Three Day Summer(37)
“Alas, no towels,” I say, and indicate my sopping wet clothes.
He nods and finds his clothes just a few feet from mine. He puts them on slowly, his back turned to me, so that I can see the drops of water that cling to his shoulders, a few of them magnifying the smattering of freckles on his back. And yes, I’m looking intently at his back so that I can’t focus on his bare ass.
He finally turns around as he puts his shirt back on, and looks at me silently.
“Should we go by the stage?” I cut through the quiet. “I feel like we haven’t seen much of the concert at all today.”
Michael doesn’t respond and I’m worried this isn’t patched up like it’s meant to be. So I take his hand and smile at him one more time. Then I walk ahead so that I can lead the way. And not have to look into those confused green eyes again just yet.
chapter 42
Michael
I’m a virgin. Fine. I said it. It’s awful.
And it gets even worse. Ready for it? I’ve been with Amanda for seven months at this point. That’s right, Miss “Free-Spirited” (her words, not mine) is an ice queen when it comes to sex. Seven months of staring at those perfect tits, almost always under some sort of frustrating piece of clothing, and she won’t let me get past second base. Okay, fine. Third once. But for her, not for me. Which, I admit, was still enjoyable but definitely NOT THE SAME.
In case you haven’t figured this out by now, Amanda isn’t the return-the-favor type when it comes to anything.
Sometimes I think I really don’t understand girls at all. Don’t they want to have sex too? It is enjoyable for them, right? Judging by what I’ve seen here in just the past two days, I have to go with a resounding yes.
Not that I told Cora she looked beautiful just as a way to get into her pants. My intentions were around ninety percent pure. I really thought she looked stunning in the water like that, so close to me.
And yet, clearly, so far away. The strand of her hair that came loose in the water is hanging down her back now, drying in the humid air, and I watch it bounce up and down as she walks with determination in front of me. Like she can’t even stand to look into my eyes.
Maybe I’ve disgusted her. Which, honestly, upsets me. I like her too much for that.
But still. I can’t help how I feel. They’re called urges for a reason.
Maybe when I finally find Evan, I will swallow my pride and get him to teach me the ways of being a * magnet. Some nameless, faceless girl will help me get the deed done before I get drafted and sent to ’Nam and possibly die a virgin. I realize, with a start, that this hypothetical girl really is anonymous. I don’t want to think of Amanda that way right now. Not after being in the water like that with Cora.
As we near the stage, there’s a lull in the music and we hear someone making announcements. He asks for a doctor by name and then chastises some of the kids who are hanging off the scaffolding that surrounds the stage. Then he announces, “The warning that I’ve received, you might take it with however many grains of salt you wish, that the brown acid that is circulating around is not specifically too good. It is suggested that you stay away from that.”
The warning brings back memories of this morning and—in lieu of panic—a smile to my face.
Silently, I praise that brown acid to high heaven. What a day I’ve already had, and I wouldn’t have experienced any of it without that tab. Specifically, not this girl’s hand in mine, which, despite the mixed signals, is what really matters here and now. Well, that and meeting Janis.
Besides, I’ve finally decided that I am not going to die from a bad trip. Not with a future doctor by my side.
chapter 43
Cora
The spot we find this time is on the hill that looks down onto the stage. After the announcements we just heard, I glance down at the scaffolding just below us and, sure enough, see people hanging off it. No doubt that’s a medical emergency waiting to happen.
I still feel a little bit floaty from the pot, and slightly anxious to go back to feeling normal. I should’ve known better, really, since I like being in control of things, myself most of all. Taking a hit probably wasn’t the brightest idea. I cross my arms tightly and squeeze my own sides, as if that will somehow contain my drifting thoughts.
There are a few cameras on cranes dotted close to the audience and one of them is blocking a large chunk of our view, which is already compromised by the darkening sky. Michael tells me that the band that’s playing is called Mountain and he overheard that the Grateful Dead are coming on after. I like Mountain, I decide, and listen to the music eagerly despite the fact that I can’t see them very well. Instead, I look around me as I listen, taking in the wild clothes (and, in some cases, rampant nudity) of my peers. Some distance away, up on the hill, I see some disturbed-looking cows, standing around in the grass. Just from their stance, I can tell they’re bewildered. A small knot of people are eyeing them, and one approaches, kneeling down next to an udder.
“Oh, please, don’t try to milk her,” I mutter. It wouldn’t end well for either of them.
After a few moments, I notice the person back away from the animal and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I look around and really take in the destruction of Mr. Yasgur’s dairy farm. Here and there, lone patches of grass resiliently hang on in seas of trampled brethren and mud. There are little piles of garbage peeking through like new sprouts, the shiny red of Coca-Cola cans in wild contrast to the green grass that should be there. Back near our lake, I see a dude with his back to me in a telltale pose. He is peeing.