Free Unexpected Gifts by S. R. Mallery Page B

forever, and as I looked out over the sea of people, I smiled, thinking how lucky we were. What right did we have to complain about anything? I mean, if I did get rid of this baby, so what? I had Sam who, thank God, was still alive, and besides.
    Alicia jumped up. “Hey! Let's go skinny dipping.”
    “I don't know…” I began.
    Stephen, more excited than I had ever seen him, grabbed my arm. “No excuses, Lily.”
    The major watering hole was a nearby lake with all the normal trimmings—bushes, trees, a muddied shoreline, and out in its middle, a dilapidated wooden raft, grayed by age. Naked bodies were everywhere, frolicking in the water, sun-bathing on the water's edge, and even a couple of girls standing still, shaving under their arms.
    Alicia ripped off her clothes in front of Stephen's horny eyes. Had he always been attracted to her or was this a new deal? Hard to tell before, it sure was clear now. Undressed himself, he was all over her in a flash as they stood connected in waist-high water. Suddenly, I got embarrassed and turned away to give them some privacy. Truth was, I was missing Sam something awful.
    By five p.m., rain was pelting down in spear-like sheets. Stephen and Alicia were huddled toward the back of the tent making love, I was pretending to be asleep while counting the rain hits, when a soft jabbering from outside caught my attention.
    A young boy of about thirteen was sitting, miserable, under a garbage bag.
    “Do you want in?” I asked. He shook his head.
    For want of something else to do, I kept the flap open and started a conversation. Turned out he was in middle school about to enter high school. He had run away from home and his name was Wally. His eyes were a light blue, his freckled face appealing. We must have chatted for a good half hour during which time I learned how much he loved pizza, his favorite book was Robinson Caruso and he was really nervous about starting high school.
    “Don't you think you should call your parents?” I finally mentioned, recalling the snake-like lines of kids calling their folks on phones set up by the coordinators.
    He shook his head vehemently.
    “They're probably worried sick about you.”
    “You think so?” He looked dubious.
    “Of course. Now, you promise you'll call them soon?”
    He paused. “The lines to the concert phones are so long.”
    I placed my hand on his shoulder. “It doesn't matter.”
    He brightened and took off, making sure I'd save his spot. I grinned, satisfied somehow as I watched the little black plastic tent wander off, nearly tripping over a couple sprawled out on their blanket.
    Later, down at the stage, everyone agreed, the Grateful Dead could have phoned in their performance and Janis Joplin? As far as I was concerned, she wouldn't last another two years, she was so wasted.
    We made it back up the hill by nine p.m. as the rain was doing its thing again—hard, driving, purposeful. From out of the darkness, a black blob started talking and I would have assumed I was loaded had I not known better. It was Wally, covered in even more plastic trash bags, like a small, garbage dump, and in the midst of laughter and mutual admiration for his ingenuity, we all said our goodnights and I fell into a dreamless sleep.
    The next morning, the lineup was even more exciting: Joe Cocker, Country Joe and the Fish again, Blood, Sweat and Tears, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Neil Young, Butterfield Blues Band, Sha-Na-Na and last but not least, Jimi Hendrix.
    The three of us began our trek down to the johns and food, passing a sleeping ameba-esque Wally, and as I leaned down to check for breathing, I was relieved to see a slight up and down movement coupled with several snores. Chuckling, we went our merry way.
    By midday, a lot of people were already leaving the field, getting a head start on the exit traffic, but Stephen was determined to stay until the Bitter End.
    I was soaked, exhausted, and totally immersed in hormones. Everything was