I turn back to the T-shirt guy with a smile. But he has a more serious expression on his face now when he gives me this unexpected bout of wisdom. “There’s no wrong way. Wherever you’re at, you have to make it what you want it to be.”
I look back at him, really mulling over his words. “Thanks,” I say as I walk away, and I mean it, looking at the painted words of the signs one more time as I pass them.
So anywhere I am can be the Groovy Way, or Gentle Path, or High Way? I suppose anywhere could be a billion other adjectives too. Is all of life really just a state of mind? I’m not even currently a time god, and all these thoughts are suddenly rushing my brain in a rare moment of waking clarity.
Everything is better at Woodstock.
The girls are crowded around a small jewelry stand, looking over beaded necklaces and peace-sign bracelets. As I’m hanging back, letting them browse, a stone catches my eye.
I move forward to look more closely at it. It’s a large glass stone, a murky blue with streaks of darker blue within it. It’s shaped like a teardrop and hangs from a thin chain.
It instantly reminds me of being in the rain-pattered lake with Cora. The colors, the shape, everything about it. I want to buy it for her so badly.
I ask the price. “Ten dollars,” the lady says to me.
I don’t think I have ten dollars but, just in case, I check my backpack thoroughly. I ask the lady if she’d be willing to take four dollars and thirty-seven cents for it. She declines.
“Awww, it’s beautiful,” I hear Amanda say behind me, and I turn around to see her beaming at me. “But it’s okay, babe. That’s expensive.”
I just nod, but don’t say anything to correct her mistaken impression that the necklace would be for her. Because I am the scum of the earth, that’s why.
I get the uncomfortable feeling that I’m not the only one who thinks that either. Looking up, I find the source of my paranoia. It’s Cora’s brother, standing at a nearby booth with his friends, his eyes boring into me, as if he were brought to life by the intensity of my thoughts. I wish my thoughts were good enough to bring his sister here instead. But then again, I don’t know if I’d want the dirty look that Wes is giving me to ever cross Cora’s face. Definitely not directed at me, anyway.
And that’s when I realize: It’s time for me to take the High Way. Even though the music is about to start soon and I don’t want to miss it. Even though I’m terrified about the wrath I’m about to bring upon myself. None of that really matters. How can I instruct Cora to listen to the music and let it tell her to believe in herself, when I can’t do the same thing? Everything the past few days have been telling me is that it’s time to man up, to own something that I know is the right thing to do.
Evan has already made his purchases and the group is making its way back out of the woods. I hurry to catch up with them and lightly touch Amanda’s arm. It’s the first time I’ve voluntarily touched her all day.
She turns around, megawatt smile and all. She’s probably still thinking about that necklace. I take a deep breath and watch as our friends keep going, not realizing that we’ve stopped. I ask her if we can talk.
“Course,” she says.
“This is all me,” I blurt. “All my fault.” I figure I should start this off with one of her favorite phrases. Anyway, it’s the truth.
“What is?” she asks suspiciously. “That you didn’t have money for the necklace?”
“No, not that,” I say firmly, and something about the way I say it makes her smile begin to falter. “I just . . . I don’t know why you’re with me, Amanda. I seem to piss you off all the time. And I think, I don’t know. We should be happier than this.”
“Happier?” she says slowly.
“Yes. You deserve more. . . .”
“Happier . . . ,” she says again, in an oddly detached voice. “I don’t think I understand, exactly. . . .” She tilts her head at me, blinking like a Disney doe.
I take her hand and then a deep breath, staring into her clear blue eyes. “Amanda . . . ,” I begin.
But I don’t get to finish my sentence. I get a tap on the shoulder, and when I instinctively turn around, I don’t even have time to register what’s happening before something explodes near my right eye and everything goes black.
chapter 57
Cora
From the tent, I hear Mr. Yasgur get introduced as the owner of the farm and then, after a smattering of applause, his gentle, slightly stilted voice comes through on the loudspeaker. I can practically picture him up there, with his dark curly hair and thick, square glasses, looking for sure like somebody’s accountant.
“I think you people have proven something to the world. Not only to the town of Bethel, or Sullivan County, or New York State. You’ve proven something to the world. This is the largest group of people ever assembled in one place,” Mr. Yasgur says, before going on to thank the producers of the festival and to acknowledge that the lack of food and water must have been a hardship.
“But above that,” he continues, his voice echoing across his own fields, “the important thing that you’ve proven to the world is that half a million kids—and I call you kids because I have children that are older than you are—a half million young people can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing but fun and music and . . .” He seems to get a little choked up. “God bless you for it,” he finishes.
I hear all the people he was just complimenting and blessing applaud for him loudly, with catcalls and whistles, just like he was one of the rock stars up on that stage. I can’t help but smile. I admire Mr. Yasgur. I’ve always liked him anyway but the fact that he did this, despite all the flack I know he got from certain members of our community (ahem, Dad). And then, on top of that, what he had to say about it all. It’s pretty inspiring.
Ned walks back into the tent then—he stepped outside to hear the speech better—and he catches me smiling. He quickly smiles back. I let our eyes meet for a moment, acknowledging Mr. Yasgur’s beautiful words more than anything, and then turn away.
A few minutes later, I can hear music start up again and I wonder who’s on. Guess my human handbill is gone now.
A man comes in and announces that he forgot to bring his insulin shots. Anna tasks me with finding the correct syringe and tells me I can administer it.
I rummage in one of the bins and find it pretty quickly. Only then do I look over at the patient. Red hair and a pointy red beard. Not wearing anything except a small pair of underwear. I recognize him from somewhere.
And then I hear a faint baaaa.
On a hunch, I take a peek outside the tent. Sure enough, there’s a sheep tied haphazardly to the post in front. Unbelievable. I’d bet anything that’s one of Mr. Yasgur’s flock, too. I’m about to go back in and give the dude a piece of my mind about animals not being playthings, when all words stop in my throat.
My mouth hangs open. All I can think is, I have déjà vu.
Approaching me are Evan and Rob, and they are carrying what looks like an unconscious Michael between them. The only thing different from the scene of two days ago is that this time the three girls lag right behind them.
I rush over to them. “What happened?” I ask Rob.
Evan points back with his thumb. “Him,” he grumbles.
I look in the direction of his finger. To my surprise, I see someone holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose. It’s my brother.
“What?” I’m so confused. I go over to Wes to take a look at his face.
“He punched him,” Rob says.
“Who punched you?” I ask Wes.
“No,” Rob says. “He.” He points at Wes. “Punched him.” He points at Michael.
“Oh my God,” I realize, horrified. “What?!”
“And then, of course,” Evan continues calmly, “I had to defend my fri
end.” He gestures to Wes’s bloody nose. “Even though I’m a pacifist. Usually.”
“Oh my God,” I say again, lost for other words.
“I’m sorry, but he’s an asshole, Cora,” Wes starts, his voice nasal from the blood and the handkerchief. “Seriously, I need to start filtering your boyfriends. First, that guy, now this?” He nods at someone behind me and I stupidly look in that direction. Of course it’s Ned, standing there frowning. We are, after all, not that far from the opening of the tent. I’m sure he heard every word.
“Are you out of your mind?” I seethe at Wes. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend.” I realize I’m not sure if I’m talking about Ned or Michael. Both, I guess.
“You’re damn right he isn’t!” comes a voice from behind. I look to see Amanda storming up to me. “Can’t we take him to another tent?” she asks Rob. “I don’t want this hussy—”
“Hey!” Wes says. “Don’t talk about my sister—”
“Oh, shut the hell up, Wes,” I say. “I can fight my own battles. Thank you.” And immediately, I’m struck with the thought of Amanda and me ending up with two broken noses ourselves.
But instead, I turn to her as calmly as I can. “Look, he’s unconscious and he needs medical attention. Let them bring him inside. Now. Or do you want to risk his life because you’re too worried he’ll come crawling for me in his sleep?”
I hear Rob whistle under his breath.
I said I was calm, not that I wasn’t feeling vicious. Also, I realize saying his life is at risk is a little dramatic. But then again, I don’t think this girl can deal with anything other than drama.
“You stay away from him . . . ,” Amanda sputters.
“Fine, whatever,” I say, thinking quickly. Michael really needs to get checked out, no matter who wants to claw out whose face. “I have other patients to deal with.”
Of course, Ned is the closest person at hand, so, in my best brisk-nurse voice, I ask him if he can help the boys bring Michael in, and tell him that I’ll be examining my brother.
Ned is silent as he leads the boys into the tent. The three girls follow. I’m sure they’re going to get kicked out as soon as Anna realizes there’s only one patient, so I need to make this quick.
I turn around and punch Wes in the arm.
“Ouch!” he says, dropping his bloody handkerchief to grab his arm.
“What the hell, Wes?”
“Look, he’s with that pretty blond girl, okay? He’s jerking you around.” While he’s talking, the medical side of me quickly starts to examine his face. I touch his nose lightly.
“Ow!” he yells again. “Stop it.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you! I’m examining you,” I say in exasperation. “Now, hold still.”
His nose is definitely bruised but not broken. He breathes in through his mouth as I touch a particularly painful spot. “He’s not jerking me around,” I finally say. “I know he’s with her. I’ve always known, okay? Besides, he’s just a friend. Who’s leaving town tomorrow,” I add for emphasis.
Wes looks down at me. Neither of us knows what to say. I stop touching his face. “I can get you cleaned up,” I say.
“Cora,” he says. “I’m . . . sorry.”
I sigh. “I know your intentions were honorable and all. But is this really the time to finally find your courage?”
There’s a beat where he doesn’t know exactly how to react, until I smile up at him.
“Ouch,” he says for the third time. “I guess I deserved that.” He touches his nose gingerly. “What needs to happen here?”
“Not much we can do, really,” I say. “The bleeding seems to have stopped. We can just clean off the blood.”
“Okay if I run along instead then? That way I can catch some of the concert.” He looks over at the tent. “And you can make sure your friend is okay.”
I look at him. “Yeah, it’s okay,” I finally say. And then, right before he leaves, I have to ask. “Wait. Is this because you want Dad to see you finally got into a fight?”
He grins and shrugs before heading off.
I look after him and then take a deep breath before I walk back into the tent.
Sure enough, just as I expected, one of the other nurses is telling Michael’s friends they have to leave.
“No!” Amanda says. “That’s how we got separated for two days last time!” She sees me and glares.
“I’m sorry, there’s just not enough room in here . . . ,” the nurse continues.
I walk over to them. “What if you guys wait just right outside? He’ll hopefully wake up soon. I’ll come and give you updates. . . .”
“No way,” Amanda says. “I do not need to see your bitch face ever again.”
I stare at her. “Fine,” I say in my most professional voice. “He’ll come give you updates.” I point to Ned, who stands blinking at me behind his glasses. I can tell he’s more confused than anyone as to what’s going on.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” I see that my redheaded sheep friend is still patiently waiting for his insulin. I walk over to him purposefully.
As I give him his shot, Michael’s friends file past me and out the flap. Rob touches my shoulder as he walks by. “Thanks, Cora,” he says. I smile at him as I hold a piece of cotton to Sheep Guy’s arm.
I’m bandaging up his arm when I hear my name again, this time in a weak voice.
I turn around. Michael is sitting up on his stretcher and smiling hazily at me.
Luckily, Amanda is already gone. I eye the flap warily and I make a point not to look at Ned, before I quickly walk over to the stretcher.
chapter 58
Michael
I don’t know how I made this happen, but I know I’m grinning like a madman, even though it hurts my face. I’m back in Cora’s medical tent and the back of her head is right in front of me. I’d recognize that raven-colored hair anywhere.
I call her name and sit up, much too fast as it turns out, because suddenly I feel very dizzy. I bring my hand up to my face and touch somewhere painful.
Cora’s beside me in an instant.
“What happened?” I ask her, even though I don’t really care. Somehow this beautiful, crazy festival brought us back together again.
“Well,” Cora says, her big brown eyes just inches away from my face, “my brother punched you.”
“Oh,” I say, grinning again. Then, after a second, I think to ask, “Why?”
Cora takes a deep breath and goes to speak.
But she doesn’t have to. I’m suddenly flooded with memories of this morning and my smile gets washed away with the deluge. “Wait. I know why. . . .”
Cora studies me. “Do you?”
“I’m an asshole,” I say miserably.
“Why?” Cora asks, and she looks like she means it.
Is she going to make me explain it? I swallow. “Amanda,” I begin. “And you. Look, I know I’m a jerk, but the thing is . . .”
Cora does the strangest thing. She smiles politely and puts her hand on my arm, as if to shush me. “Look, don’t worry about it. It’s my fault too. It’s not like I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” She shrugs. “Don’t worry,” she says again.
I look at her. I suppose that’s meant to make me feel better, but it actually makes things hurt more. Like, internal things.
“But what if I want to worry about it?” I say, frowning.
“Why?” she asks warily.
“Because,” I say. I touch her wrist lightly, remembering when it was sprouting feathers just a couple of days ago. Right here in this tent. “I like you. And this . . .” I stroke her skin. “It feels like something. Don’t you think?” I look up into her eyes, willing her to feel the connection too. “I feel terrible,” I say.
“You got punched in the eye,” she rep
lies.
“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “I mean I’ve felt terrible all morning. Ever since you left last night, actually. And Amanda, I ended things with her.”
Cora looks taken aback. “You did?”
“Well . . . ,” I start out slowly, realizing that’s not entirely accurate. “I was trying to before I got punched. I think she got the message, though.”
Cora glances toward the tent entrance and mutters something that sounds like “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“Well, then, I’ll make sure she gets the message,” I say emphatically, before taking hold of Cora’s hand. I want to say this as right as I possibly can. It feels like the most important thing I’ve ever said. “It’s you. These past couple of days, it’s like everything’s changed. I’ve changed. I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t stop thinking about who I am when I’m with you. I like that person, Cora. That person is such a better man than I ever thought I could possibly be.”
Cora sighs. “Look, Michael.” It’s not a good “Look, Michael.” It’s the type of “Look, Michael” I don’t want to hear.
She extricates her hand from mine. “We had a nice day together,” she starts. “A really nice day,” she corrects herself. “But that’s it. Tomorrow you drive back to . . . God, I actually don’t even know what town you’re from.” The line between her eyebrows has appeared again and it’s making me nervous.
After a pause, I realize she’s waiting for me to tell her. “Somerville, Massachusetts,” I say. “It’s just north of Boston.”
“Okay,” she says. “You’re going back to Somerville, Massachusetts. Just north of Boston. And I stay here. And that’s it. Why kill yourself feeling guilty over that? Over one more day in Bethel, you know? What would be the point? Go back to your girlfriend and your life.” She touches my face gently then, like she’s trying to make it go down easier. “We’ll just be a really nice memory.”
I stare at her. The words hurt more than my eye, more than almost anything I’ve ever experienced. I touch the hand that’s on my face. “But . . .”
Three Day Summer Page 15
