picked up his backpack.
As quickly as the relief arrived, something dawned on me before I reached down to gather my things.
The best of Woodstock was yet to come. All Leon’s favorite bands were due to perform thirty feet from where we were standing.
I didn’t have to be a Harvard student to know this night would be historic.
Creedence Clearwater Revival and Janis Joplin, Sly and the Family Stone, the Who, and Jefferson Airplane would be performing.
It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to leave our prime piece of territory.
On top of that, how could I ask him to leave Johnny, when he was moving to Canada on Monday?
“Never mind,” I said, waving a hand in front of my face. “I’ll go alone.”
Leon peered at me, confused. “Huh?” When I didn’t respond fast enough, he said, “You’re leaving me?”
“I can’t ask you to leave Johnny. Or this spot. All your favorite bands are coming up.”
“I don’t care about this spot.”
“You don’t?”
“No. We’ll find another one.” He slipped the backpack through his arms. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this long. Grab your stuff.”
“What about Johnny?”
“Johnny will be fine. He can have me paged before the festival’s over.”
I hugged him with more vigor than I’d ever hugged anyone. In ten seconds flat I had dug into our overnight bag and pulled out a fresh pair of panties, my toothbrush, and our only tube of toothpaste, jamming all of it inside my purse. Livy could find her own damn toothpaste.
11:59 p.m.
Leon was right; we found more good seats. Just the two of us wading inside the sea of humans proved to be easier than I’d thought. Because everyone at Woodstock was too high to care. We settled not all that far from where we’d been the night before. With plenty of distance from Livy.
Getting away from her was my good luck charm. The rain stopped as soon as we sat down. My clothes were wet, and I was chilly, but Leon’s nearness made me forget the cold. I could hear my stomach growling, but having him all to myself could satiate my appetite for a month.
Paranoia bloomed shortly thereafter when John Morris made his next stage announcement.
“I’ve just had a conversation with a gentleman from the medical center and a gentleman who’s been looking to try to trace down some of these little blue-and-green pills.
They are quite dangerous. We went through this last night.
We gotta try not to take anything from anybody else.
Just hang on to it. Especially the little pills. ”
I grabbed Leon’s knee. Fear rang through my voice. “Suppose Livy did take one of those little pills? And now I’ve left her. Who’s going to take her to the medical tent?”
“I thought you never wanted to see her again.”
“I don’t. But I don’t want her to die.”
“Look. The way Livy reacted back there, jumping from one emotion to another, is a telltale bad acid trip. Will you please trust me on that?”
I nodded. He had given me no reason to distrust him.
He grinned, then tilted his head. “Are you ready to tell me what happened back there?” He shook a cigarette from its pack, then pulled it out with his lips.
Shielding it from the breeze, he lit the end, then tilted his head back, blowing the smoke into the night sky.
There was a break in the music, a perfect opportunity to fill him in.
“Are you sure you want to hear it? It’s complicated.” For him to thoroughly understand, I’d have to start with Dad.
And I wasn’t sure I could do it.
“Lay it on me,” he said.
The notion of telling Leon about my father felt like cutting a slit down my chest and opening it up for all to see. “I’m so embarrassed,” I said, drawing my knees up and gripping my elbows. I hung my head as the shame Dad had inflicted on me for the last three years crawled up my spine.
Leon gently lifted my chin. “Please don’t be. There’s all kinds of shit in my family.” Compassion sang through his voice. And gave me the courage I needed.
So I did it. I dived down deep into the treacherous waters I’d been avoiding since we first met.
With tears threatening to fall, I told him everything about Dad, A to Z.
While detailing how tough it had been growing up in a church with all the sins I considered unfair—like no dancing and, worst of all, no listening to the Beatles or any rock and roll after John’s Jesus comment—he pressed a palm to his forehead.
Every line on his face seemed to be filled with my pain when I told him how Dad had embarrassed me at the Beatles concert.
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Leon said tenderly, like he truly cared.
For some odd reason, I defended Dad. “He hasn’t always been a monster. Don’t get me wrong; he’s the biggest square ever born. He wears Hush Puppies and he has bad dandruff, but there was a time when he was . . . sorta nice. The old Dad left when Ron left.”
Leon didn’t say anything at first. I was afraid I’d spilled too much. “Sounds like he’s a tortured soul,” he said at last.
I thought about the emotional torture he’d put me through the night I’d left home. “He did something so mean the night I ran away. It made me hate him more than ever.” The tears I’d been struggling to hold back fell anyway.
Leon entwined his fingers with mine. “Sounds like you need to get it out.”
I did need to get it out. I’d been holding in the horror of it all since Tuesday.