Part 30 (1/2)

Susan went to her first and only Diamond Head Crater festival with her girlfriend Cynthia and Cynthia's new boyfriend, Tommy. A naked, pregnant woman writhed to the music of Sonny and Cher's catchy hit song, ”The Beat Goes On”. Acid freaks flipped out; people rushed to restrain them. Love beads, puka sh.e.l.ls, and long hair flowed above Indian bedspread dresses. Smoothies, organic vegetarian fare, and nothing else were for sale in makes.h.i.+ft booths. Pakalolo filled the air.

Finding an open spot near the stage, the trio dropped down in the gra.s.s. Cynthia began making out with Tommy. All around Susan, people were hugging and kissing each other. Love was in the air, but Susan felt like an alien.

Suddenly she spied Cynthia's ex-husband, Craig, plowing through the crowd, heading toward them. She nudged Cynthia and pointed.

Cynthia shot up, saw her ex, and tried to pull Tommy up by his hand. ”It's my ex, run.”

Tommy remained sitting. ”Easy. We'll just talk to him. Calm him down.”

Craig raised his arm. Silver metal glinted from his hand.

”He's got a gun. You talk to him.” Cynthia shouted and sprinted away.

Tommy and Susan weren't staying around to find out whether or not Craig really had a gun. They took off in opposite directions. So much for the love generation; even pot couldn't mellow out a jealous ex.

Susan's last year at college was an orgy of pakalolo. She and her friends smoked dope in the HIC arena where famous rock stars jammed. They smoked on the beach. n.o.body cared, not even the cops.

Once she got caught in a sudden cloud burst over Nuuanu on the way to a party in Kailua. Her guy friend forgot the top of his banged up MG back home and the rain made puddles on the floor of the car. Stoned out of their minds, they laughed and waved at the people staring at them at the stoplights. Before driving off, one young couple gave them the 'way to go' shaka sign, their thumb and little finger sticking up with the rest of their fingers curled into their palms.

They arrived soaking wet at their party in Kailua. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Boxes of Chinese food, plate lunches, and bakery goods were strewn on the floor in the middle of a circle of people smoking pot, drinking, and eating.

When a girl in their crowd, Marianne, walked in with a cop in uniform, silence greeted them. Her friends tried to hide the weed.

”Hey, don't worry, Norm's cool.” Marianne and Norm flopped down next to Susan. The cop picked up a roach in an ashtray and sucked on it. Within minutes, everything was back to normal.

Later, a beautiful groupie named Tina dropped by with a well-known rock star who had a concert at the HIC Arena. The cop shook his hand. It was a party to remember.

Susan tried mescaline for the first time on her graduation night. The rush was unbelievable. She mellowed the high out with cheap wine and gra.s.s. Suddenly, she found herself giggling uncontrollably as she sprawled on a cus.h.i.+on in the corner of a dark, empty living room.

A tall blonde stood over her. His faint Southern drawl floated down to her. ”Can I get you a wine cooler?”

”No thanks,” Susan said as she sat up. ”You never know if the punchbowl is spiked with acid.

”In that case ...” He pulled out a joint and lit it. ”What about some Kona gold?” He eased himself down next to her.

He was bearded, rather good-looking, and haole. With perverse satisfaction, she thought of how p.i.s.sed her dad would be. Not that she cared what he thought. She fumbled with the joint before putting it to her mouth then took in deep hits. Although the harsh weed burned her throat, she held the smoke in, coughing as she pa.s.sed the joint back to him.

She exhaled. ”I'm Susan.”

”Andy.” He took a big hit and held his breath. He tried to pa.s.s it to her but she declined. She was too loaded already.

”Where are you from?”

”I grew up in Alabama,” he smiled and she noticed a gap between his top front teeth.

Susan barely paid attention as Andy rattled on about Alabama. She only cared about getting loaded to smoke out thoughts of Jimmy, Steve, and her meaningless existence.

”My best friend is dead and my other best friend might as well be,” Susan said as she buried her face in her knees before turning her face to the side to look at him. ”Jim Morrison's dead, Janis Joplin's dead, and so is Jimi Hendrix. I saw Jimi at HIC just before he died. He was so high, he almost fell over his guitar.” Dabbing at her tears, she asked. ”What do you do?”

”I'm a bartender,” he replied.

”So did you graduate in Travel Industry Management?” Susan leaned back on her elbows.

”Marketing. And you?”

”Psychology. Doesn't matter, all my college friends are stewardesses, waitresses, bellhops, or bartenders.” Susan stared at the dis...o...b..ll hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room throwing off fragments of light.

”I only stayed in college to stay out of 'Nam.”

”You and every other guy in this room. What happened?”

”This is my 4F deferment, my ticket to safety.” Andy showed her two disfigured fingers on his right hand. ”I messed up my hand in a motorcycle accident.”

”It's messed up all right,” she sucked on the joint again. ”Well it's better than drinking a bottle of soy sauce, dropping acid, or pretending to be gay.”

”What?”

”The soy sauce hikes up your blood pressure. The rest speaks for itself.”

”Maybe you can tell me more about it,” he said. ”I live near here.”

Susan checked him out. He was kind of s.e.xy in his embroidered muslin s.h.i.+rt and blue jeans. He wore a puka sh.e.l.l necklace around his neck and a blue kerchief was tied around his blonde hair, Indian style. He looked good to her.

”I need to tell my ride I'm leaving,” she replied.

”Have you ever been on a waterbed?” he asked.

Susan's heart raced. She couldn't believe she was doing something so bad. ”No,” she answered. ”But I'd like to try.”

Much later, Susan wondered where everyone was going at 4:30 on a Sat.u.r.day morning. From outside the studio window came the sound of cars roaring down the highway. Occasionally a truck or a motorcycle went by. It was too early for heavy traffic. A dog barked.

Susan rolled off the waterbed slowly so as not to rouse Andy. She found a beanbag chair and snuggled in, her knees tucked under her chin.

Daylight crept into the room, giving it a sad and tawdry look. Wooden planks were placed on cinder blocks for tables. A silent stereo's green power light blinked. Dozens of alb.u.ms were strewn nearby. Cus.h.i.+ons lay on the matted, s.h.a.g carpet. The psychedelic posters tacked on the walls reflected images of bad acid trips. Bare bulbs of blue, red, and green hung from the ceiling. Ashtrays, matches, rolling paper, roach clips, rolled up match covers, and homemade water pipes were strewn around the floor and on top a dirty, makes.h.i.+ft plywood board coffee table. A sleazy zodiac poster with various s.e.x positions had been sh.e.l.lacked onto the tabletop.

Last night she was stoned out of her mind. This morning, she felt horrible. Her surroundings disgusted her. Still, she wasn't going to make excuses for her behavior. She wanted to get laid and did. Her pick-up lover made Jimmy look like a fumbling schoolboy.

The very thought of Jimmy made her feel instantly disloyal. This hippie was the only other man she had ever been with in bed. What a stupid mistake.

She vaguely remembered crying while they got it on. He was so wrapped up in his own pleasure he didn't notice.

Her eyes darted around the room and came to rest on a poster with the street sign, Haight Ashbury, dominating the picture.