“I really wanted you to meet Nick,” she said, with tears flooding her eyes.
“I will meet him. He’ll be here soon. I’m sure he’s stuck in traffic.”
Livy’s demeanor bewildered me. I was surprised it was hitting her so hard. She was the most resilient person I’d ever known. And she rarely cried—about anything. I was the crier. What’s more, she could have any boy on earth she wanted. What in the world was so great about Nick? As far as I was concerned, he was clearly untrustworthy.
“Just give me a little time. I’ll get better,” she said with a weak smile, then leaned over to retie her sandals. “You and Leon sure were gone a long time.”
I lowered my voice. “He’s cool. Don’t you think?”
“He’s beautiful. That’s what I think.” She peered over at him, then leaned back on her hands, crossing her legs. “I thought you didn’t want a boyfriend.”
With a finger to my lips, I gave her a warning gaze.
“He can’t hear me over the music,” she said, fiddling with her bracelets.
“I admit it,” I whispered in her ear. “I have a crush. It’s growing bigger by the minute. You’ll never believe what happened. We—”
“You were right, SuSu. You can’t trust guys. I don’t know why I ever thought I could.”
“That’s not true for all guys,” I was quick to say. “I think Leon might be different. Wait till you hear what happened when we were in the butterfly meadow.”
She put a hand over her heart and peered at me with an adoring smile. For a second, I thought she wanted to know more, that she might be happy for me. Instead, she switched subjects again. “This is one of my favorite songs in the world. Do you know it?”
The song was lovely. But it was hard to pay attention while thinking about how easily Livy switched from one mood to another. “It’s great,” I said. “I’ve never heard it.”
“It’s ‘America,’ by Simon & Garfunkel. On theirBookendsalbum, the one with ‘Mrs. Robinson.’”
As Bert sang the last line, I leaned forward, yelling, “Play it again!” But, of course, he didn’t. When he bowed, the audience gave him a standing ovation.What must that feel like? To have two hundred thousand people standing up for you?Watching Bert, with the blue-hour sky settling in behind him, I imagined it was me onstage. I pictured myself holding Ron’s guitar against my middle, bowing over the strings, smiling at the audience. I heard the roar of the crowd going wild. For me.
8:15 p.m.
A different announcer took the stage after Bert left. “How is it out there?” he asked. “All right, same boring speech about the scaffolds. Hey, look. We’ve done it all, we’ve done the threat, we’ve done the push, we’ve done the Bill Graham rap number three. The only thing more I can say is ... fellows, those are scaffolds. They are not cement buildings. Please come down off the scaffolds.”
Two hundred thousand heads turned at the same time to look, once again, at the scaffolds.
This turning of heads had become a ritual. When we looked this time, the light towers had become jungle gyms. A billowy haze of thick smoke hovered over the bowl, but you could still see dangling feet twisted in between metal poles.
“Richard Casey or David Bradley from Framingham, Mass, please call the Bradley home or the Casey home,” the announcer continued. “With these messages, we’ll try to do them in between the bands. Please make sure they’re worth it. Make sure that they mean something.”
Livy leaned forward like she was talking directly to the dude. “I’ll tell you what’s worth it. Finding my boyfriend. Why don’t you announcehisname again?”
By then we had figured out the stage announcements were the festival’s only means of communication and the sole way she would ever find Nick.
As improbable as it was to ponder, Livy and I had switched places. Here I was, sitting with a boy whom I had a massive crush on, while Livy sat alone. Part of me felt guilty. Like I should be the one in her shoes. Like I shouldn’t have a crush at Woodstock because her boyfriend was missing, and she was the one who had invited me. The other part of me knew that was absurd, but I couldn’t help thinking it. Livy had a way of putting herself in the center of everything.
After hearing the announcer read note after note from people trying to find their lost friends or lost medication or lost car keys, she turnedto me. “Let’s go page my boyfriend again. Will you please come with me this time?”
I’d have rather taken off my own shirt and flashed the crowd—that’s how bad I wanted to stay put. Leon was talking with tie-dyed-skirt girl, Anne Marie, which made an awful thought cross my mind. Suppose those two started crushing on each other while I was gone?
But I didn’t see how I could refuse Livy. Not only did I feel bad for her, but she’d asked me nicely. I had to go.
Before I could reach for my purse, she grabbed my arm. “There’s Joan Baez!” She pointed toward a short-haired girl with bare feet, tucked inside one of the stage wings. She looked pregnant.
“I think she’s pregnant!” I said.
Livy, of course, knew the scoop. “She is pregnant. And her husband’s in jail for resisting the draft.”
“That stinks. For how long?”
