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By jwb71913 Date: 2004 Nov 20 Comment on this Work [[2004.11.20.21.19.18627]] |
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I was a sophomore in high school, and I saw a reefer. The man smoking it seemed oblivious to the world, sitting beside the huge PA speaker while Gracie Slick sang 'White Rabbit'. He was a 'roadie' with the band, and he was cool and yet kind of frightening. My friends and I had jumped the turnstiles at the 71st St station and taken the Illinois Central to Grant Park, off on an after school adventure. The Park District had sponsored a series of free rock concerts at the bandshell, and since of course we didn't have a dollar between us, we saw a golden opportunity to catch Jefferson Airplane live, and also meet some girls. And meet girls we did. Older (16! 17!) girls, who had a bit more understanding of what a summer of love meant, even after the sixties were over. They had warm vin rose, warm Boone's Farm Apple wine, peanut butter sandwiches, and reefer. I remember their faces, and the swell of their breasts, although their names have long since left me. We sat on the grass and listened to Gracie, sitting close, talking between numbers, walking between sets, enjoying the cool spring breeze off the lake. They lived in the northern suburbs, and we exchanged phone numbers, even though we knew we'd never see each other again. Most of all, I remember the heat on my face when we said goodbye, and they said we were cute. JWB 11/9/2004 |