A tap on my shoulder interrupted our conversation. I whipped around to find Livy, shoulders slumped, wearing a sullen expression. Despite the low-hanging brim of her hat, I could tell she’d been crying. Johnny stood with her, but no one else was there.
I leaped up, wrapped my arms around her. “No Nick?”
With a shake of her head, she confirmed her worst fear. She could hardly speak. “We waited over an hour. Other people found their lost loved ones, but he never showed up.”
“I’m sorry, Liv,” I said, tightening my grip.
Johnny slid his arm comfortably around her waist, as if it wasn’t the first time. “We’ll page him again, love. Let’s just chill here awhile. It’ll do you good to sit down and listen to music.”
“He’s stuck in traffic.” I pointed to the road behind the stage. “Just like we were.”
“I hope so,” she said in a weak voice.
I stroked her hair. “He’ll be here soon. Give him more time, okay?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, managing a slight nod.
Despite the anger I’d felt earlier, my heart ached for Livy. Just being at Woodstock was groovy enough for me, but for her, it seemed our epic escapade was more about Nick.
Slim, the greasy-haired brother, patted the ground next to him, all the while flashing a snaggletoothed smile at Livy. Johnny sat there instead, and Livy sat down beside him, with me on her other side.
The music paused, and Richie spoke to the crowd. “You know, we’ve finally made it! We did it this time. They’ll never be able to hide us again!”
With his words, an infectious energy took over. Over the cheers and whistles, Leon told me that Johnny had recently seen Richie play in a Greenwich Village coffee shop. It made me fantasize about singing in a coffee shop. With Leon in the front row.
As soon as Richie strummed the opening chords of his next song, Leon and Johnny eyed one another with knowing smiles and fist pumps. Livy smiled too. It was good to see. She moved her head to the beat like she knew the song, while the guys sang every word.
I listened closely to the lyrics. The song was about a guy named Handsome Johnny, fighting each of the wars in which America had been involved. Depending on the war, Johnny was holding a different gun. Ron creeping through rice paddies, holding an M16, was the last thing I wanted to think about while at Woodstock.
After Richie played the final note, I leaned toward Leon, having to shout over the applause. “This might be a dumb question, but did Johnny get his name from that song?”
Leon pressed his lips together. “You guessed it.”
“But the Johnny in the song goes to war, and your Johnny said he’ll never go to war.”
Jutting a thumb toward his cousin, he said, “My Handsome Johnny got drafted when he dropped out of college. Been living underground ever since he burned his draft card.” He leaned across Livy and me to touch Johnny’s knee. “Hey, man, Suzannah wants to know why we call you Handsome Johnny if you aren’t going to war?”
Johnny shot us a rueful grin. “I’m a conscientious objector, man.”
Livy gave Johnny an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I wanted to ask him to please defineconscientious objector. But I didn’t.
A half hour later, completely drenched in sweat, Richie Havens shocked the audience by starting yet another song. With nimble fingers tuning his guitar, he scanned the massive crowd. “Freedom is what we’reall talking about getting. It’s what we’ve been looking for. I think this is it.” It seemed Richie, strumming with a palpable urgency, was singing for everyone there. “Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.”
Johnny leaned forward to get Leon’s attention. “He’s out of songs, man.”
“Right on,” said Leon. “Sounds like he’s making this one up.”
I agreed.
“Clap your hands!” Richie yelled. “Clap your hands.”
Most folks did as he asked, in turn standing to show their support.
Electricity was in the air. Everyone could feel it. A girl a couple of rows in front ripped off her shirt.She ripped off her shirt!Dancing, swaying, bending like a wild woman, she turned around to face the crowd and thrust her arms in the air, flashing herbare-nakedbreasts for the whole world to see.
I elbowed Livy. “Can you believe that girl?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? She feels free.”
