Three Day Summer(26)
“Nothing,” I respond. “It’s all free.”
His eyes widen. “Really? Oh, thanks so much, man. This is fantastic,” he says as he does what I was worried about earlier and takes an entire loaf of bread and four apples.
“Man, you wouldn’t believe it. There was some old guy walking around here charging a dollar for water. Can you imagine paying one whole dollar for water?!”
“That’s awful,” Cora says. “But, hey, if you walk over that way, you’ll see a big red barn. They’re handing out free water and milk over there.”
“Serious?” he asks.
Cora nods.
“You guys are far out, man. The absolute best. And here I was thinking this whole shindig was going to the dogs. An hour ago there was the guy with the water, and then there was another old guy telling us we’d all have to evacuate. It was crazy.”
Cora frowns. “Wait, really? What did he look like?”
“Who?” the guy asks.
“The man who said you might have to evacuate.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “He had, like, white hair and glasses.”
“Ah, okay.” She looks visibly relieved.
After the guy leaves, I have to ask her. “Who did you think it was?”
She takes a breath, and I say “Your dad?” at the same time that she says “My dad.”
Cora laughs. “He made quite an impression last night, huh?”
“After a fashion,” I admit. “I can only thank the god of Woodstock—that’s Jimi Hendrix by the way—he didn’t see me.”
“Jimi Hendrix, huh?”
I close my eyes and bow my head in reverence. “Naturally. The one and only.”
“Can’t say I ever listened to him,” she says in a shockingly casual way.
My eyes pop open. “Wait. What?! That’s like saying you’ve lived on earth and haven’t felt the sun. Or swum in the ocean. That’s like you’ve never eaten a Hershey’s bar. His playing, man . . . it’ll just transport you. It’s like he’s one with his instrument and it’s all coming from some great beyond where there’s only pure inspiration and creativity. He’s like a vessel to another land of unsullied, unadulterated . . .” I can’t even think of the word, so I just take my air guitar and strike a pose with a look of intense triumph on my face.
Cora smiles. “I see. Well, that does sound pretty cool.”
“Pretty cool? No, no, no. Jimi is not pretty cool. Jimi is the. Man. Period.”
“The funny thing is, you know what I’m really hearing here?” Cora asks.
“What?”
“Maybe it’s time you picked up a guitar of your own.”
chapter 31
Cora
It’s not long before all that’s left in the basket are the eggs that I said I would deliver to the food tents. It turns out that the purple tents at the top of the hill are still closed down, but Michael leads me to a blue tent a little farther afield than our medical tents. As we make our way over to them, I think about Michael asking me my deepest, darkest secret. He said I’d lied.
He’s right.
I almost told him the truth: about wanting to be a doctor. He probably wouldn’t have immediately changed the subject. He doesn’t have Ned’s medical knowledge or his ambitions to make me feel silly about it. But something held me back and now I’m sorry. After all, when else does one get to spill her deepest secret to a handsome stranger she’ll never see again after this weekend?
We find the people with the silk-screened flying pig bandannas—the Hog Farm people, Michael tells me. I find this pretty hilarious considering I know actual people who run hog farms and they look nothing like these commune folks. But they gladly take the eggs off our hands. They even give us a red bandanna each for our troubles. Michael immediately ties his around his long, shaggy hair. Before today, I wouldn’t have thought I’d find a guy in a headband dreamy but, well, let’s just say this festival is really opening up my horizons.
“What are you going to do with yours?” Michael asks me.
I consider for a moment, before finally deciding to tie it around my wrist.
“Allow me.” Michael swoops in as soon as I fumble with tying the knot, and gently wraps the fabric around my wrist and ties it into an impressive-looking bind. “Boy Scouts?” I ask.
He turns the fabric around so that the flying pig is proudly displayed right side up. “Nine years.” He grins. “And the only reason I didn’t become an Eagle Scout is because I got too lazy to do the big project that’s required.”
“Shame,” I say. “I love a man in uniform.” I wink at him and spy the toothless guy with the cowboy hat I saw yesterday, now giving me a big thumbs-up and a grin. Which, for some reason, makes me blush. “Who’s that? Do you know?” I ask to try to divert attention from my possible awkward reply.
Michael looks over at him. “Oh, sure. That’s Hugh Romney. He’s the Hog Farm leader.” I smile politely at Hugh and he tips his hat to me before his attention gets called back to the small army of helpful hippies he’s clearly marshaling.
It’s already five to eleven by the time we get back to my medical tent. I take out the candy striper apron that’s at the very bottom of the now empty picnic basket and tie it on. It matches my new wrist adornment pretty perfectly. Already, the tent is busy, and I can hear a couple of freak-outs happening on the inside.