Free Unexpected Gifts by S. R. Mallery Page A

No more war!” they chanted merrily.
    On his blanket, the man's face reddened as he allowed a hippie girl to hug him and hand him a warm beer. With his apologetic hand wave to me, the group cheered.
    Forging ahead, we passed concession stands galore. Turkey dogs, sprout and tofu pita sandwiches, lemonade, granola bars, organic peanuts, celery stalks, and snack bags of organic chips. Flush-faced vendors, already trickling sweat by eight fifteen a.m., were scrambling to fill every order given from long lines of hungry guests. The bathroom wait was also horrendous and I began to panic. There was no way I was going to make it in time. I pulled on Alicia's sleeve. “I can't do this,” I whispered. She nodded and took my hand.
    “Let's find some woods somewhere,” she said. As we raced off to a nearby dense forest, the loud-speakers switched on.
    “Welcome to Woodstock! Are you ready to rock n' roll?” a man's voice coaxed.
    Cheers ripped through the air like a thunderbolt crack. Squatting behind a tree, I did my business while Joan Baez performed the opening honors. “We Shall Overcome” induced tears in Alicia but I was far too busy looking for non poisonous ivy leaves to use as toilet paper and rinsing off my hands with my only water bottle to feel emotional.
    By the time we returned, Grace Slick and the Jefferson Airplane had already walked on stage with It's a Brand New Day , followed by the sudden sound of helicopters overhead and Country Joe and the Fish's Fixin' to Die Rag. The crowd went crazy— one, two, three, four, five —they shouted, and with each throbbing beat, I could feel my heart pulse up into my throat. Poor Sam. Poor, poor Sam, I thought, my tears coating my cheeks.
    The Emcee maintained his hold on the mike. “Another announcement, let's see…” he unfolded a small piece of paper. “John Pearson is looking for Maggie Horn. He wants to ask her to marry him.” The crowd switched to laughter and cheers. He held up his hand. “Now, as you probably already know, the concession stands have run out of food. It seems there are too many of us peace-loving folks around…” More applause. “… Anyway , Wavy Gravy is here with his Hog Farm and they'll be settin' up their kitchen and passin' out food to sustain us.” Wavy Gravy, his signature cowboy hat cocked slightly to the right, waved from the stage as the light gray sky slowly darkened and the day's lineup of musicians announced: John Sebastian, Sweetwater, Ravi Shankar, Melanie, Arlo Guthrie, Tim Hardin, too strung out on heroin to perform well, and Richie Havens, ordered to vamp endlessly until the Swami Satchidanada's helicopter arrived so the Spiritual One could give the invocation for the entire festival.
    Suddenly, it was as if someone were dumping endless buckets of water on our little part of the planet without a second thought. Within minutes, the entire hill was glazed with an inch thick layer of water and underneath that, good old-fashioned mud. Mud that sucked our feet down like quicksand and later, would also provide countless hours of entertainment for people sliding down hills, screaming with abandonment, all to the gentle rhythms of clinking empty wine bottles.
    Saturday morning, I was jolted awake to Wavy Gravy's, “Good morning! What I have in mind is breakfast in bed for 400,000!” accented by a roar of applause. True to his word, his Hog family was already circulating throughout the crowd with large baskets as we heard the day's lineup of musicians: Incredible String Band, Santana, Canned Heat, Grateful Dead, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Who, Sly & The Family Stone, topped off by Janis Joplin.
    Wavy Gravy was replaced by some yoga instructor, tossing love beads into the multitude, then showing all of us wake up poses to commence the day. Stephen gave one giant scoff, but Alicia and I, after a night of cramped positions, eagerly participated.
    We were serenaded by the Keef Hartley Band and Santana, who seemed to riff