black guy named Clevon with a small black beret, obviously a Black Panther. I searched his face for the sweetness of my old childhood friend Leroy and was met with only sullenness.
The large room had a communal feel. There was a long funky table in the middle, walls coated with various posters, like Overthrow the People, Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty, Viva L'Amor , and numerous covers of EVO—East Village Other , the underground newspaper where Stephen worked, and a small TV flashing silent images, on a top of a side table. Little Rain, stationed on top of the table, was having the time of her life surrounded by munchies, two bowls of pot, bongs, small glass pipes, and non-stop conversation.
Just then, someone leaned over and turned up the TV's volume knob. Walter Cronkite was showing some particularly gruesome footage of Vietnam as my stomach churned.
Everyone was booing and chanting, “Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” over and over again. I stood up, excused myself, and fled downstairs to my familiar china bowl.
I returned to an argument. Clevon was snarling, “If someone gets a draft notice, man, they don't have to go. As far as the Black Panthers are concerned, no white pigs are gonna tell us what to do! We ain't gonna serve in any fuckin' army, man!” He caught sight of me. “Well, Vanilla, what do you think about it?”
Everyone turned in my direction. “I—I just don't know. Sometimes there are certain circumstances…”
“Bullshit!” Clevon snorted as I thought 1) There was no way I was going to tell them about Sam, and 2) I was glad I had removed my ring because it had become somewhat tight.
“Okay, guys,” Alicia announced. “It's time to get down to business.” She started putting pot into a nearby bong, lit it, took several hits, then passed it on to Clevon. In the background, The Ed Sullivan Show was playing softly. Thank God we had moved on.
Meanwhile, Alicia was on a roll. She picked up one of the little pipes, pressed some Acapulco Gold into its bowl, took hits, and passed that onto Clevon as well, all in perfect time to The Doors' Light My Fire. The pipe was slowly making its way around to me. Should I take some or not? If it harms the baby, maybe that'd be a great excuse to get an abortion. If I keep the baby, should I be doing this? Lost in my thoughts, I took a toke off the pipe without thinking. One hit and I began to cough—great big hacks that seared my throat and made my eyes water. Alicia looked concerned.
“What a candy-assed hick!” Clevon mumbled.
“Don't worry, Lily. That's cool. It's just not your thing, Babe,” Alicia crooned as Stephen took a drag from the joint and cleared his throat.
“Listen up, people. I've got a real insider's scoop for you! Hot off the presses!”
“Well?” Clevon flared.
“Well, you've no doubt all heard about this little town in upstate New York called Woodstock, right?”
Except for Rain and me, everyone nodded.
“Turns out,” he continued, “I can get you all tickets for free!”
The explosive cheers startled me. “What's this all about?” I asked.
“Well, there's gonna be a humongous concert to beat all concerts in this little town, even better than the Monterey Jazz Festival out in California! All the major rock players are gonna be there. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, you name ‘em! They're actually expecting as many as thirty thousand people! Place to be, guys, place to be! But let's finish up now. Gotta edit my op-ed for next week's EVO …”
We all stopped mid-chowdown with Clevon grabbing a couple of Oreos and sauntering out, Alicia hot on his heels. Slim gently picked up Rain from the table, Bandana did a quick wipe off, I put the wine glasses in the sink, and we exited on mass. We said our good nights and as I started downstairs, I heard a noise and glanced upward. It was Alicia, still trailing Clevon, up to the top floor.
The next week, Stephen
The large room had a communal feel. There was a long funky table in the middle, walls coated with various posters, like Overthrow the People, Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty, Viva L'Amor , and numerous covers of EVO—East Village Other , the underground newspaper where Stephen worked, and a small TV flashing silent images, on a top of a side table. Little Rain, stationed on top of the table, was having the time of her life surrounded by munchies, two bowls of pot, bongs, small glass pipes, and non-stop conversation.
Just then, someone leaned over and turned up the TV's volume knob. Walter Cronkite was showing some particularly gruesome footage of Vietnam as my stomach churned.
Everyone was booing and chanting, “Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” over and over again. I stood up, excused myself, and fled downstairs to my familiar china bowl.
I returned to an argument. Clevon was snarling, “If someone gets a draft notice, man, they don't have to go. As far as the Black Panthers are concerned, no white pigs are gonna tell us what to do! We ain't gonna serve in any fuckin' army, man!” He caught sight of me. “Well, Vanilla, what do you think about it?”
Everyone turned in my direction. “I—I just don't know. Sometimes there are certain circumstances…”
“Bullshit!” Clevon snorted as I thought 1) There was no way I was going to tell them about Sam, and 2) I was glad I had removed my ring because it had become somewhat tight.
“Okay, guys,” Alicia announced. “It's time to get down to business.” She started putting pot into a nearby bong, lit it, took several hits, then passed it on to Clevon. In the background, The Ed Sullivan Show was playing softly. Thank God we had moved on.
Meanwhile, Alicia was on a roll. She picked up one of the little pipes, pressed some Acapulco Gold into its bowl, took hits, and passed that onto Clevon as well, all in perfect time to The Doors' Light My Fire. The pipe was slowly making its way around to me. Should I take some or not? If it harms the baby, maybe that'd be a great excuse to get an abortion. If I keep the baby, should I be doing this? Lost in my thoughts, I took a toke off the pipe without thinking. One hit and I began to cough—great big hacks that seared my throat and made my eyes water. Alicia looked concerned.
“What a candy-assed hick!” Clevon mumbled.
“Don't worry, Lily. That's cool. It's just not your thing, Babe,” Alicia crooned as Stephen took a drag from the joint and cleared his throat.
“Listen up, people. I've got a real insider's scoop for you! Hot off the presses!”
“Well?” Clevon flared.
“Well, you've no doubt all heard about this little town in upstate New York called Woodstock, right?”
Except for Rain and me, everyone nodded.
“Turns out,” he continued, “I can get you all tickets for free!”
The explosive cheers startled me. “What's this all about?” I asked.
“Well, there's gonna be a humongous concert to beat all concerts in this little town, even better than the Monterey Jazz Festival out in California! All the major rock players are gonna be there. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, you name ‘em! They're actually expecting as many as thirty thousand people! Place to be, guys, place to be! But let's finish up now. Gotta edit my op-ed for next week's EVO …”
We all stopped mid-chowdown with Clevon grabbing a couple of Oreos and sauntering out, Alicia hot on his heels. Slim gently picked up Rain from the table, Bandana did a quick wipe off, I put the wine glasses in the sink, and we exited on mass. We said our good nights and as I started downstairs, I heard a noise and glanced upward. It was Alicia, still trailing Clevon, up to the top floor.
The next week, Stephen
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