I fought back a grin, but the sight of his silly face softened my resolve. After an eye roll, I finally muttered, “Nekkid,” but not very loud.
With that he removed the hot dog from its bun and stuffed it inside his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, waving the dog at me like Woolly Dude had waved his wiener.
I lunged at him. But he leaped out of the way, holding his Best Cola out to the side. With both hands I tried grabbing the dog, but he turned his head. Every time I tried to yank it away, he backed off, waving it at me again. I sprang toward him, but this time he ran, juking in and around the people in front of him, proving once more he knew his way around a football field.
Seconds later, when he let me catch him, I yanked that wiener from his mouth and whipped him with it, right across the face. Mustard and ketchup streaked his cheeks and nose. “You better watch out, buster,”I shouted, shaking it in front of his face. “Or I’ll lash you with this again.” He tried grabbing it, but I beat him to the punch. I threw that dog down on the muddy ground and stomped on it.
Watching him laugh got me going, and I shrieked with glee. We just stood there, doubled over with bellyaching laughter. No help from marijuana, just good old-fashioned funny.How many moons have passed since I’ve howled like this?I wondered.
Our bodies were coated in mud, but I didn’t even care.
Leon slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. A match the size of Texas struck deep down inside, igniting a roaring fire. Fire I didn’t know I had. As I looked up, square into his green eyes with mischief tucked inside the outer crinkles, I wanted to take my finger and outline his pretty lips. Because I craved those lips. I’d been longing to taste them for the last twenty-four hours. I’d spent the wee morning hours pressed into his abdomen, yet our lips had not touched.Kiss me, you fool! Put your mouth on top of mine and kiss me. Right here, right now.
But he didn’t.
“Ready to head back?” he asked instead.
I slumped, ever so slightly, but straightened in a hurry, determined to steel myself against the sadness eager to clog my veins. The last thing I wanted was him sensing my disappointment.
“Sure,” I said, trying to match his upbeat tone.
He has a girlfriend. That’s what’s going on here. Why else hadn’t he kissed me?He wanted to. I saw it in his eyes. Surely he wasn’t worried about people watching us. It’s not like folks at the festival were making out behind bushes. People were having sex out in the open, for goodness’ sake. A guy in a pink top hat was walking around buck naked.
So why hadn’t he kissed me? As soon as the opportunity arose, I’d screw up all my courage and ask him.Just wondering, Leon, do you have a girlfriend?I’d say.
He glanced back at the multitudes waiting in line for their manna. “Do you want another soda?”
I shook my head. “I’m not getting in that line again. But I’ll take yours—thank you very much.” I snatched his Best Cola away. “You owe it to me after making fun of me.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, little darlin’. I was teasing you.” He tapped a finger to my nose. “There’s a big difference. Let’s head over to the Hog Farm. Dave told me we might find food there.”
Food was now the furthest thing from my mind. His touch was the sustenance I craved. “What’s the Hog Farm?” I asked as we maneuvered in and around the crowd.
“A hippie commune from ... New Mexico, I think.”
“So you don’t mean an actual hog farm?”
“Not hardly,” he said. “They’re our festival security. I saw it on the news. Instead of thepoliceforce, they call themselves thepleaseforce.” He chuckled. “They’re using cream pies and seltzer water in lieu of guns. Should anyone get out of line.”
“You need a cream pie to the face. I should turn you in for what you did to me.”
“So this is war, huh?”
“You better believe it, buster.”
Leon smiled, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and gave me a gentle squeeze. Euphoria settled in until I felt another darn knuckle massage.
Instant buzzkill.
Woodstock
Day Two
Saturday, August 16, 1969
11:15 a.m.
Just beyond the woods, down a winding path with a hand-painted sign readingHo Chi Minh Trail, we stumbled upon the Hog Farm. Strung up between the trees like a piñata, a pink winged papier-mâché pig dressed like Uncle Sam welcomed us in. How befitting. Having frolicked in the mud, we looked like sloppy pigs ourselves.
