Hippies

                                 

The music was blasting loudly from the record player, while I was lying flat on my bed, eyes closed, listening intently. I wanted to feel the music, take it all in and let myself be overwhelmed by it. All that sound and all the quirky tunes whirling and twisting amongst one another causing great chaos and then eventually falling into place and making everything right. The record was one of the band “Jefferson Airplane” and it was Samuel who had lent it to me. Samuel Dawson was my best friend and the one who had first introduced me to this new kind of music; I remember one day he had put on this song by Bob Dylan, and we just sat together and listened to it. I had no idea music could be like that or that it could make you feel so many emotions at the same time. So simple and melancholic in a way, almost sad, yet at the same time strong and powerful like it had lit an eternal fire inside you. It was the kind of music that just made sense of everything, the kind that meant something to you.

“The times they are changing” that was the sentence he kept repeating. When the song was over I remember Samuel looked over at me and said:

 “Yeah, I guess they really are changing, huh?”

 I just nodded in silent agreement; even though I wasn’t quite sure I understood what he meant, at least at that time.

From that day on, to my mother’s big annoyance, I kept borrowing new records from Samuel almost every day. My mother of course thought it was too loud, but that was only because she didn’t understand, frankly, she didn’t understand any of it, nor did my father. In their eyes, it seemed, everything the young people said or did these days was an utter disgrace to everything good and decent in this world: the music, the clothes and especially the hair was unbearable. They simply didn’t understand it, while I was in complete awe of it and wanted so bad to be a part of it; I started to wear colorful clothes and walk around barefoot, I even tried to grow my hair long, but my mother kept cutting it off as soon as it reached further than below my ears.  

She had tried with all of her might to fight it, but she would learn that I could be almost as stubborn as she. She still complained, though, every time she eyed her chance:

“It is all because of these friends of yours. They’re bad company, especially that Dawson boy. I should like to have a nice long chat with his parents one day”

This was her favorite saying, though she never did, to my knowledge, have that chat with his parents.

I snapped back to reality as someone started knocking vigorously on my door, and as I had expected it was my mother who had come to ask me to turn down that “terrible music of mine”

I sat up slowly, turned the record player off and looked lazily at my mother in that way she found ever so provoking, as she stood in the doorway with her hands in her sides and that fierce look in her eyes.

“Honestly John, you know perfectly well how I feel about that terrible kind of music”

I could tell that now wasn’t the time to argue with her, so I just muttered something about trying to keep it down.

“By the way, you have a phone call…”

She folded her arms and switched position, so that she was now leaning sideways against the doorframe. She looked really annoyed.

“…From Samuel Dawson”

I could tell from the way she almost spat out his name that she was restraining herself not to add some spiteful comment. Instead she turned on her heel and walked swiftly out of the room leaving the door open. I got up and followed her to the phone. When I picked it up I sure enough heard Samuels’s raspy voice:

“Hey man, where are yer? We’re all hangin’ here at my pad, an’ we’re waitin’ for yer”

“I’m sorry man, I totally forgot”, I said apologetically.

“Hey, hang loose man, so yer comin’ or what?”

“uhm…”

 I glanced sideways into the kitchen where I could just see the back of my mother as she was preparing dinner and muttering silently under her breath. I knew she was already cross with me.

“C’mon man, don’t be a drag. Mary-Angela is here too, yer know”

I suddenly felt the blood flushing to my cheeks and my heart beating faster along with a new and stronger longing to head over to Samuel’s pad. I stole a last glance at my mother in the kitchen before I answered:

“Sure, I’ll be there in ten”

“Groovy! I’ll see yer in ten. Peace out, brother “

 

Not much more than ten minutes later I stood outside Samuel’s house knocking on the door. He lived not far from me, close to the beach. As I waited for him to answer the door I drew a deep breath.

 It was summer. The summer of 1967 and it was hot, unusually hot even for San Francisco. Something magical was in the air, you couldn’t see it but you felt it instantly, something indefinable that made people dizzy and euphoric and excited all at once.

Finally the door opened and Samuel’s tall, lanky figure appeared before me. He was wearing frayed bellbottom jeans with a tie dye shirt and a patchy, brown vest. His long, gingery blonde hair, which I so admired and envied, was hanging down his back and his eyes were obscured by a pair of round sunglasses. When he saw me he grabbed my shoulders, pulled me in for an embrace and patted me on the back a few times before he let go again.

“Hey, good to see yer, man! C’mon we’re just hangin’ down the basement”

I followed him over the threshold and down the steep staircase into the basement, which was a dimly lit, poorly ventilated room with a couple of shabby leather couches and a small coffee table.    

After greeting everyone I sat down on the floor beside my friend Dean since the couches were already full. Marty and Andrew were there, too, and the girls Heather and Dakota. There were also a couple of people I didn’t know; two guys, one short and broad shouldered with dark hair and a beard, the other more scrawny with a sharp face and almond shaped eyes, and a girl with shoulder length hair, a strong jaw and a vague expression on her face. Then at last there was of course Mary-Angela Saxton; she was sitting on one of the couches with her feet up, arms around her knees and she was wearing a long blue skirt with a yellow, sunflower printed shirt tugged neatly inside it. Her long dirty blonde hair was waving down her back and her eyes were round and kind and brilliantly blue. She suddenly turned her head and caught me watching her and I felt my cheeks blushing red again, but she just sent me a quick smile revealing the small gab between her front teeth, which I found immensely charming.

The others had apparently picked up a conversation they had been having before I showed up. They were discussing the war, and I sat quietly and tried to keep up:

“All I’m sayin’ man, it’s just so typical America, yer know, goin’ into this war an’ all. It’s all about firin’ guns, havin’ a bigger stick than the other guys, it never ends!”, Samuel  began.

“Yeah, it’s all because of Johnson and that damn government!”, Andrew joined in.

“Yeah, fuck the government! All big men in suits, yer can’t trust ‘em. What do they care about what the people want?”, said the guy with the sharp face.

“What does America even have to do with Viet-fucking-nam anyway? It’s just a pointless war!”

 It was Samuel who had said this, and then it went quiet for a bit until Mary-Angela broke the silence:

“Good thing we’re havin’ that demonstration tomorrow. We need to stand together if we wanna make the Man listen. I just hope a lot of people show up”

 Her eyes were shining with a fierce passion and determination I had never seen before.

 “Yeah, it’s gonna be far out! Hey John, yer comin’ too, right?”

 It was Dean who’d asked. I certainly hadn’t expected to be drawn into the conversation like that, but I found it wisest to agree:

“Definitely, I’ll be there!”

 I couldn’t help but think of my mother, though; the clothes and the music was one thing, but a demonstration. Then I noticed Mary-Angela smiling at me again, and my mother vanished from my mind as a warm sensation started spreading from the pit of my stomach.

Suddenly, the conversation had changed and Samuel got up to put some music on. Andrew lit a joint and started pulsing hard on it

“Some damn good weed this is”, he said before passing it on to Marty. Soon the air was thick with smoke and everyone seemed to be more relaxed. After I had taken a good, long draw of the joint and passed it on Dean turned to me and said:

“Yer look like yer could use summin’ a little stronger”

 Then he handed me something that looked like a small, transparent stamp, which he told me to put on my tongue.

“Ready to see the stars?”

 

 A couple of minutes passed before I felt anything, and then I’m not sure what I felt:

It was like everything around me started spinning and swelling, bending in and out of shape, dancing and twirling before my eyes. Colors and shapes and flashing lights, twinkling stars waving at me, little, fat angels with white, feathery wings laughing and singing. I could feel and hear and smell them, all inside my head- or outside of my head, I didn’t know, it was the same thing. Then everything became blurry, and went out.

Suddenly, light started flickering before my eyes again and I saw a quick glimpse of the basement, of Samuel and Dean and of Mary-Angela. I became aware that I was lying down on the floor, but I couldn’t really see anything at first. I somehow got myself pulled into a sitting position and the room around me reappeared. It seemed that no one really had taken any notice of me, though; they were too deeply buried in their own trip, drifting off to distant dreamlands.

 Then I just felt a bit sick and quickly stumbled up the staircase and out on the front porch to draw a couple of deep breaths, which luckily made me feel better and cleared my head up a bit. It felt like I had been in there for days, however, dusk was only approaching, so it couldn’t have been much more than a couple of hours.

“Bad trip, huh?”

I spun around quickly. It was Mary-Angela’s voice, sweet and clear, yet a bit husky. She walked over and was suddenly standing real close to me. My heart started beating faster and my knees went shaky, but it had nothing what so ever to do with the drugs. I wanted to answer, but my throat was dry so I just nodded awkwardly and she leaned in closer and half whispered:

“Yer wanna get outa’ here?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed my hand and pulled me along, and I cursed myself for having so damn sweaty palms.

We went down to the beach just in time to see the sun setting in the horizon with the last of its golden rays reflected in the black water. We sat there in the sand side by side, and I had finally mustered up the courage to put my arm around her shoulders, and she just leaned in closer to me and rested her head on my chest. Her hair was soft and tickled in my nostrils, she smelled like saltwater, sunflowers and sweat, but in a good way- sweet and soothing. She was so close to me, and my heart was racing with fear and excitement. Her soft lips, warm breath, swelling bosom, it all just felt so right. Skin against skin burning with life and with love melting together in a moment of infinity.

 

When I woke up in my own bed next morning I was afraid at first that it had all just been a dream, but the sand in my hair was telltale enough along with the last velvet soft kiss she had given me after I had walked her home late last night, the one which was still burning on my lips.

I had slept till noon and didn’t have time for breakfast, but it didn’t matter, I just wanted to get to the demonstration and meet with the others, and see Mary-Angela again. But before I could sneak out unnoticed, my mother caught me as she was sitting on the porch reading the newspaper:

“And where, may I ask, are you going?”

“Just over to Samuel’s”, I muttered without looking at her.

“Oh really?”

She lowered the newspaper and watched me closely before continuing:

“It says in the paper that there will be held a big demonstration against the Vietnam-War today in San Francisco, did you know?”

“Uhm… No, I didn’t know”, I noticed she shot me one of those sharp looks before she answered:

“ Don’t take me for a fool, John, I know what kind they are, these friends of yours, they’ve talked you into this, haven’t they?”

“No, they haven’t, but I am going to the demonstration”

I turned around and faced her now.

“You most certainly are not! What do you even know about politics, anyway?”

 She was saying it in a mocking sort of voice and it just made me even angrier:

“Don’t tell me what to do! I’m not a child and I’m going if I want to!”

 I could tell that my mother was taken aback by my sudden determination, but it didn’t take her long to recover, and when she did she thrust the newspaper on the table and stood up at once:

“John Robert Hannigan jr. don’t you dare talking back at me like that!”

“I am a grown man and I make my own choices, don’t think you can just keep bossing me around!”

“Enough! I won’t have it! People talk already as it is. My son is not going to be in demonstrations!”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”

Then I just turned around and walked away and I could hear her still shouting at me as I went until not even her voice could reach me anymore.

 

Samuel and I drove to the demonstration in the old pick-up truck with the rust on the bottom Samuel had bought from his older cousin.

There were thousands of people gathered, mostly young people, with signs and badges and t-shirts, I had never seen anything like it. It was utterly impossible to find the others at first, but then I spotted Dean somewhere in the crowd, and as I got closer I also saw Heather and Andrew and all the others, including Mary-Angela. When we finally reached them I smiled at her and she smiled back, her sun -kissed, freckle -sprinkled face glowing bright. She handed me a sign she had made that said “MAKE LOVE NOT WAR”.

Then the march began. We walked together all as one, Mary-Angela walked right beside me and I took her hand.   I raised my sign high into the air, and I looked at Mary-Angela; we were so young, and she was so beautiful. We had the future ahead and the world in our hands, we were together, united in the same wish for freedom, for peace, for love, for change. You looked around at all these people, all with the same burning passion, and you felt like a part of something bigger. This was the people’s time, our time, our summer of love, and even if we didn’t win that day or the next day or the day after that, the times, they were changing.