I swallowed. “Kind of.”
“Does pot scare you?”
I didn’t want her to think of me as an even bigger Goody Two-shoes, so I didn’tquiteadmit it. “Does it scare you?”
“Not a bit.”
“Have you tried pot?” I asked hesitantly, afraid to learn the truth.
Livy answered with a simple nod, then smiled like a child digging into her trick or treat bag.
Without realizing it, I gnawed on my thumbnail, pondering the revelation that Livy smoked dope. “What does it feel like ... when you’re high?”
“It depends. On your mood. Sometimes it makes you laugh. Other times it makes you mellow. Every now and then it can make you paranoid, like somebody’s out to get ya.” She grabbed me by the arm, made a scary face.
I gaped at her. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“Relax.” She patted my knee. “It doesn’t happen that often. Bob Dylan got the Beatles into grass.”
“No surprise there,” I said in a mocking tone. Everybody knew Bob Dylan smoked grass.
“You’dloveit, Suzannah. You feel so damn good. So uninhibited, soalive! When it makes you laugh, it’s the most fun you’ll ever have. You have to grip your stomach with all your might because you cannot stop laughing.”
“That does sound fun,” I said, warmingslightlyto the idea. I gave her a sidelong glance. “You haven’t done LSD, have you?”
“No. But I’m not saying it’s out of the question.” She tried to tuck another lock of loose hair behind her ear, but the wind wouldn’t let her. “My boyfriend has. He says it’s euphoria. And it makes you think you can ... I don’t know ... you might think you’re Michelangelo and can paint another Sistine Chapel.”
This surprised me. It’s not like I’d ever thought about what happens while using LSD, but as cool as that sounded, I’d never do anything that stupid. It was a drug. A powerful drug.
“He says it makes you grasp the deeper meaning of life.” She poked my knee. “You might even see God.”
“That’s alie.”
“That’s what he says.”
I’d set her boyfriend straight if he ever tried telling me that. “What doesLSDstand for?” I asked.
“No clue.” Livy paused. “I’m sure Ronny’s doing it. To cope with what he’s seen in Vietnam.”
The thought of my only brother “dropping acid” in Vietnam freaked me out. “No way. He’d never do drugs.”
Livy shrugged. “Lots of soldiers do it. They’ve gotta get the images out of their head somehow.”
That wave of panic I often got when thinking about causing Ron’s enlistment erupted like a geyser. My heart pounded against my chest. My palms dampened. I felt dizzy. Nauseous. With a lock of hair coiled around my index finger, I tugged at my scalp, whispering, “I had no idea.”
Livy shifted in her seat, then glanced over at me. “I’m not trying to be mean. But it seems like you’ve been living under a rock since the last time I saw you.”
Instead of answering, I stared out the window. Fields, cows, barns, and billboards flew by while I pondered a response. She was right. I had been living under a rock. And I’d been forced to bury my singing dream underneath it with me. Part of me wanted to screamHow would you know, Livy Foster? You didn’t even call me for three years.
But I did not want to get into a fight this early in our epic escapade.
Three Weeks Earlier
Goldsmith’s Department Store
Memphis, Tennessee
Friday, July 25, 1969
