As the beautiful rain pelted my body, my loneliness turned into frustration. At myself. Here I was with only forty-two dollars to my name—in the middle of freaking nowhere—with no clear vision for my afternoon, much less my future. Or my ride home. Should I even go home? If so, I’d have to go back to Dad treating me like I was some unholy, unlovable devil instead of his beautiful loving daughter. After this weekend, after meeting Leon, I didn’t see how that would be possible.
Why should I waste any more of my life not listening to rock music or singing the songs I loved most? Who was Dad—or the whole Southern Baptist Church, for that matter—to tell me I couldn’t dance or listen to rock music? Even King David danced and played music before the Lord. Why shouldn’t I?
The worst part of the storm lasted only twenty minutes, but the rain refused to let up. I glanced around the bowl, thinking they should name the place Mudstock. It was one giant, muddy pigsty. Although some people around me were crying, plenty of others turned the pigsty into a party.
Caked in red clay, they danced. They played tag. They limboed. Someone started a giant Slip ’N Slide at the top of the bowl. People not wearing a stitch of clothing took a run for it, sliding down the hill all the way to the stage. Nudity didn’t faze me anymore. By then the sight of a penis was as common as a nose.
Jealousy ensued when I spotted two girls turning walkovers in the mud, laughing like they were euphoric. I wished I could join them, forget my troubles, just have fun.
But I couldn’t do it.
My heart was in shambles.
Woodstock
Day Three
Sunday, August 17, 1969
4:30 p.m.
A long forty-five minutes later, they restored power to the stage. And Chip told the audience there would be another long rain delay before the music started again.
That started the mass exodus. It looked like a city of people the size of Jackson, Tennessee, was moving toward the exit.
Okay, Suzannah, this is a sign. You should leave too.I got in line with the evacuating Woodstockers and moved slowly to the back of the bowl. Water pooled everywhere. People stepped right through the puddles; some even hopscotched.
Walking in my sandals became impossible. Every time I picked up a foot, a sandal would get sucked in by the mud. I did it one too many times. The strap between my toes broke. So I took it off and left it. Along with the other one. Right there, sunken in the mud. Now I had no shoes. Folks in front of me slipped and fell. It made me even angrier. Getting the hell out of Woodstock was all I cared about.
At the top of the hill, I noticed a bank of telephones in the distance, each covered in a black trash bag. Even with the rain falling, the lineswere fifteen people deep. I hurried to the shortest line. More than anything, I needed a familiar voice. Not just any voice. Mama’s.
Someone had put boards down for folks to stand on. Although by now, they, too, were sunken in the mud. I searched through my coin purse. It yielded seven quarters, three dimes, four nickels, and fifteen pennies. Surely that was enough for a long-distance telephone call.
Once it was my turn, I pushed back the trash bag, picked up the phone, and dialed zero. I’d just hang up ifheanswered.
“Operator,” a lady said, in Shelly’s tart accent.
“I’d like to make a long-distance call to Memphis, Tennessee, please.”
“Phone number?” the tart operator asked, like she couldn’t be bothered. Maybe she thought I was a hippie freak and couldn’t stand hippies? But still, why be rude?
“Fairfax3-6180.”
“That’s three dollars and fifty cents for the first three minutes. Seventy-five cents for each additional. Deposit now,” the rude operator said.Tersely.
I panicked. “I don’t have that much change, ma’am. I—”
Click.She never bothered to saygoodbye, orthank you, orkiss my butt. She just dial-toned it in my face. Calling back collect crossed my mind, but I dismissed that bright idea. I’d have rather strutted around the place naked myself than tell my parents where I was. I could see Dad now, using his state department connections to fly in on one of the military choppers, land on the heliport, step onto the state, and page me himself.
Frustrated, I slammed the phone back on the hook. Then spent the next ten minutes asking random people if they had change for a dollar. Instead of taking my dollar, each person gladly gave me all the change they had.
Thirty minutes later, after another wait in line, I asked a second surly operator to please give me Memphis, Tennessee. As soon as she gave me the cue, I dropped fourteen quarters into the slots. With each ring I could feel my angst growing.Please, Mama, please be the one toanswer.Six rings later, a starving sense of loneliness engulfed my body as soon as I heard my mother’s soft “Hello.”
“Mama.” My voice cracked when I said her name. I missed her desperately.
The pops and whizzes from the connection made it hard to hear, but there was desperation in her voice too. “Suzannah! Honey. Are you okay?” She asked the question as if she was afraid to learn the answer.
Instead of responding, I wasted the first minute of our phone call weeping. Mama asked what was wrong, but that only made things worse.
