I had to consciously resist the urge to run as fast as my legs could carry me.
As if he sensed my thoughts, Leon stood up and extended his hand. My legs were jelly bowls, and my heart a sledgehammer, but I still took his hand and rose to face him. He gripped my shoulders. “I know you’re scared shitless. But you can do this, Suzie. I believe in you.”
His words melted onto my heart like a salve. No one but Ron had ever said anything like that to me.
“Singing is your destiny,” he said.
Call it the marijuana. Call it the brotherly love of Woodstock, or flat call it Leon and his words of encouragement, but something inside me split open. Courage bubbled up. My feet took on a life of their own as I scooted past Leon, floating in a daze out to the edge of my row. Sensing every person’s eyes moving along with me, I strode confidently toward the stage. With my head held high, I stepped onto the platform.
The commune leader smiled. “Welcome, milady, Hugh Romney. Glad to meet ya. Would you rather sit or stand?”
I didn’t know, but something told me I’d be more comfortable sitting, as if I was on my bed at home. “I think I’d rather sit,” I said.
While watching Hugh fetch a wooden stool at the back of the stage, my heart raced as fast as a cheetah. He placed the stool down in front of me with a thud, then patted the seat. “She’s all yours.”
“Just so you know, I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s why we have this stage.” He lowered the mic stand to my level. “To give everybody their first time. Nothing to be afraid of. We’re your family, hon.” Hugh slipped an arm around my waist and gave me an encouraging squeeze.
Ian plugged his guitar into a small black box at my feet, then handed it to me. It was a beautiful Martin, with mother-of-pearl encircling the sound hole and rimming the edges.A Martin.Like Ron’s. It had to be an omen. What’s more, it looked like the one Joan Baez had played the night before. With pulse pounding, I took it from him, slipping my arm through the strap. I settled down onto the stool and placed the guitar waist against my thigh.
I peered out into the audience. Hundreds of nameless faces stared back. Suddenly I lost all confidence. What were they expecting? Another Melanie? “I’m not sure what to play,” I told Hugh.
He gave me a toothless smile, then leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Do something easy. Like I said, sing ‘Kumbaya.’ Do you know it?”
Of course I knew it. By heart. From Young Life camp. Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to play it at Woodstock. It would be cooler to sing one of Peter, Paul and Mary’s other songs like “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” or “Puff, the Magic Dragon.” I knew those by heart too.
At least I used to.
This was my shot, my chance to reignite my dream. I should be daring. That was what this epic escapade was all about. I’d done all kinds of gritty things in the last week. I’d stood up to Dad. I’d run away. I’d smoked marijuana.Twice!
Deep in my soul, I knew exactly what I wanted to play. But not only did I need a pound more nerve to do it—I needed a capo. If Ian didn’t have one, I’d know it wasn’t meant to be. “Do you have a capo by chance?” I asked him.
I’ll be darned.Ian reached inside his pocket and held up a capo, then gladly handed it over.
“Thanks,” I said, then placed it on the second fret, turning my G chord into an A. Although it had been shattered into a million pieces, I could still seeRubber Soulspinning on my turntable. The American version, first side, first track—the first all-acoustic song Paul had ever written: “I’ve Just Seen a Face.” I was destined to play it.
With a shaky left hand, I found E minor, playing two notes together, a sixth apart.Here goes. No turning back now.As my fingers struck the chords with a second-nature sureness from all the hours of monotonous practice, I launched into the quick tempo. With my lips inches from the mic, I closed my eyes and let the lyrics flow.
By the time I got to the chorus, I had regained my confidence and sang with an intense fervor.
People in the audience were clapping to the beat, so I opened my eyes. Most were singing with me. Every cell in my body erupted with joy. I couldn’t remember a time in my life that had been any more fun.
The last verse came before I knew it. Then two short minutes later, when I strummed the final chord, the impossible happened. The audience jumped to their feet. Their applause seemed to go on forever. You’d have thought I really was Melanie or Joan Baez or some other famous person. Certainly not me.
Bouncing off of the stool, I smiled at the crowd, then handed the guitar back to Ian. I stepped off the stage, with my head held high.
“Su-zie, Su-zie, Su-zie,” the Hog Farmers chanted again. As ecstatic as that made me, I couldn’t appreciate it fully because I was scanning the crowd for Leon. He was no longer in our spot in the back row. Dear God, had he left?
Behind me, Hugh Romney belted out, “Where do you think you’re going, Suzie Q? Get back here!”
I swung around to see him waving me back to the stage. It hadn’t been as hard as I’d thought. And I had loved every second of it. But where the heck was Leon?
Once again, Ian handed me his guitar. I settled back down on the stool. This time I knew exactly what to play: “I’ll Follow the Sun.” It was the first Beatles song I had ever learned. The way the minor two chord leads into the minor four chord makes the song achingly beautiful. I’d sung it over and over when I was seventeen, dreaming of Paul and me.Beatles ’65, first side, fifth track. A perfect tune with simple, beautiful chords.Undertwo minutes. It was in the key of C, so I didn’t need a capo.
Without overthinking it, I placed my fingers on the frets and strummed the short intro. With a sudden burst of confidence, I opened my throat and sang my heart out.
As quickly as it started, the song ended. “Thank you,” I said to the audience once I’d strummed the final chord. “I really appreciate the chance.”
