Three Day Summer(10)

Thinking about the stars reminds me of how I felt last night. For three days I will totally forget about the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. This is a time-out. The clock has literally stopped and there’s nothing to think about but today, tomorrow, and Sunday. I can stretch out every moment to a lifetime. I can take a mental Polaroid of every single second and then expand it out into infinity. This weekend will never end and it’s all because of me and my powers.

For one of those infinite split seconds, I wonder if that’s the acid talking.

But then the next second comes—when I summon it to come, of course—and I realize, nah. This is all me.

I am a time god!





chapter 11


Cora


Last night, I dreamt about Ned. We were in his car, at a drive-in movie, and only half paying attention to the flickering images up on the screen. The other times, we were making out. Or just laughing and talking like normal. Like we did so many nights in the year and a half we were together.

This morning, when I wake up, it takes me a second to remember the reality of us. For just a moment, our kisses amid the scent of popcorn and leather seem like a recent memory instead of a dream. Then I hear his voice calling out to my dad downstairs and I remember. I feel betrayed by my subconscious.

I dress quickly, slipping on a simple white dress, with the intention of getting my mind occupied as soon as possible at the medical tent. But Ned has other plans. As soon as I get downstairs, he informs me that he’s done helping out at our farm for the day, so of course he’s going to come check out the festival too. And, of course, he’s going to casually just walk over there with me.

I’m annoyed, even though it’s hardly his fault that I dreamt about him. I walk briskly past our house, trying my damnedest to make the trip go as quickly as possible. We have to cross the Quickway to get over to the festival, and my jaw nearly drops at what I see. Our two-lane country street has become a virtual parking lot overnight. There are empty cars, bumper to bumper. And as we cross and get to the field on the other side, I can start to see where most of the cars’ passengers must be.

“Man, this is a lot of people. Where did they all come from?” Ned says, blinking.

I was just thinking the same thing, of course, but I turn my head and glare at Ned’s angular profile. I don’t want him echoing my thoughts. I don’t want him around at all.

“Do you even have a ticket?” I ask him, pointedly now. “The show starts tonight, so they probably won’t let you in without a ticket.”

“I heard they wouldn’t be checking tickets,” he responds breezily.

I shrug. I’ve heard whisperings of the same thing, but at this moment, I hope it won’t be true.

“Besides,” he says. “I can always come help out at the medical tents. I’m sure Anna wouldn’t say no.”

This is also unfortunately true. We probably need the help and Anna really likes Ned. Then again, who doesn’t around here?

Why can’t he disappear? Why can’t breakups mean that the other person just leaves the plane of your existence entirely? I don’t mean that they have to die. But can’t they just die from your world, be obliterated from the cast of characters that populate your story, never to appear onstage with you again? And for heaven’s sake, can’t there be a rule banning them forevermore from your dreams?

“So who are you most looking forward to seeing?” Ned asks.

Nope. Instead, I’m doomed to engage in small talk with the boy who has broken my heart. And here in Bethel, I will be forced to have some version of this conversation for the rest of my existence. Today it’s what act I want to see. Someday it’ll be which street I’d buy my house on. That’s what it means, living in a small town.

“I probably won’t be seeing anybody. Pretty sure the medical tent will keep me busy,” I finally respond.

“All right. Who are you looking forward to hearing?”

I shrug. “Joni Mitchell.”

“Is she playing?” Ned asks.

“I thought so . . . ,” I say.

“I’m pretty excited about the Who. Do you think they’ll play ‘My Generation’?”

“Probably. It’s one of their biggest songs.”

“That would be amazing.” Ned smiles.

“Yeah.” This field to get to the main concert area is never ending. It just goes on and on and on, swarmed with all the bright clothes and shiny, excited faces of, to quote Ned’s favorite band du jour, my generation.

You know who else goes on and on and on? Ned. The boy will not stop jabbering about the concert and the music and the love and the peace and crap. I want to tell him to shut up.

I also want to make out with him.

It’s all very confusing.

Finally, at long, long last, we get to the gates. I have my pass identifying me as medical personnel pinned to my dress and there actually is a glazed-over, long-bearded twenty-something standing by the gate in a red Woodstock T-shirt, theoretically on hand to check it.

“Looks like they’re checking tickets,” I say in a high-pitched voice.

I point to my pass as I walk by. The guy at the gate stares somewhere above and to the right of me the whole time.

I don’t wait for Ned to notice, just bolt toward my medical tent, leaving him to ponder the Who’s set list on his own. I think he yells out, “Hey, could you ask Anna . . .” But I ignore him. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t hear a thing, so focused am I on making a beeline for the tent, where, surely, I am sorely needed.