“Don’t look so shocked. It was Woodstock.”
“But you don’t even drink.”
“I used to. Plenty. I got ahold of myself before it became a problem. At Woodstock I was young and dumb.”
“Young and in love.”
“Young, dumb, in love, and desperate to fit in. That’s not a reason to smoke marijuana.” I dip my chin and give her a loving glance.
Adelaide shrugs, with her hairbrush in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She sits down next to me on the bed.
“Have you tried it?” I ask, trying to remain cool. It’s important she knows I won’t be angry even if she has.
She bristles, won’t look me in the eye.
I lift her chin so she has no choice. “How many times? I won’t be mad.”
“Two. Maybe three,” she says shyly.
“Did someone pressure you?”
“No. It just seemed like a cool thing to do.”
“It seems cool now. But you never know what it’ll lead to. Some people have genetic predispositions to drugs and alcohol. It’s best to stay away from it.” I give her a light tap on the nose.
“They use it for medicinal reasons now. It couldn’t be all that bad. Besides, it’s legal in Washington and Colorado.”
I laugh out loud. She’s so much like me. “This is not about the law. It’s about common sense. Young people think nothing bad can ever happen to them. Will you at least think about what I’m saying?” Here I go, preaching to her again. I don’t mean to. I just want her to make good choices.
Her arms are around me before I can utter another word. “I always think about what you tell me, Grammy.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Hopefully she knows by now I love her more than life itself.
Woodstock
Day Two
Saturday, August 16, 1969
12:40 a.m.
Once the pouring rain had slowed to a drizzle and Ravi had finished his set, Chip Monck returned to the stage. “To the gentleman that’s climbing down the scaffolding tower, that is not a piece of rope that you are hanging on.”
All heads turned.
“But a four-conductor cable. And it would sort of weld you to the side of the tower if you missed.”
“That would suck,” said Dave. “Even more than the rain.”
Slim, whom we’d come to know as a fellow of few words, piped up with a suggestion. “If we drop acid, man, we wouldn’t even know it’s raining, man.”
Despite the dire warnings from the stage, Livy Foster actually said, “I’m game.”
“I second,” said Johnny, holding his hand up. Dave shook his head no. Leon never responded, and I sure didn’t.
Had Livy lost her mind? Despite her high intelligence, at times she seemed to be void of common sense. We’d all been warned about poisonous acid, yet she still wanted to experiment. I almost pulled heroff to the side to knock some sense into that hippie brain of hers, but the last thing I wanted, or needed, was another clash with Livy. Especially while she was high. There was no telling what she mightaccidentallyreveal to the group about me or my family.
The scales were beginning to fall from my eyes. No doubt Livy was physically perfect, but how much did that matter if someone lacked good judgment?
