“You do now. Your old life left the minute you decided to come with me. So long, psycho dad. Hello, happiness!”
Livy’s voice sounded scratchy when she saiddad. For as long as I could remember, her voice had a raspy quality, like it had to pass through a grater to get out of her mouth. I couldn’t wait to change the subject. “Do you remember how Ron used to call you Flea Bit? Because of your scratchy voice.”
“I’d get so mad at him,” she said with a grin.
“He flirted with all my friends.” As soon as the words left my lips, my anger returned. “Forget Ron. I’m getting mad at him for not writing. Let’s just focus on our fun weekend.” Leaning back in the seat, I pictured us in a sunny meadow with a cool breeze, listening to Crosby, Stills & Nash—live.
“Okay, but I want to say one more thing.” Tenderness laced her tone. “This is not meant to scare you.”
I whipped my head around to find her lips mashed together. “What?”
“Do you think there’s a possibility Ronny’s been ... wounded?” She glanced at me briefly, then back at the road. “And that’s why he’s not writing? Maybe your dad’s keeping it from you and your mom, so y’all won’t worry.”
“I don’t want to think like that, Livy,” I said, with renewed fury in my voice.
She backed down immediately. “Okay. Fine. It was just a thought.”
“My father doesn’t protect us from anything. He used to sometimes, before he made Ron enlist, but not anymore.”
I closed my eyes, daydreaming about the good ole days, long before the Vietnam War, when it still seemed like Dad loved me.
At least some of the time.
On the Road to Woodstock
Somewhere in New York
Friday, August 15, 1969
10:30 a.m.
“Suzannah. Are you asleep?”
Seconds slipped by before I answered. “No. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“How hungry I am,” I lied. I was sick of listening to her snide comments about my church and about Dad. I could hate him all I wanted, but she couldn’t.
“Me too. Let’s stop. We need gas anyway.”
Right before the New York border, we filled up at a 7-Eleven and stocked up on Milky Ways, peanut butter crackers, and Juicy Fruit gum. We even bought suicide Slurpees, mixing together a little bit of each flavor. After thrusting cash at the clerk, Livy dashed out the door, scurrying back to the car with both hands full. Getting to her boyfriend was all she could think about. I was barely inside the car when she peeled off and my door slammed shut. I nearly lost a foot.
Back on the road—a scenic two-lane highway dotted with cows, silos, and old farmhouses—my mind drifted, once again, to Mama. I had wanted to call her from the pay phone at the 7-Eleven, but Livy was in a mad rush. Besides, I was afraidhe’dpick up. She was probably worried sick about me, though. I’d call her from Bethel.
After a big sip of my Slurpee, my mind switched to Gertie. At first, I’d been scared to call her. I didn’t want to let her down. She’d been a friend to me, and I was afraid she might disapprove of my quitting. Boy, was I wrong.
“Why, Suzannah, I declare. It’s about time you did something fun for yourself,” she had said when I called her the morning we left. “I heard Dick Cavett talking about that thing on the TV Tuesday night. Hippiefest, they’re calling it. Go enjoy yourself!”
She urged me to be mindful of the Hong Kong flu pandemic and reminded me that even President Johnson had contracted it the year before. “It’s killed over a million people worldwide,” Gertie had said. “Don’t share your drink.” Right before hanging up, she’d shocked the life out of me with one final admonition. “You need to cut loose for a change. Strike a match when you get up there and burn your bra.”
I still had on my bra. But I had to admit I loved my new clothes. Livy had given me a pair of hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a cute pink baby doll top with puff sleeves. I’d almost made us late making sure the top was pressed.
As for Livy’s festival outfit: blue jean cutoffs, a suede V-neck top with fringe hanging from the sleeves, several strands of love beads draping her neck—even more on her wrists—leather sandals that crisscrossed and tied under her knees, and no bra. She looked like a hippie goddess.
“I can’t believe we’ve been together two days and you haven’t told me a thing about the boys at Union U,” she said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No way.”
