Finding Joy

by Laurie Woodward

  “L.A. Coliseum.”

  “Doing a job in Camarillo. I’ll take you that far. Hop in the back.”

  I swung a leg over the tailgate and found an empty spot between a saw and a pile of lumber. He barely waited for me to settle in before gunning it. If you could call it that. This old Ford had about as much power as Lisa’s moped and took almost five minutes to get up to freeway speed.

  Hair rose around my head like a storm, whipped at my cheeks, tickled. I smiled, imagining how wild I must look to the passing people. I started to sit up higher to display it like a banner, but then my shirt flapped against my skin and icy wind cut my torso and I huddled down against the cold.

  I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, we were in a Denny’s parking lot and the dad construction worker was sticking his head out the window telling me we’d arrived.

  After thanking him, I hopped over the side panel and headed inside. The hostess behind the glass display case looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. My hand shot to my hair. “Windy truck,” I said sheepishly.

  “Restroom’s that way.” She jerked her thumb toward the back.

  Keeping my head down, I walked quickly to avoid drawing attention. But when I looked in the mirror, I wondered why the heck I’d bothered. No wonder that girl had stared at me so strangely. My hair was a jumbled mess of tangles and knots. I looked full-on Halloween crazy.

  “Some fox you are,” I said, attacking the mats on the ends first. That brush battled bravely, but even after five minutes it was still a frizzy mess. The only way to fix it would be to start all over again.

  “Shit.” I splashed water on my face and up into where my part should have been, ran my brush under the stream, and kept trying to bring order to those twists and snarls. I had to step back a few times because ladies kept approaching saying, “Excuse me, can I get to the sink?”

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, I felt presentable enough to emerge and head over to the counter. When the coffee arrived, I spent a few moments warming my hands around the mug, before glancing up at the Enjoy Coca Cola clock on the wall.

  Nine-o-clock already! And I still had… gosh, fifty or sixty miles to go? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t looked at a map. Just figured whoever gave me a ride would know.

  You don’t have to tell me. It wasn’t much of a plan. But damn, I was a third of the way there and had done it all by myself.

  With a satisfied nod, I lifted the mug to my mouth and tried a sip. Shuddered. Took the sugar dispenser, poured a bit, tasted. Still too strong. How could Ronny drink this shit black? Asked the homeless guy next to me to pass the cream dispenser. Milk-chocolate-colored bands swirled in the cup.

  I slurped a long draught. Now, that was a cup of coffee.

  Pancakes appeared in front of me, butter suns melting. When the syrup rained down, I stuck in a finger and watched the yellow pads slide. Cut a nice triangle out of the corner with the edge of my fork. Tasted the maple. Imagined the day.

  So sweet.

  Fifty-Five

  Iris

  I can’t believe Joy actually got up before we did. She said she wanted to get an early start, but God, she must have been gone before six. Of course, that concert is all she’s been talking about for a month. Telling anyone how she’s going to be part of the new Woodstock. Playing her albums so loud, Ronny shouted at her to turn that shit off.

  She’s been improving these last few weeks. Going to class. Actually called the last time she was going to be late. Then she had a feature in the school paper. Not that I completely approve of how teens emulate those drug-using comedians, but I have to admit that her article was good. Surprised me. Of course, she has been scribbling away in that diary ever since I gave it to her for her ninth birthday. That girl always has her nose in it. I’d wondered what she was saying and tried to respect her privacy, but I’ll admit it; after she took the car out without permission, I looked.

  It was both better and worse than I imagined. Better in that she wasn’t having sex, or at least not writing about it. Worse because pot seemed to be her whole life. Every entry was about getting high. No wonder her grades had been so bad.

  I think a lot of that has passed. She seems more… involved, I guess the word is. More in life and less in a fog.

  Maybe it’s because of Ronny. A whole month without an… an incident. I think counseling is helping. And so far, he’s agreeable about going. Three appointments and counting.

  I know what happened with Kyle rocked him to the core. He may have been in denial at first, but then he became more—oh, how do I explain? More tender. I mean, he’s started to ask Kyle how he’s feeling. Every day. Plans to buy him a new bike as soon as the cast is off. Even suggested that I take some classes at the college.

  Ronny wanting his wife getting smarter? Who was this man?

  The only person that didn’t get more sympathy was Joy. I think Ronny blamed her for the whole thing. Whenever she was around, his face would cloud over and he’d bark some order at her. Or criticize her as if he believed the lie about her wrestling with Kyle until it got out of hand.

  “Would you get up off your skinny butt and do something? You know your mother could use some help around here.”

  I know I should have come to her defense more often, but arguing with him never works. What’s best is to find a chore to get her out of Ronny’s sight before things escalate.

  Maybe that’s why she left so early today. She wanted one day without any yelling, cringing, or darting away. A time where she could escape into music and friends. One perfect day.

  I think she’s earned it.

  Fifty-Six

  Joy

  “Thanks for the ride. I mean, gracias,” I called, as I flew out of yet another truck, this one driven by a Mexican gardener who spoke no English. Lucky for me that he knew the word ‘Coliseum’ and was headed that way.

  As soon as my feet hit Figueroa Street, I could feel the difference. The hum of thousands of people streaming toward Exposition Park was like an electric current with vibrations so friggin’ strong, I wondered if there was a downed power line nearby. I scanned the sidewalk but didn’t see any exposed wires shooting electric bolts my way.

  Hmm.

  A shadow fell across my face and I glanced up at a huge monolith. Mountainous, it towered over me with an elliptical bowl so much like the super old Roman Colosseum, I almost expected to see chariot-riding gladiators with their swords and shields held aloft. Cocking an ear, I listened for the thundering hooves of bridled stallions and the cacophonous roar of lions, leopards and bears ready to battle a bestiarius, like in my tenth grade World History book.

  Long lines of morning light stretched through the multiple arches. Was this a building, or a portal to a floating Mount Olympus where gods and goddesses bestowed mystical gifts upon each of us?

  “Cool,” I whispered, hugging myself.

  Up ahead, the iron fencing stood in stark contrast to the mystical structure. Surely something so sublime would need no bars to keep people out? Anyone in such a magnificent place would instantly be so enraptured that they would tread lightly on the inspirational structure.

  As I drew closer, the coursing crowd narrowed into a scurrying line, all wanting to be first inside. At first, I thought about pushing with the rest, but when a Goliath in a sleeveless jean jacket started to cut ahead and I saw the Hell’s Angels emblem on the back, I deferred. Better to let the multi-pierced punks and leviathan bikers go ahead than risk their wrath.

  As I floated closer with the growing throngs, a host of odors filled my lungs. Strong cigars blended with Camel unfiltered tobacco. Freshly washed hair. Old Spice cologne. Smog and mist. Hot dogs grilling. Popcorn. Pretzels. And of course, the sweet smell of burning Thai stick, Columbian, and hash.

  Pausing, I inhaled deeply.

  “Hey, get going!” some chick with a red ‘fro said from behind.

  “Sorry.” I flashed her a peace sign and toddled forward.

  Next,
the line passed by the carnival section, where rides like the Tilt a Whirl, Zipper, Loop-a-Plane and Scrambler were already running. With eyes as wide as rock and roll’s power, I grinned, imagining the sweet buzz I’d get before heading over to the midway and stepping onto the Ferris Wheel.

  After squeezing through the turnstile, the surging crowd started to trot, and jog, then full-on run to grab that primo spot near the stage. With no choice but to go with the flow, I let the current carry me forward

  Then we were on the field. If Zeus had looked down from the clouds, he would have seen ants scurrying toward an egg-shaped bowl where a platform enticed like honey. Behind the stage stood a triumphal arch that was flanked on either side by seven smaller arches. This huge structure was fronted with tall scaffolding, shelving speakers at least five stories high.

  Since I let a lot of people go ahead, I didn’t exactly score the best spot. It was around the middle of the grassy field, but it didn’t dull my spirits. Even if I’d ending up in the nosebleeds, you couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face.

  “Rock and roll!” a dude from the crowd crowed.

  “Right on!” I covered my mouth and glanced around but no one was judging. Instead, people were bobbing their heads in agreement. Cool!

  I’d never heard of the first band, some punk one named after dogs or something. When they played a lick or two, I tried swaying and clapping to get into them. But then the lead singer shouted something about how the crowd should cut their hair. In a full-on rude voice, he told them to get in style with a New Wave do like his. Stupid guy.

  Next thing I knew, people were booing and throwing shit. Total buzz kill.

  “Hey, uncool!” I shouted, wondering if ‘80s kids even had the chops to peacefully congregate.

  “Assholes, huh?” a dark-haired guy around my age said.

  “Cha.”

  He sidled up closer. “Guess get a haircut isn’t the best way to inspire a crowd.”

  “Yeah, not exactly a wise move.”

  He turned to face me. Not gorgeous, but not bad either. “I’m Julian.”

  “Joy.” I saluted. “Hey.”

  “Hey back.”

  Someone lobbed a hot dog at the stage, followed by the roar of laughter. I took a step back when next, the riled-up crowd started pelting garbage at the band. Two minutes later, the punkers were ankle deep in orange peels, paper cups and pizza crusts. I shook my head and glanced at the exit.

  “This blows. Wanna go check out the Rock and Roll Midway?” I asked.

  “Sure.” As we walked, Julian told me that he was from someplace called La Mirada that is kind of close to Knott’s Berry Farm. He was in tenth grade and, like me, decided to come solo because his bud had bailed a couple of weeks before the concert.

  “You hitched?”

  He nodded. “It’s not as easy for a dude to get rides, but I’m not exactly intimidating.” He poked a thumb at his narrow chest. True. Rail thin and barely as tall as me, Julian did not evoke images of chainsaw-wielding psychos or switchblade-carrying thugs. He actually was kind of cute, if you’re into that squeaky-clean Tiger Beat Magazine heartthrob sort of thing.

  “Got ya.”

  Exiting the field, we turned left toward the Midway, which was a full-on county fair with the concession stands and rides I’d seen while in line. We got tickets at the booth and then debated over which attraction to try first.

  “Maybe we should save the Zipper for later. I had pancakes earlier. Don’t want to hurl.”

  “Okay, but before anything…” He raised both eyebrows dramatically and paused for long seconds.

  After ten seconds passed, I said, “What?”

  “First we should get into, shall we say, the spirit of the day.”

  I grinned. “You holding?”

  He reached into the pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out a baggie.

  I held up a hand. “Hey, you can’t light up here.”

  “No need.” He waved the plastic bag that contained not weed, but a couple of tiny orange tablets.

  I squinted at them. “Uppers?”

  He shook his head. “Look closer.”

  I tried but couldn’t guess.

  “Sunshine. The orange kind.” He raised his eyebrows so many times that he started to look like a cartoon character. “I’ve been saving them for today. Was going to do both and really fly, but for someone…” he cleared his throat, “special, I’ll share.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded and repeated that ridiculous eyebrow lift before opening the bag. With a shrug, I reached in, grabbed one tablet between my thumb and forefinger and popped it into my mouth. Bitter on my tongue, it tasted like medicine, which I knew was just temporary.

  Because pretty soon everything was going to be full-on candy apple sweet.

  Fifty-Seven

  Joy

  Julian’s gift made the next few hours blur into a Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory trip. That little pill became a golden ticket, taking me from grey reality to a mystical world of swirling lights, reverberating sounds and cotton candy air. It’s hard to remember it all because I was so high, but I do recall midday sitting on the Ferris wheel, taking in the smoggy cityscape of Los Angeles. Julian was next to me, an arm slung over my shoulder while far below, truck-dragons spewed exhaust and cars snaked over ribboned freeways.

  Then, one distant building took a deep breath. And blew it out

  My eyes widened as this huge skyscraper became a cubist robot just activated by an alien species. This tower swayed, its glass walls bidding steel and concrete neighbors to come alive. One after the other, they began to wobble until every distant building was moving and conversing.

  Their animated chatter hummed over the sounds of Ferris wheel gears and laughing people. They seemed to love how elevators tickled their spines, foggy mist sprinkled their reflective skin, and human feet flowed like blood through veins and artery floors.

  A cloud passed over the tallest one in the center, its shadow creating a great mouth which spoke to me alone. “The guardians of the city of angels welcome you. We who look over the city open our arms to all who seek.”

  “Seek what?” I asked.

  “Why, the answers. For what IS. Here and now. For those who dance in truth.”

  I nodded slowly. Here was the perfect answer to every question I’d ever asked. It might not make much sense to you, but at this moment everything was so friggin’ prophetic, I thought if I could only hold on to it, I’d go to a place beyond sublime. I closed my eyes and squeezed Julian’s hand, fighting to capture this moment in time and the back of my lids flashed images of my skyscraper friends rising skyward in a kaleidoscopic embrace.

  LSD’s mist filled my every cell.

  We kept to the Midway that afternoon, breathing in the flashing colors while rippling rides carried us over trippy seas. Neither of us was really into the first few bands, anyhow. But, as the sun sunk lower in the smoggy sky and the high began to wear off, the Outlaws’ guitar licks floated toward us with words about some other love song.

  I grabbed Julian’s hand to pull him away from watching someone lob a baseball at a stack of milk bottles. “Dude! We’re missing the show!”

  “Let’s go.” He gave me a sideways hug before letting me lead him toward the music.

  My trip had almost dissipated by then, but I did see a few treble and bass clefs float by as we skipped through the crowd. When I turned to smile at Julian trailing behind me, one final psychedelic burst of cranking tunes blew back his hair before turning to mist.

  Back on the green, instead of letting go of my hand, Julian gave me an earnest look and grasped the other one. Then he leaned back and spun me in circles like a six-year-old in a gravity game.

  I giggled as we twirled ever faster. When the Outlaws played a rocking tune, Julian let go of my hands, stamped his feet, and cried, “Yeehaw!” Like cowboys at a hoedown, we switched to a square dance by linking arms that spun me so fast, I thought I was back on the Scrambler
.

  “Stop. Stop! I’m going to be sick,” I cried.

  Laughing all the while, he slowed to a halt and released me. Dizzy, I fell back on the grass and looked up at the sapphire sky. He bent over me. “You okay?”

  I sat up and hugged my knees. “Great.”

  He sat down next to me and we bobbed our heads to the last few songs of the Outlaws’ set. Shadows lengthened as they finished their encore, giving the two of us a break from the raucous noise of the day.

  Now that the acid had completely worn off and we were straight, we didn’t quite know what to say to each other. I suppose, because I was the older one, it was my job to come up with smart quips and stuff. But a sudden attack of shyness robbed me of anything interesting to say.

  “That was awesome,” I tried.

  “Yeah, totally.” Julian looked past me at the stage, where the road crew was setting up for Cheap Trick.

  “Next band should rock.”

  “Hmm. Hmm.” He glanced around again as if looking for friends he was going to meet.

  I desperately tried to think. Say something, Joy. He’s going to bail on you.

  He took one step away. Another. Still nothing.

  I heard Janice’s voice in my head. When in doubt, plant one on him.

  So, I grabbed his skinny shoulders, pulled him toward me, and gave him an awkward kiss. He was stiff at first but when he relaxed into it a second later, well, wow!

  One kiss led to two and three. Now I knew what those songs were talking about when they said kisses like wine. They really do make you want more.

  A few minutes later, Cheap Trick sang, “I want you to want me,” and I whispered into his ear, “I do.”

  He pulled me close after that.

  And stayed until the end.