I scrambled up from the floor, picked up the insert with the lyrics, and sang along with the guys, remembering what happiness felt like. “Chestnut brown canary, ruby-throated sparrow. Sing the song. Don’t be long. Thrill me to the marrow.” As the song went on, I imagined picking it out on guitar. I almost reached for the Martin but decided not to. For now, I would simply sing along.
Once it was over, I played it again. Felt all the same emotions. Then played it a third time, and a fourth. The only thing I could compare that moment to was the euphoria I had felt the first time I sat behind the wheel of my Mustang, no one else in the car. With the windows rolled down and the wind in my hair, I feasted on my first taste of freedom.
After flipping the album over and hearing “Helplessly Hoping,” I knew for sure I was levitating. When Crosby, Stills & Nash harmonized, it was impossible to tell whose voice was prettier. They sounded like thesame person. One voice. One sound. An intricately woven mosaic fused with multicolored glass.
A glance at the cover, with Stephen Stills holding his guitar, reminded me of Ron and convinced me to scramble back up the chair for his Martin. The second it was in my hands, adrenaline flooded through my veins as if it was a drug. I felt a rush, even while strumming the C chord. But the Martin sounded way out of tune, so I tightened the strings. I replayed “Helplessly Hoping” three more times, harmonizing along with the guys and picking out the chords. Crosby, Stills & Nash seemed to have written the song for me. I was helplessly hoping my life could change.
Livy clapped her hands as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “I knew you’d love that band.”
“I love them almost as much as I love the Beatles.” Heat spread through my chest. “Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell are right up there. I stayed up till four in the morning singing along with them in my closet.”
“I can’t wait for you to hear Hendrix. You’ve got to do it again tonight.”
“No way. I have to play this game with extreme caution.” Imagining Dad’s wrath if he caught me was terrifying.
The waitress delivered our lunch. Like many times before, when we had eaten at the Gridiron, we both ordered the same thing: yummy chargrilled cheeseburgers, french fries, and large Cokes. “So what’s your great idea?” I asked, dropping a dime in the booth’s jukebox. I chose one of my favorite Beatles songs, “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Crosby, Stills & Nash wasn’t an option.
Livy shifted in her seat and tucked her long silky Breck Girl hair behind her ears, raking her fingers through to the ends. Jealousy threatened to rear its ugly head. Her beauty slayed me.
“Promise to hear me out before you say no?” she asked.
“I don’t make promises anymore.”
She rolled her eyes, dismissing my comment. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about my boyfriend the other day. He’s gorgeous, funny, and so much fun. You’d love him.”
“Cool,” I said, fighting the urge to say,Of course he’s all those things, Livy. You can have any boy you want.
“He’ssocool.” She looked up with yearning in her eyes. “Last night on the phone we talked about this outdoor music festival in New York. They’re billing it as an Aquarian Exposition with three days of peace and music. Kinda like last year’s Monterey Pop Festival. You heard about that, right?”
I nodded, even though I hadn’t.
“Lots of the musicians who played Monterey will be there. It starts in three weeks.”
“Is your boyfriend going?”
“Definitely. Some of the best bands in the world are on the bill.” Using her fingers, she counted them off. “Joan Baez; Jimi Hendrix; Janis Joplin; Creedence Clearwater Revival; Blood, Sweat & Tears. You know them: ‘Spinning Wheel.’” She sang the title and gestured toward me like I was supposed to sing the next line.
I shook my head. “I’ve heard it, but I don’t know the words.” That was a lie. I’d never heard it before.
“Wanna know what else is cool?”
Anything was possible with Livy.
She bounced in the booth, throwing her arms up like a cheerleader. “Crosby, Stills & Nash will be there!”
Just the mere mention of that band made my body twitch.
“I can’t wait!”
“You’regoing?” I asked, the green-eyed monster nipping at my heels.
“Of course I’m going. But my last day at Dinstuhl’s is August thirteenth, and it starts the fifteenth. My boyfriend’s going early to get us a good camping spot.”
“Will Joni Mitchell be there?”
“She’s not on the roster, but she and Graham Nash are lovers. I bet she makes a surprise appearance.”
“Wow,” I muttered, even more jealous. If that was possible. “Promise you’ll write me all about it when you get back to school?” I took a sip of my Coke.
