Woodstock Day Three
Woodstock
Day Three
After confessing the gory details about my family, I leaned into Leon. “My life’s pretty complicated, huh?”
“It’s not Leave It to Beaver,” he said with his Leon laugh.
“More like Dark Shadows.”
He grinned, then took a drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke skyward. “You should be very proud of yourself.”
“I am proud of myself. It’s about time I break free from my . . . unworldliness.” I squeezed my eyes shut and gave him a bashful smile.
“It’s high time you break free of your dad,” Leon said before holding my face in his hands. He met my gaze. “I rather like your unworldliness.”
“Thank you, but I don’t.”
He let his hands slip from my cheeks. “You still haven’t told me what happened with Livy.”
“Ahh, Livy.” I looked skyward at the mention of her name. “Well . . .”
I took him back to that fateful Good Friday when I’d discovered Ron in Rosie’s bed with the girl. I confessed I’d written about it in my diary and accidentally left it out for one of my nosy parents to read.
He told me his sisters had diaries. And there was no telling what they’d written about him.
But when I told him that Livy’s LSD trip had revealed she’d been the one in bed with Ron, and that I had no idea they’d once had crushes on each other—until that moment—I could read the shock on his face.
He hung his head when I explained they’d hidden it from me, allowing me to blame myself for Ron’s enlistment, when the fault lay with Livy.
“You’ve blamed yourself for three years?” he asked.
“See why I never want to see her again?”
He didn’t comment about that. He just asked, “Do you think your parents know it was her?”
“I doubt it. Ron refused to tell any of us who she was. That’s why Dad got so mad. But if they know now . . .” I looked down, wondering if they’d found her signet ring. “Katy, bar the door.”
Leon roared with laughter, then shook his head like he’d made a mistake. “Sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just you and your Southern sayings.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a reassuring smile.
“After what you’ve told me about your dad, I’m guessing Ron having sex in the first place was a pretty hairy deal.”
“Very hairy. Sex before marriage is a big sin in our family.” As soon as I said it, I had a flash of regret. Leon thinking of me as even more of a Goody Two-shoes was unbearable. “I mean, it’s a sin as far as my parents and my church are concerned.”
“No sexual revolution going on at your house, huh?”
“Not hardly.”
“And they sure didn’t want the girl getting pregnant.”
“Heck no.”
“And now your brother’s in Vietnam because of your dad’s beliefs.” He shook his head. “Man. A puritanical army colonel. Tough combination.”
I leaned my head back with a sigh.
“It’s cool your brother wouldn’t snitch on Livy, though. He’s a good guy.”
“He’s so good. I wish you could have met him. He’d have been here if not for me.”
Leon scratched his head. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”
“You’re right. It’s Livy’s.”
“All that drama because of a roll in the hay. No wonder a half a million people showed up here in support of the sexual revolution. ‘We’re Not Gonna Take It,’” he sang into his fist. “Know that song?”
At first, I wanted to lie. Then I realized there was no need to pretend. I was back from a long, bad trip and could finally be me. “I don’t.”
“Last track on Tommy. I’m hoping the Who plays it tonight.”
I wished I knew more of the music he loved.
“Now I’m curious about something,” I said, remembering how he’d said those exact words the day before.
“What’s that?”
“Does your family believe sex before marriage is a sin?”
A slow smile embellished his face. “Sex outside of marriage is a mortal sin for Catholics.”
“What’s a mortal sin?”
“A grave sin committed with full knowledge and deliberate consent,” he said theatrically. “Catholics learn that early in catechism class. It is forgivable.” He raised a finger. “As long as you confess to the priest and receive Holy Communion.”
“There’s gonna be a long confession line after the festival,” I said. “Might wrap all the way around New York City.” We both laughed. It felt good to laugh.
“Can you imagine sliding into a small dark box, telling some old fat dude you have lustful thoughts?”
“No!” I said with a chuckle, happy my church didn’t require that.
Leon grew quiet. That same mysterious grin appeared, the one he had given me at the pond.
A moment later his face floated toward me, and he gently opened my mouth with his.
His tongue searched for mine. I felt lightheaded.
I wanted to melt on top of him, feel every cell on his body, never regaining my own form.
I slipped one hand through his hair and caressed the back of his neck with the other. I wanted him to want me, the same way I wanted him. To never forget this moment. Never forget me.
As his lips left mine, he looked into my eyes, gently tucking my damp hair behind each ear. “You are something special. You know that?”
I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I just peered at him, wishing he would run away with me.
“You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from your father. Or your best friend.” With my cheek cradled in his palm, he kissed me again, then, inches from my lips, whispered, “I wish I could have protected you.”
As his hand slipped from my cheek, I longed for him to put it back. Instead, he took my hand in his. “Despite your dad’s shit, you’re gonna thrive. You’re strong. You’re smart, funny, a gas to be around. I’ve learned all that about you in less than two days.” He held up two fingers.
“You’re sweet to say that.”
“Know what else?” he whispered, grazing his lips against mine.
I shook my head.
“I love how naive you are.”
I dipped my chin, covered my face with my hand.
“Hey. Look at me.” Our eyes met. “I think it’s endearing.” He kissed me again. “And refreshing.”
“I’m glad somebody does.”
“You’re gonna be famous,” he said.
I pulled away to catch his gaze. “Yeah, right.”
“You’ll be singing in arenas and festivals soon.”
“Street corners, maybe. But I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
He nudged his knee against mine. “I’m serious, Suzie. You’re really, really good. I’ve never heard anyone sing like you.” He pointed at the stage. “You’ll be on the bill for the second Aquarian festival.”
I rolled my eyes, pushed him playfully. “You’re blitzed!”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if I turn on The Ed Sullivan Show and there you are. Ladies and gentlemen, Suzie Withers!” he mimicked, like he was Ed himself.
“Now you’ve entered The Twilight Zone.”
“Will you still know me when you’re famous?”
I shoved him again. Harder.
Crouching low, he protected his face with the back of his hand. “Will you wave if you see me in the crowd at one of your shows?”
I leaned toward him, with hands on my hips. “You should know the answer to that, buster. You just said you’ve learned a lot about me.” As dear as his compliment was, it reminded me that the sand in our hourglass was falling fast. “I don’t want to think of you as another face in the crowd.”
Leon’s shoulders drooped, as if the thought made him sad too. Instead of talking about it, though, he changed the subject. “This time tomorrow night we’ll be watching Crosby, Stills & Nash.”
“And Young,” I added.
In the background, we heard the tapping of a kick drum and the tuning of an electric guitar.
“Wait till you see the way Neil smokes,” Leon said, moving his fingers up and down an imaginary guitar.
The pasture darkened. Blue lights lit the stage. A smattering of whistles and cheers sounded from the audience. Creedence Clearwater Revival had arrived.
Spotlights illuminated John Fogerty’s mop top as Creedence strolled over to their instruments at about twelve thirty in the morning. Seconds later “Born on the Bayou” rang out into the night sky. Only a small number of audience members roused. Most were asleep.
Even so, song after song, Creedence showed us why they belonged on top of the charts. “Green River.” “Bad Moon Rising.” “Proud Mary.” They played their hearts out for the Woodstockers. But all they got in return was meager applause. The band members looked frustrated.
“Don’t worry about it, John,” some guy in the audience yelled. “We’re with you!”
The only reason I wasn’t asleep was because Leon had scooted in behind me with his legs on either side of mine. He played with my hair, gently pulling it back into a ponytail, stroking his fingers in circles against my scalp. I’d never had a head massage. Luxury comes in many forms.
With his chin resting atop my head and his arms encircling my shoulders, his body felt like a security blanket. While John Fogerty sang “I Put a Spell on You,” Leon put a spell on me. It was the same chilly temperature as the night before, yet I didn’t care.
“You’re so small,” he whispered, caressing my waist.
I leaned back into him, feeling his chest curl around me.
A current of electricity jolted inside my veins as he reached around to kiss my cheek.
He lingered on the tip of my ear, kissing it softly.
I closed my eyes as he combed my hair to the side and brushed his lips across my neck.
For the first time since falling for Paul McCartney, I ached to make love.
Unfortunately, Creedence left the stage without playing “Suzie Q.” I was disappointed, but Leon whispered, “They’ll be back. I told them to save the best for last.”
He must have. It took only a minute for them to return to their instruments. The unmistakable first chords of “Suzie Q” roused the sleepy crowd. Many people, including Leon and me, stood to dance.
Leon sang all the words to me. Even the I love you part. My heart exploded into a cascade of red fireworks.
Once the song was over, Creedence left the stage. And Chip came back to the microphone. “After a very short intermission, we will continue.”
The audience booed.
“Hey, it’ll happen. All in good time,” he said. “It’s gonna be a very long evening.”
Just not long enough for me.