One girl, dressed in a full-length tie-dyed muumuu, was carrying a suitcase—abigsuitcase—and a sleeping bag underneath her arm. Another girl, wearing a feathered headdress, carried a round makeup case in one hand and a thin rolled-up mat in the other. A camera bag hung from her neck.
The scene reminded me of the exodus when the Israelites departed Egypt, heading for the Promised Land. Only these women weren’t wearing robes. It was quite the opposite. I found myself staring. From the looks of the other girls, I wondered if I’d ever fit in.
One girl, around sixteen I’d say, wore a bikini top and jeans that hit even farther below her belly button than mine. But that’s not what made me gawk. The black bush poking from each of her underarms had me bug eyed. My jaw dropped like a codfish’s when I saw a redheaded girl’s barely tied halter top, so loose you could see her boobs bouncing with each step she took. She may as well have been topless. Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off her. Leon watched too. On one hand, it made me grateful for my new bra. On the other, I felt like a wallflower at a hippie sock hop.
An hour later, we were still walking, I was still rubbernecking, and Livy was freaking out. Her excitement about Woodstock had been eclipsed by panic. We were supposed to have met Nick at the main entrance an hour ago. And the truth of the matter was none of us knew how much longer it would take to reach Bethel.
As for the good news, the long walk gave me an opportunity to learn more about Leon. He was “almost a senior” at Penn State, in no hurry to graduate for fear Uncle Sam would call him up as soon as he did. He’d been born in Tar City, but his family had moved to Harrisburg when he was twelve.
Aside from discovering his great sense of humor, I learned he came from a large, tight-knit Catholic family. He was the eldest, with five little sisters and one younger brother. Leon bragged on his family, especially his sisters. He talked about how they sometimes drove him crazy, but his life would be miserable and incomplete without them.
Would Ron ever say something that nice about me?
Like mine, his mother was a homemaker. His dad worked in the steel industry, which Leon claimed was in a terrible slump. By the way he talked, I could tell he was concerned with how his family would make ends meet. He explained it was a good thing he was on scholarship, otherwise his parents wouldn’t have been able to send him to college at all. He’d just turned twenty-one in June. I asked him what it felt like to be a legal adult. He just laughed and said, “Nothing’s changed.”
During our stroll, we learned that he and Handsome Johnny were in deep opposition to the war. Both claimed they would never go to Vietnam, even if it meant moving to Canada.
Livy loved that idea. “I have contacts there who could help y’all if you have to go.”
Handsome Johnny jerked his head back in surprise. “That would be rad, man! I’m headed there after the festival. Time’s up. Burned my draft card at a New York rally.”
“Good for you,” said Livy.
“If you’ve got the dough, you won’t have to go,” Leon chanted.
Livy threw her head back in disgust. “Plenty of rich fathers are getting their sons out of service.” She glanced at me to add more, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell our new friends anything about Dad.
Leon went on to explain that his little brother had been drafted the year before, simply because he didn’t have the grades for a scholarship and his parents didn’t have the money to pay for his tuition. I told him my brother was in ’Nam, too, but refrained from saying why. We discussed how much we missed our brothers and feared for their safety. Both of us having brothers in Vietnam gave us a special connection.
At least I thought so.
A mile later, while babbling on and on to the group about my brother and what it was like growing up in Memphis, I noticed Leon staring at me. While it gave me a thrill, the longer he stared, the more it jangled my nerves. Not able to take it much longer, I blurted out, “Why are you staring at me?”
With a finger to his lips, he held up his other palm so I’d stop walking. Slowly he reached toward me with both hands, then cupped my shoulder. “Look who landed on you.” He opened his palms slightly, just enough for me to peek at a beautiful monarch butterfly slowly flapping her delicate wings.
“She was on my shoulder?”
“Yup. She mistook your pink top for a flower.” Ever so slowly, he parted his thumbs so we could study her loveliness. Two vibrant shades of orange, veined in black, with careless white dots sprinkled across her wings and torso. This close, we could see her bulging onyx eyes, her willowy legs, and her erect antennae readying her for flight.
Once we’d both gotten a good look at her, Leon lifted his palms skyward. At first, the butterfly hesitated, perhaps wanting to linger. Within moments, though, aware of her loose chains, the graceful monarch gained the courage she needed and soared away to freedom.
Leon pressed his elbow into mine. “She wanted your nectar. Proves you’re sweet.”
It was his words that were sweet. Without knowing how to respond, I just smiled in gratitude.
Livy didn’t take notice of, or care about, the butterfly. The butterfly was not her concern. She was engaging Handsome Johnny in a conversation of her own. And if I knew Livy, that girl was wearing him out with fear over missing her boyfriend at the front gate.
Leon took a second to light another cigarette. With a flick of his wrist, he expertly shook a single from the pack, then pointed it toward me. “Want one?” he asked, a Marlboro dangling from his pretty lips.
“I don’t smoke.”
“I’m quitting,” he said with a wink. “After this weekend.”
That wink of his set me on fire.
Woodstock
Day One
