Leon must not have liked them either. After the first two songs, he dug into his backpack and pulled out a pale-yellow T-shirt. “Anyone wanna walk around?” he asked. “See what’s back there?” He slipped the shirt over his head and stood up, shaking out his legs.
At first, I was shy to speak up, but when no one else offered, I jumped at the chance. “I’ll go.”
“Cool.” Leon offered me his hand and pulled me straight up. “I could use a cold brew. What about you?”
“Sounds great to me,” I said and meant it. For the brief time his hand was in mine, tingles shot through me like thousands of tiny comets.
“I need a pit stop first.” He looked down at the rest of our group. “You guys need anything?”
“Surprise us” was Johnny’s answer.
Livy looked at me but never commented.
When Dave and Slim declined his offer, Leon and I joined the slow-moving line of people walking up the hill to the back of the bowl.
“How about that LSD warning?” he said. “Guess we better not drink anything else that’s been opened.”
I thought about the bottle of wine and the jug of water I’d already sipped on and felt my stomach drop. “How long does it take for LSD to work?”
“Not long,” he said, rubbing his knuckles on top of my head. “You’re okay.”
Due to the massive crowd, growing larger by the second, it took a full twenty minutes to reach the top. Once there, we found a village of Porta Potties. I took a quick count. Must have been eighty in that location, but the lines were ridiculous. At least a hundred people in each.
Leon glanced at the lines, then back at me. He twirled me around in front of him, pointing toward the woods. “What do you say?”
“Race ya,” I said and took off.
I may have had a head start, but he caught up with me in seconds, laughing and waving as he passed me by. With all the people, running proved impossible, but hurrying behind Leon was the most fun thing I’d ever done. Darting in and around folks dressed in every getup imaginable, we passed people in funky costumes, a guy in a psychedelic robe, and even another topless girl.
After reaching the woods, we barreled down the first path we came to, soon hitting a crossroads with three hand-painted signs nailed to a tree: Gentle Path, Groovy Way, and High Way, each pointing in different directions.
“You decide,” Leon said, a bit out of breath.
“Gentle Path!” I cried and took off.
We scurried past tents and campfires, ferns, and wildflowers. Once we were deep into the woods, he stopped in front of a large maple tree. “Meet me right here?”
I nodded. “Right here.”
Before running off, we both noticed something moving. Not too far away, a couple lay entangled with one another behind a fallen tree. We could hear their heavy breathing, see her bare legs flailing in the air.
I practically spit out my words. “Are . . . they . . . ?”
“Our landmark,” Leon whispered with a silly face, then gave me a gentle push.
Once I’d chosen a large enough tree, as secluded as possible, I pulled one leg all the way out of my jeans and squatted, my bare bottom flashing to God knows who. Modesty would have no boundaries at Woodstock. Not when girls were stripping off their tops and couples were having sex in the bushes. It was the most mind-blowing thing I could imagine.If Dad could see me now.Just picturing that made me chuckle out loud.
Leon was at the tree when I returned. And our landmark girl was sitting on top of her lover, gyrating her hips, rubbing her hands through her hair. Their breathing had turned into libidinous moans. My eyes swelled into a fixed stare. I couldn’t help it.
Muted laughter swept across Leon’s face. “Would you like to get closer?”
I turned my head toward him. “I wouldnot. Would you?”
“You’re the one staring.”
“I’m not staring! I’m ... having a look-see. There’s a difference.”
He peered at me, eyebrows pinched. “What is that difference, Miss Peeping Tom?”
