by Randy Mixter
“You have heard of doctor patient privilege, I assume,” she said in reply to his query.
Sarah laughed at the quizzical look on his face. “I’m just teasing you. I’ll make you a deal. I will tell you about Crystal if you let me read your article.”
Alex mulled this over for a minute. He was almost positive he never mentioned Sarah in his writing. He assumed that was a good thing. But what if she took offense at her exclusion. For all he knew, she might feel slighted. Most of the essay involved his culture shock upon arrival. He knew how serious Sarah took the nonconformist lifestyle. Would Sarah take anything in those pages as a sign of disrespect? As he was analyzing the article paragraph by paragraph in his head, she snatched the binder from his hand, turning it to the first page.
“I can’t wait for you,” she said while staring intently at the page. “I haven’t got all day, you know.”
They had just entered Haight Street when she handed the binder back to him.
“Not bad for the first time out,” she remarked as they continued walking. She soon kept her end of the bargain.
“Crystal, your fire girl, was in bad shape,” Sarah said as they walked. “She was what the doctors call a stage four delusional, which is the highest stage. I calmed her down the best I could before the ambulance arrived.”
“She was hospitalized?” he asked. He was a little concerned that Sarah could not work her magic on the girl.
“You need to understand that L.S.D. can be a dangerous drug if not taken properly. Crystal was probably a first timer who did not receive proper supervision, or she ingested a bad batch. By the time it hits the streets, who knows what could be in it.”
Now his mind raced. The fire girl had a name and it was Crystal. Someone had messed up somewhere along the line, at her expense, and Crystal saw fire, in her eyes and in her brain.
“You must promise me you’ll be very careful if you try anything other than marijuana,” Sarah said in such a manner that it sounded a bit like a scolding.
“I don’t plan on doing drugs while I’m here.”
He felt he made the statement with confidence, but Sarah sighed loudly. “That’s what they all say, almost every one of them when they leave the calming room. They swear off drugs. A week or two later, maybe less, they’re back. The same people over and over.”
“I’m not like everybody else,” he told her with enough conviction that she almost believed him.
The Western Union office assured Alex that his employer would have the paperwork the next morning. He would call them anyhow, just to be safe, and to find out when his first paycheck would arrive.
Sarah had waited for him outside the office. When he joined her on the sidewalk, he noticed she was carrying her sandals and the flower that graced her hair was in her hand.
“I’ll race you to the park,” she said with a hint of mischief.
“If you catch me you can have my flower.”
Before she completed the sentence, she was off, running around and through the scores of young men and women who did not seem to find this behavior the least bit odd.
He took off after her, but his concern for the pedestrian and street traffic slowed him considerably, as did his made for walking at a deliberate pace and not much more boots.
Sarah was steadily gaining ground on him, laughing merrily the entire time. Though he had all but conceded defeat, he did not want to stop pursuing her. She might think him a quitter or, worse, she might feel he found her unworthy of pursuit.
By the time he checked in at the park, Sarah was sitting on the grass, looking at the sky and whistling the best she could. She did not seem to be out of breath. Alex, however, was gasping and gulping air as if his life depended on it.
“You win,” he panted as he hobbled up to her.
“And you don’t get the flower. My flowers must be earned,” she replied. “If you don’t mind a suggestion, try taking off your boots next time or, better yet, wear something more appropriate to chasing girls on a warm summer’s day.”
He pointed to the grass around her. “How about one of those,” he managed to say between two prodigious gulps of air.
“A dandelion?” She eyed him quizzically. “Oh, well,” she sighed as she snatched one close by. “Who am I to deny such a humble request?”
“It’s better than nothing,” Alex mumbled, as he accepted her consolation prize and sat down beside her.
She could not help laughing a little when he immediately lowered his head to his legs, wheezing heavily.
“You sound a bit like Jezebel when she’s coughing up a fur ball.”
The imagery was too much for Alex. Despite his misery, he joined her in laughter.
They were still laughing when Sarah told him she needed to leave for the Free Clinic. She accepted his offer of escort with her assurance of maintaining a leisurely pace.
When they arrived at the clinic several minutes later, she thanked him for being a gentleman and a good loser.
“If you go to the concert tonight, remember that I will be quite disappointed if you visit the calming room as a patient”
She kissed him then, on the forehead, and ran up the steps and through the door.
For the longest time, he stood looking up at the closed door, letting the warmth of her kiss work its way through his body. After a while, he began his trek back to Ashbury Street, still gripping the dandelion. When he was within a couple of blocks of the house, he put Sarah’s gift in his shirt pocket, took off his boots, and ran the rest of the way.
THE CONCERT
Everyone in the house, except for the children and their mothers, was planning to attend the concert that night. Chick had brokered a trade that morning for twenty tickets in exchange for a large bag of weed that he had stashed away for just such an occasion.
Chick offered a ticket to Alex as he walked onto the porch, putting on his shoes and catching his breath.
Alex was prepared to return to the Free Clinic as soon as he changed into clothes more suited to the chasing of girls. He wanted to spend the day and evening with Sarah. If she was behind the closed door of the calming room and he was sitting in the lobby, so be it. Being near her was good too.
Chick, however, would not take no for an answer. When he pointed out the concert would provide good material for his next article, Alex reluctantly agreed and accepted Chick’s gift.
Knowing he would not see Sarah for several hours, and perhaps the entire day, weighed on him. He understood he was here to report on the hippie movement. He also knew the real stories were happening on the other side of the world, in a place called Vietnam. Nevertheless, he wanted to get this right and do a job that would make him proud, make his parents proud, and maybe even Uncle Max. He also knew this; Sarah was a part of him now and would be for as long as she indulged him. Sarah had won his heart with hardly a struggle. She would have smiled, and even laughed a little, if she had known the ease of her conquest, or maybe she already did.
He understood that she might not have the same feelings toward him. To her he might be a plaything, a companion that listened to her when she talked and chased her when she ran. Chick had told him the first time he saw her that Sarah was a spirit never owned, always free. He desperately hoped Chick was wrong.
He had been in Haight-Ashbury for a little over two days and there was a distinct possibility that he was head over heels in love. In spite of the troubling nature of that thought, he could not suppress a grin.
They ate an early dinner that evening. Every now and then Alex snuck a look at the empty chair where Sarah normally sat. As quiet as she was at the table, he still missed her presence. She was the life force that charged the room just by being there.
He thought of Sarah in the diminished air. He wanted to ask her so many questions. Why did she always wear white? Why did she dance on the hill every day? How did she manage to come to him in a dream while he slept? In addition, and most importantly, where did she come from and why did she come here?
He would wait until the time was right and then he would interrogate her. He smiled as he shoveled in the last of the Hope sister’s meal of cheese raviolis in a sweet white sauce. Perhaps she was meant to be a mystery never solved or a puzzle with no solution. Alex believed he could live with that if he had to. If her secrets gave her strength, then she could keep them safely tucked away in a place where no one could find them. He would allow her to be an enigma. As long as she allowed him entrance into her world, he would gladly chase her forever.
“Our ride is here!” Chick shouted loud enough for the house, and most of the block, to hear.
Alex had changed back into clothes more appropriate for the evening’s venue. He now wore the boots, black pants and vest, and a white billowy shirt. He also wore his red tinted granny classes for the first time. He imagined he looked the part of a flower child except for his hair that remained trimmed around the ears, and his face, which, despite not shaving for three days, was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
In his short time at the house, he never seen any of its occupants, with the exception of Sarah, move faster than a snails pace. This night was different. Several passed him as he walked the stairs, seemingly indifferent to the perils of the atrophied steps. The foyer similarly emptied at breakneck speed.
Chick explained the mayhem to Alex as he closed the front door behind them.
“The last time we borrowed the Pranksters bus, some seats were missing. The driver was a bit high and the ride was not a pleasant one for those standing. The Free Clinic did a good business that night.”
Paint covered the bus parked on the street in vivid colors and swirling patterns. To Alex’s eye, designs and imagery covered every square inch of the vehicle.
“I personally made sure all the seats were in place and fastened properly this time,” Chick continued as they climbed on the bus. “Thank God hippies do not believe in lawsuits.”
There were no incidents this time. The seats were all there and secure and the young driver was deliberate and sober. It took about twenty minutes to reach the Fillmore auditorium. Alex saw many people assembled on the streets and sidewalks surrounding the building.
He was grateful when the bus arrived at the venue. The vehicle was barely off Ashbury Street when numerous joints fired up, and a thick pungent fog blanketed the interior. Chick, in the seat next to him, graciously offered him a hit off the big round reefer he enjoyed. Alex turned him down with a thanks anyhow, adding that inhaling the bus air was doing the job just fine.
When they were on the street, Chick handed him his ticket.
“I’ll catch up with you inside,” he said. “I have some friends to meet.”
Alex saw many people meeting and greeting friends. Hands met, peace signs filled the air, and hugs and kisses were commonplace. He imagined these concerts as social events where all sharing similar philosophies could connect and interact.
He walked around and listened, gathering source material for his next article. He was concentrating on two young women wearing short flowery dresses and white go-go boots, as they expounded on how their boyfriends measured up in the free love department, when the doors opened.
He followed the crowd through the entrance into a large lobby area. Many posters of various groups decorated the walls. To his eye, they appeared designed by the same artist who decorated the bus. Two aluminum tables pressed against the far wall. The bowls of assorted candy scattered about them attracted many of the concertgoers including Alex, who just had to nibble on something.
Ticket takers lined the doors leading to the doors leading to the dance hall. Once he had stuffed his tight pants pockets with as much of the free candy as he could, he entered the hall.
The place was old, but impressive nonetheless. The main floor was expansive, with seats taking up much of the space. There was, however, open floor near the large instrument filled stage and in the roomy aisles. He concluded these spaces were available for anyone too restless to sit while music played. A balcony took up space above him, covering many seats near the back.
The auditorium filled up fast. Alex took his seat near the middle of the hall. Soon his fellow housemates joined him on either side, with Chick sitting down next to him. Much like the bus, joints found matches and began making the rounds. For several minutes, Alex simply handed the hand-rolled reefers from one person to the next. As the lights dimmed around him, Benny, who sat on the opposite side of him, passed him a package.
“Give this to Chick,” he said.
The clear plastic bag seemed to contain several S & H green stamps, a fact that confused him. Why does Chick collect green stamps? He thought. Does he use them for food?
Chick answered the question when he took a stamp out of the bag and placed it on his tongue.
“It’s Owsley,” Benny said to Chick, who nodded in approval.
Alex, now hopelessly confused, was about to ask Chick about the Owsley green stamps when a man walked from a corner of the stage to the middle microphone stand of the three in the front of the stage.
“Bill Graham,” Chick whispered to him amid a smattering of applause. “He owns the place.”
“If I see you doing drugs in my auditorium you will be kicked out,” he said in a loud abrupt voice.
The man started to walk away from the microphone before hesitating and returning.
“Enjoy the show,” Bill Graham said and walked away for good.
The house lights dimmed further. Alex removed his red-tinted glasses. Seeing everything in red was giving him a headache. He concluded that he was not cut out to be a rock star.
A projector turned on and the wall to the rear of the stage became a cascading movement of light and color. For a while, the colors moved about like amoeba, joining to form new shades and pigments before separating to search for new companions.
“Far out,” Sandman whispered next to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Quicksilver Messenger Service,” a loudspeaker announced from somewhere in the hall.
There was much applause and yelling as the five-person group took the stage. Alex was surprised to find them clothed in garb similar to his. So much so, in fact, he thought the lead guitarist could have been his twin, though Alex doubted he could ever grow his hair that long.
Their first number had barely begun when several of the young women in the auditorium stood and broke into dance. A few of the men soon joined them. By the time the group ended their six song set, with an instrumental number they introduced as Acapulco Gold and Silver, a large portion of the Fillmore was in the aisles, and in front of the stage, swaying to the beat.
They left the stage to loud applause and a standing ovation. As the noise lessened and the dancers gradually returned to their seats, Alex saw the plastic bag of green stamps making the rounds along his row of seats. He would have been the first to admit his ignorance of green stamps used for anything other than the purchase of food. His mother, in particular, had stacks of filled S & H green stamp books in a kitchen drawer. He would often see her in that drawer, counting the thin paper volumes as if they were precious minerals. On at least one occasion, as he recalled, his mother and her friends used the stamps as chips during a card game.
The bag, when it stopped at Alex, was noticeably lighter. He was curious enough to reach inside and pull one out.
“Afraid not champ,” Chick said next to him, taking the stamp bag from his possession.
“I regret to tell you,” he continued, “that you have been banned from the consumption of any drugs more potent than our lady Mary Jane.”
Alex had no problem with that. He did not intend to lick any stamps not bought from the post office. Crystal, the girl with fire in her eyes, still held sway in his mind.
“It’s rather a shame in a way,” Chick said. “Owsley is the acid all others aspire to be. Alas, the queen of Hashbury must be obeyed.”
“The queen of Hashbury?” Alex had not heard the term Hashbury, nor was he aware of its r
uler.
“Sarah. At her request I am to make certain you do not try, or accidentally swallow any substance that would result in a trip to the Free Clinic or the hospital.”
He did not know whether to be angered over her perceived lack of willpower on his part, or to be grateful that she cared enough to look out for him. Sarah’s concern for his well-being was gaining the upper hand when Chick clinched it for him.
“I believe she’s looking out for you,” he said as he placed another stamp on his tongue.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming our special guests this evening, Big Brother and the Holding Company.”
The place erupted in applause and cheers following the announcement. Once again, the auditorium lights dimmed as the group hit the stage. Janis Joplin walked straight to the microphone. She wore a long black cape that covered a gray billowy shirt and a pair of dark pants. She had sandals on her feet.
“Are you ready to feel good?” she screamed at the audience. A rousing yes filled the room.
“Let’s do it then!”
They started with a bluesy number called Ball and Chain. The light show to their rear melded its many colors in perfect harmony with the music. Immediately after the song, the group went into two more songs, both of which had sufficient tempo to bring many in attendance to the stage and aisles.
When she talked into the microphone a second time, she was sweating and a little out of breath.
“I’m doing pretty good tonight, aren’t I?”
The audience cheered loudly at this statement.
“I was going to say how much I was enjoying my first time here. But my manager informs me I’ve been here three times before.”
The crowded hall exploded in laughter and cheers. Chick leaned over to Alex.
“She likes her booze,” he said.