And we lived a thousand miles apart.
A screeching noise from the main-stage microphone made Leon stir. It was a wonder we could hear it this far away. His arm slipped from my waist. His whiskers crackled as he rubbed his chin. As quickly as he had moved his arm away, he wrapped it back on top of mine, adding a gentle squeeze. “Wake up, little Susie,” he sang, so beautifully out of tune. It made my insides beam. And burn, all over again.
Wiggling in deeper, I let him know I was awake. “No one’s ever called me Suzie before you.”
“Are you cool with it?”
“When you say it, I am.”
“Would you rather I call you Suzannah?” He kissed the tip of my ear.
“I’d rather you call me Suzie.”
“Wonder what time it is,Suzie.”
I could have looked at my watch, but it would mean he’d have to move his arm. “No idea.”
“What do you say we find one of those outdoor showers? I feel gnarly.” He sat up, pulling me along with him.
“I’d say I love that idea.”
Leon’s gaze roved across my chest. Only then did I remember I was shirtless. At first, I resisted the urge to cover myself, but modesty roared back. So I pulled up my knees to hide behind them and reached for my bra, lying in a heap on the ground. As soon as it was in my hand, I remembered my new halter top, balled up inside my purse. I slipped it over my neck.
“Will you tie this for me?” I asked, turning my back toward him.
Instead of tying it, he reached under my arms to touch my breasts. One of his delicious man-giggles followed as he kissed my neck. His hands felt lovely and warm, so I leaned back against him, relishing in his touch.How am I supposed to leave this?
Once he’d tied the bow, he turned me around by my shoulders. “Looks rad on you. How do you feel?”
“I feel ... like a brand-new me.” Truth was, I felt like the butterfly that had landed on my shoulder when we first arrived. Totally carefree. And beautiful.
1:00 p.m.
We never found one of those outdoor showers. It must have been a rumor. But we did find water—orwooder, as Leon pronounced it—in a nearby pasture. Faucets had been installed from underground pipes. Thousands of folks stood in line.
The two of us waited forty-five minutes to rinse our faces and hands, brush our teeth, and quench our thirst. Fortunately, we had saved our paper cups from the granola. We passed them on to the person behind once we’d downed a few cupfuls.
We stood at the top of the bowl, peering down in awe on the city of Woodstock. There must have been one hundred acres’ worth of bodies. New piles of muddy sleeping bags dotted the perimeter. The stench of dirty humans, vomit, and garbage, mixed with the scent of marijuana and campfires, hung heavy in the air. The smell of urine met my nostrils, but it no longer grossed me out. Just as Grace Slick had predicted, a new day had dawned.
Although still humid, the weather was nice and warm, and the sun on my skin felt sublime. A few clouds hung low in the sky, but they didn’t seem to carry a threat of rain. I decided not to think about us parting ways until I had to. I’d simply enjoy the time we had left.
An unknown musician from England named Joe Cocker was slated to kick off the Sunday music. We meandered down the two-lanepathway in search of yet another choice place to sit, then settled halfway down, at the edge of a row.
Livy crossed my mind. Although she was headed on to Cambridge after the festival, she was supposed to help me figure out how I would get home. Where was home? I didn’t want to think about that yet. Leon was all I wanted to think about.
Like normal, John Morris’s voice floating throughout the pasture city caused everyone to listen up. “We have a gentleman with us,” he began. “The gentleman upon whose farm we are. Mr. Max Yasgur.”
Applause and whistles followed as Chip escorted our festival host to the microphone. Almost everyone, including Leon and me, gave him a standing ovation.
Max wore hefty black glasses and a crisp white dress shirt. “Is this on?” He tapped the mic twice, looking to Chip for affirmation. “I’m a farmer. I don’t know—” The roar from half a million people caused him to pause. “I don’t know how to speak to twenty people at one time, let alone a crowd like this, but I think you people have proven something to the world. Not only to the town of Bethel or Sullivan County or New York state. You’ve proven something to the world! This is the largest group of people ever assembled in one place. We had no idea that there would be this size group, and because of that you’ve had quite a few inconveniences, as far as water and food and so forth. Your producers have done a mammoth job to see that you’re taken care of. They deserve a vote of thanks.”
Another explosion of applause. The largest so far.
“But above that, the important thing that you’ve proven to the world is that a half a million kids—and I call youkidsbecause I have children older than you are—a half a million young people can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing but fun and music, and I—God bless you for it!”
It was a super cool moment. Someone my parents’ age affirming the ideology behind Woodstock. No one had forced Max Yasgur to lease his land. He didn’t have to hold the festival on his property, no matterhow much the producers paid him. He must have favored the youthful, rebellious spirit spreading rapidly through the country.
After Max left, Chip made a few more announcements. “Okay, let’s run through these before we invite Mr. Joe Cocker to the stage. Michael and Will Brown, your mother would very much appreciate you calling home. Elise Crockett, please meet your boyfriend, Robert, at the foot of the stage. He’s a little slow but has finally arrived. Leon Wright, you have an important message at the information booth.”
