“How could he not?”Geez, Livy. Could you be any more perfect?
“You’re right. I’ll take it. And the panties too.” She lifted the nightie over her head and stepped back into her street clothes.
I would have loved the chance to spend more time convincing her of the reasons why I couldn’t go to the festival. Why it wasn’t worth the risk. Why my father’s dominating power still ruled my life. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Livy would never understand. She came from an open-minded cool family with parents who trusted her to make her own decisions.
A truth about my family dawned on me right then.Oppression is just something you get used to.
I stood up. “Sure you don’t need a new bra?” I asked, gathering the merchandise she’d left on the floor.
Livy shook her head. “The only time I wear one is when I’m home.” She popped her home bra strap against her shoulder.
Once I’d written up the sales ticket and shown her the total, I was surprised she didn’t balk. It was an exorbitant sale—for a twenty-year-old, anyway. I was dying to ask how she could afford such a luxury, despite her parents’ money, but decided it was none of my business and certainly none of Gertie’s, who had been hovering around us like a dragonfly.
After folding the lingerie in tissue paper and placing it neatly inside a shopping bag, I walked around the counter to hand it to her. “Sorry it’s not working out for us to go to the festival. But we should still get together.”
“Call me,” she said. “We have the same number.”
“So do we,” I answered, my voice barely audible. Despite everything that had happened in our past, I groaned at the thought of losing her again. I’d been devastated by her betrayal three years ago. So much so that I had never allowed myself to imagine her reentering my life.
Livy took one step toward the escalator, then turned back around, lowering her voice for my ears only. “Take a walk on the wild side, Suzannah Jean Withers.” She was referring to a book on the Central High summer reading list. I hadn’t been allowed to read it. She had. “If you go to the festival, you’ll be the talk of Union U when you get there in the fall.”
I laughed. “You’re so right about that.”
“At the very least, listen to the rest of the records.” With a hand on my shoulder, she gave me a gentle squeeze. “Today’s music is a reflection of what’s going on in our country. Society is changing. You need to be a part of the resistance. Ron’s life depends on it.”
Fifty Years Later
Woodstock 50th Anniversary Celebration
Bethel, New York
Friday Afternoon, August 16, 2019
Thewhomp-whomp-whompof the helicopter blades and thepop-pop-popof the machine guns echo inside our eardrums. The deafening roar burns into my flesh and takes me back toEvening Newswith Walter Cronkite, Dad planted in his chair in front of the TV, a finger to his lips if I dared to speak. Dead bodies on stretchers. Teenage boys on stretchers. Always wondering if one of them was Ron.
The Vietnam War video at the Bethel Woods museum runs on a loop. We’ve just walked up in the middle of the program.
Adelaide looks at me, one eye squinted. Her head is tilted at an angle. “Are you okay to watch this?”
Truth is, I’m not sure I am. I left in the middle ofPlatoon, the film based on Oliver Stone’s experience as a US infantryman in Vietnam. I couldn’t handle that movie in 1986, and I’m pretty sure I can’t handle this short film now.
Perhaps the blood has drained from my face. Adelaide changes her mind. “Let’s skip it.”
I manage a weak smile.
Life-size photos of bloody war scenes line the walls of the exhibit, along with pictures of helmeted police officers holding billy clubs and tear gas cans while dragging away bodies of peaceful protestors at the 1968 Democratic National Convention.
Adelaide covers her ears and squeezes her head. “I can’t imagine my brother beingforcedto fight in a war, in a hot jungle, atmyage! Your dad was so mean.”
I nod with my eyes shut. “Roughest time of my life. No doubt about it.”
“You shouldn’t have blamed yourself, Grammy. It was his fault. Not yours.”
After a long sigh I say, “I know that now, lovey. But at your age, I was hard to convince.”
Adelaide hooks her arm inside mine and leads me away from the Vietnam exhibit over to a bench next to an old VW Bug painted in swirls of retro colors, flowers, and peace symbols. We sit down, right next to each other. It feels good to have her warm body close to mine. It’s chilly in here.
“I still have all his letters,” I say, thinking back to the worst period of my life.
