Free Unexpected Gifts by S. R. Mallery

there were several blinks before the salty tears headed down into the corners of my mouth. What a mess. How could I bring a child into this insane world? What right did I have to do that?
    Thursday, August 14 th arrived and with it, Woodstock and serious decisions about whether or not to keep my baby. Stephen, Alicia, and I ended up being the only three from our building able to go and with the summer air humid enough to wear, we started out a day earlier than the actual concert, as Stephen put it, to be ahead of the game and live the whole experience.
    Assigned by EVO to do a major scoop, he was ultra organized. In his car he had stuffed a faded camping tent, a cooler stocked with granola snacks and water, several blankets, flashlights, pillows, two gallon jugs of cheap red wine, and with our three tickets safely tucked into his pocket, enough pot to last a week.
    Driving up the Catskill Highway towards Max Yasgur's farm in Bethel, the new delegated concert area instead of Woodstock, Alicia and I had been relegated to the back seat and we made the most of it, chatting away like old school chums until Alicia became direct.
    Her tone hushed. “Lily, really there's nothing to it, Babe. Okay, maybe some pain with the scraping they do and weakness afterwards, but then you're home free—no little brats to worry about!”
    “What are you guys jawing about?” Stephen called out over his shoulder.
    “Nothing, nothing,” we both shot back in unison and stared out the window at the increasingly beautiful landscape. Before we realized it, we had slowed down to a crawl while up ahead were abandoned cars parked all along the side of the road. Locals were waving signs that read, “Welcome to Bethel,” as Stephen switched off the ignition.
    “Everybody out! We'll have to walk from here…” He exited the vehicle and started unloading all our gear, handing a lot of it over to us, being a true believer in the equality of the sexes. Thank God we didn't have to go too far. A day later and who knows how long our trek would last I remember thinking, as we trudged along and ended up as human fodder for tiny gnats soaring into our noses and infiltrating our eyes.
    Yasgur's property included a very large hill overlooking a massive platform in the last stages of construction. Huge cranes, sound equipment, carpenters and electricians covered the far away platform like distant ants, with several sound towers erected throughout the field.
    Stephen set up our tent in record time, and clapping his hands, announced brightly, “Hey, I'm gonna go down to the stage to interview some of the workers and show coordinators. You two can either come with me or spread out some blankets and enjoy the evening sky.”
    We opted for the latter and lying side-by-side, gazed up at the shifting colors, discussing bathroom possibilities, how they had never asked for our tickets, and what, if any, decision had I made. Hormone challenged, I was fading fast and by the time Stephen returned, I must have been out cold. All I can remember was waking up the next morning, Friday, six inches away from his face, bombarded by a powerful reefer smell, and an unidentifiable babble from outside.
    In the half-light of our tent, I managed to avoid stepping on his hands and Alicia's legs as I pulled the right flap up. Two paces outside, I gasped. A tsunami of humans had amassed during the night, filling every conceivable inch of the meadow with thousands of gesturing, chatting, eating, drinking, pot-smoking, acid taking, peace signing, long-haired, short-haired people, all in differing stages of attire.
    My bladder bursting, I was about to wend my way down the hill when Alicia appeared, rubbing her eyes. Our slow descent into unexplored territory included blanket after blanket of smiling faces and my nearly walking on someone's head.
    “Watch yourself, bitch!” rang out, and turning around, we saw a small crowd had already surrounded a lone, snarling guy.
    “No more war, man!