Are You Experienced? (15 page)

Suddenly, an elbow jabbed into my ribs. “Hey, I resent that! I happen to think I am an excellent hero. Heroine. Hero-ish type of person,” Debbie said. Then she added, “Okay, I'm kidding. He's right. We didn't do anything any of you wouldn't have done. And it wasn't heroic, either. It was kind of selfish, if you really think about it. Tina has my bus ticket, so I have to stick with her. If I didn't want to leave early, I had to fork over my shoes.”

Tina said, “God, Debbie. You are a selfish bitch!” Then she burst out laughing.

David spoke next, and something in his tone raised the hair on the back of my neck. “Gabriel, you're honest. I don't think I've ever really met anybody honest before. Most people try to take credit for things, whether they deserve it or not. But I think you're nicer than you think you are. You didn't have to come looking for me. You could have just stayed here and, uh, played with Debbie.”

Willow said, “Wait a minute, Davey. Mikey is always honest with you.”

“No, he's not. He protects me. You both do, and I appreciate it. But that's not the same as telling me the truth. Anyway, thanks, Gabriel. That's all I'm trying to say.”

My eyes welled up. I hadn't been honest. I hadn't been honest with any of these people, although I was trying really hard to be kind and unselfish. As Janis Joplin came onstage and her band fired up their first song, I realized I couldn't remember the last time my father had thanked me sincerely for helping him unselfishly. In fact, as hard as I tried, I couldn't remember a time I had helped him unselfishly.

I racked my brain until my head hurt, but I came up blank all around.

 

UNCLE SAM BLUES

SUNDAY, AUGUST 17, 1969

 

“David was right. You are honest. That's why we have to have this talk.”

It was maybe four in the morning, and somewhere far in the distance behind us, Sly and the Family Stone were playing “Dance to the Music”—you know, that epic song from the end of
Shrek
. The crowd was absolutely roaring, and I kind of wished I could be back on the blankets, snuggled up with Debbie. Even in the middle of this insane situation, things had been getting intense with her a few songs ago. Then, out of the blue, Willow had started poking me and giggling.

“Come on, Lover Angel Boy! Michael and Willow need you for a little while. It's Walking Time!”

Believe me, those had not been welcome words, and Debbie had tried to get me to stay. In fact, she had been extremely convincing.

And yet, here I was, stumbling along in the pitch blackness with Michael's arm draped over one shoulder and Willow's over the other. We had told Debbie, David, and Tina we would be back soon, and then found our way out to the main path we had followed into the concert. Now I was pretty sure the woods were on our right, and we were heading over the hill toward the highway.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

Willow said, “I'm sorry, Gabey. I know you were having all kinds of fun back there. But this is important. Mikey needs to tell you something. Something Davey is not allowed to know.”

Michael yanked us all off to the right, into the trees. We went crashing through underbrush for maybe thirty feet, and then he stopped short. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that I could see we were in a little clearing. I could also see that we were all alone.

It felt strange to be in such a secluded place after being packed in among hundreds of thousands of screaming rock fans all weekend. The music seemed a million miles away. Michael whispered, “Sit down.”

Willow whispered back, “Aye, aye.”

I said, “Why are you talking like a pirate, Willow?”

Willow said, “I don't know. Why is Mikey whispering?”

I said, “This is really serious, isn't it, Michael?”

Michael said, “Yessss, but … it's all groovy now, man. Everything is going to work out fine. You just have to swear on your life you won't tell my brother what I am about to tell you.”

“Until when?”

Michael sucked in his breath so sharply it whistled through his teeth. “For as long as I'm alive. Or my father. You have to swear that as long as my father is alive, or I am, you won't tell David my secret.”

“All right, Michael. I swear on my life. You can trust me with your secret. Now what is it? I need to know.”

“It's the letter, man. Uncle Sam wants me. I got drafted. I'm supposed to go to Vietnam. Ain't that a bitch?”

Vietnam. Of course. That explained everything—why Michael had suddenly gotten so touchy when his brother had mentioned the war, why he had been treating this like some special last big weekend, and why he didn't want David to know. David would be
destroyed
by this.

“So,” I said, “what are you going to do?”

“Well, I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to fight in this old man's war. First of all, I don't believe in it, and second, I can't leave David in my parents' house without me around to look after him. I mean, sometimes they don't even feed the kid—and that's when I am here.”

“So, uh, you could go to Canada, right? Or you could tell the government you don't want to shoot anybody. You could be a—what's it called—a—”

“Conscientious objector. Nope, I can't do either of those.”

“Why not?”

Michael sighed. Willow put her arm around him, cradled his head to her breast, and said, “His dad, Gabey. The old man fought in France in the Second World War. Came home completely ruined in the head, you know? But don't let Mr. Barber hear you say that. Anyway, one night, right after the letter came, Michael said something like, ‘What would you think if I got drafted and became a conscientious objector?' His dad had had a few drinks, right? And he looked Mikey right in the eye and said, ‘I'd rather be the father of a dead soldier than a live coward.'”

“God,” I said. “That's awful.”

“Yeah,” Michael slurred.

“But wait! Why don't you apply to college? Don't college students get excused from the draft?”

“I coulda done that. I coulda. But Dad always said he only had one son who wasn't too much of a dumbass for college—and I wasn't the one. Anyway, doesn't matter. It's all fine.”

He suddenly sounded cheery again. It was pretty hard to keep up with the mood swings with this crowd. “Everything's going to be fine. I've got this all worked out now. We don't have to worry anymore. Okay? Okay. I'm glad we have this settled. I jus' wanted you to know about the letter, that's all.”

He started to stand back up, but I grabbed his arm.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “How is this settled? You just said you can't run away, and you can't be a conscientious objector. So how is this all supposed to work out, exactly? I don't understand.”

“I have a plan, Gabriel. A top-secret plan. I went into the forest and bought some stuff—some H—tonight. See, I have to pass a physical exam for the army in October. But I'm going to use some of this stuff … and … and … um…” He trailed off.

Willow looked up from stroking Michael's hair and said, “And the army is going to think he's a druggie hippie freak, so he's going to fail his physical! Then they'll let him out of the army. And we can get married, and make babies, and bake bread, and live on a farm out in the country. And we'll take Davey with us, and Mikey's parents will never bother us again and … Mikey? Mikey?”

Michael had nodded off in Willow's lap.

“Heroin?” I asked her. She nodded. “Willow, that's bad stuff. You have to believe me. I know you both think this is the only way, but it isn't. So what if Michael's father gets mad at him for a while? Isn't Mr. Barber an insane drunk anyway?”

“Aww, Gabey, don't you know? Mikey still loves his dad. You don't get to choose who you love in this world, sweetheart.”

“But heroin. Heroin. He could become an addict. You could become an addict. Look at you. You're so beautiful.” I felt myself blushing, even in the cold darkness. “I mean, heroin makes people so skinny and ugly and—”

She still had Michael in her lap, but she somehow freed up one arm and put it around my shoulder. I felt her breath against my throat. “You really are the sweetest angel.” My blush got about ten degrees hotter. So did the rest of me. “But it's okay. We asked around about this. You only get addicted if you shoot the stuff into your veins. And it takes a while. We just snorted it into our noses to see what it was like. Plus, I'm not even going to do it again. We have to save the rest for Mikey's plan. I'll still stay beautiful for you.” She did her famous giggle thing again.

Of all the inappropriate times to be on fire with desire, this had to take the freaking grand prize.

“Uh,” I stammered, “I'm pretty sure you're wrong about the addiction thing. You can get addicted just from snorting. And it can happen really, really fast.”

Willow was laughing silently. “Wow,” she murmured, “angels sure do worry a lot.”

“And, um, by the way, why can't I tell David about the letter?”

Willow started stroking my hair with one hand while she was still playing with Michael's with the other. I had heard about the whole 1960s free love thing, but this was ridiculous. “You'll have to ask Mikey about that one in the morning, Gabey. But basically, it's their dad again. Mikey always hides plans from Davey, for Davey's own good. David can't know about any of this, because when Mr. Barber finds out that David knew about a secret before he did, he flips out. And then the punishment is bad, man. Really bad. If David finds out that Mikey dodged the draft—and then their dad finds out later? Oh, God. I don't even want to think about that scene.”

We sat in silence for a while, and I gradually became aware that the music had stopped. I didn't want to move or say anything, partly because I had so much to think about, partly because I was the most exhausted I had ever been in my life, and partly because Willow was still playing with my hair. I know it might sound odd to say that each hair root on my head was individually sending little personal messages of joy and celebration to my brain, but it's also the truth. I was going crazy in several different ways.

Then, at the very edge of our hearing, the concert started up again with an explosion of drums. Willow gasped and yanked me and Michael to our feet. “Oh, we have to get back there!” she practically shouted. “I know this song! It's the Who! Michael, wake up, honey! It's the Who! They're playing ‘Heaven and Hell!'”

Well, that's appropriate,
I thought.

She turned to me. “Mikey loves the Who! Come on!”

Before I could even process the sad fact that Willow's fingers were no longer in contact with my scalp, we were crashing through the underbrush.

It must have taken us twenty minutes to find our way back to our group, and I was amazed when we did. Again, the sound mixing station was what guided us in.

When we were maybe ten feet away from the blankets, approaching from behind, Willow pushed Michael ahead. Then she said to me, “I'm sorry I interrupted you and your girlfriend before, angel Gabriel.”

“Uh, it's okay, I guess. I mean, this was important, right? And, uh, I mean—”

“Shhh,” she said, and put a finger on my lips. “I think you still have an hour or so before it gets light.”

“Nah,” I said, her finger tickling against my nose as I spoke, “Debbie's probably asleep by now. Besides, after all that heavy stuff, I'm not really in the mood anymore. I think I'll just sit on the blanket and listen to the music. Really, it's okay. I don't need to—”

Willow said, “You're not in the mood anymore? Really? What a waste. You're a fifteen-year-old boy. Get in the mood!” Then she hugged me very, very close, and sort of ground herself against me for thirty seconds or so.

It worked.

“Now go get that girl,” Willow said.

Tired, half-crazy, and confused as I have ever, ever been, I did.

 

SHAKIN' ALL OVER

SUNDAY, AUGUST 17, 1969

 

I woke up for a little while when a stage announcer said, “What we have in mind is breakfast in bed for four hundred thousand!” Then I turned over, put my bare arm over Debbie's, and tried to fall asleep again. The next thing I knew, some random dude in a buckskin jacket was actually holding a cup of granola in my face. I took the cup, just to make him go away, and turned over again.

Debbie and I slept through the Jefferson Airplane's early-morning set, and for several hours after that. I only woke up for good when David shook my foot, handed me a cup of lukewarm tea, and said, “Gabriel, I need help. There's something wrong with my brother!”

I sat up. The first thing I noticed was that I wasn't wearing a shirt, and that my hood-ornament bruise was turning a sick shade of green. The second thing was that I was starving. I said, “What do you mean?”

While David composed his thoughts, I fumbled around on the muddy, rumpled blanket for that cup of granola and started gulping it down with the tea. Then I said, “Wait! Is this tea safe? Where did you—”

He said, “There's nothing wrong with the tea. A bunch of nuns came around with tea and sandwiches about fifteen minutes ago. I don't think nuns are going to spike anybody's drink, all right? So I got my brother a cup of tea, because he loves caffeine in the morning. And I stuck my head in the tent, and Michael and Willow were both kind of asleep, but they were groaning. I shook Willow's foot, and she didn't want to wake up, but she did. Then I shook my brother's foot, and he won't wake up. He won't wake up!”

I swallowed the rest of my tea in one chug, got up, and looked around. The whole area looked like a refugee camp. There was mud and trash everywhere, and the few people who were walking around all looked as stunned as I felt. I stepped over to the tent and knelt down to look through the flap. Willow was holding Michael's hand and murmuring to him. She looked relieved when she saw us.