the woodstock festival - h.s.

2.

The streets seemed somewhat empty this morning, as I had decided to take a trip through the city in the search for a present to my aunt for tomorrow. Luckily she was much more fun than my mother and father who currently were playing tennis in the club they had been members in for ten years and six layers of dust.

The trees had fresh summer leaves that oozed of warmth while the occasional yellow taxi reflected the beams. I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going - somewhere downtown - but I let the pavement lead me in the search for the perfect place to buy a gift.

After an hour of walking around looking in several stores while the sun rose higher and higher on the blue sky; my eyes found a little record store with a mix of books and clothes for sale. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as my mother would have prefered it to be - it almost looked like some second hand store where the colorful fabrics by the door blew softly in the wind.

With a curious smile and the thought in mind that my aunt as my mother would say ‘always tried to be desperately younger than she was’ - might enjoy a record with some of the new music that was up in the time or maybe I could get her a dress which resembled the style of those in the colorful patterns whom my mother also had several names for. The newspapers liked to call them ‘Flower Children’ if not ‘Hippies’. I wondered if Violet was one of them now? I could easily imagine her fitting right in.

It was cool in the little shop. The sunbeams drowned in the Bohemian dark purple fabrics which had threads of gold. My eyes sought over all kind of items that seemed to belong more in an Asian temple rather than in this little shop; gold figures with a thin layer of dust. There were lamps with colored glass, books with yellowed pages with titles such as ‘On the Road’ and ‘The Dharma Bums’; not exactly titles I was overwhelmingly familiar with honestly.

The shop was empty and the counter almost seemed hidden in the collection of small Bohemian treasures for sale. I had found a box with several colorful records that seemed to be the newest thing in here. It had been placed next to the record player. It seemed to be the only thing moving in the room besides the feathers from the dream catchers; the record spinning around while a tune I definitely knew I had heard before washed into every corner with the recognizable chorus going -

“Apparently they have been invited to Woodstock! I sure as hell hope they accept,” a voice made me spin around as I grabbed the record I had been holding tight to my chest.

“They?” I asked confused as my eyes found a smiling young man leaning against the counter. He was wearing a white t-shirt and a smoke rested between his lips; sparkling sea green eyes and short tousled light brown hair. He looked a couple of years older than me.

“Simon and Garfunkel,” he held a  finger in the air as the chorus ‘and here's to you, Mrs. Robinson. Jesus loves you more than you will know wo wo wo’ sounded. I laughed lightly as my eyes flickered around the shop; a group of jade buddha figures sparkled in the dusty sunbeams in the window. I had heard about the ‘Woodstock Festival’ but I didn't know much about it and I definitely had no idea who were to play there.

“Personally I can’t wait to hear The Who,” he grinned widely at me and pushed himself off the counter and took a step closer to me with his hands behind his back, “sorry I’m babbling. I’m just overly excited I guess. It's going to be so far out, I can’t wait!”

He shook his head in disbelief and laughed at himself, “so - can I help you with anything or do you just want time to snoop around?” The cigarette was resting between his lips yet again. It surprised me that he didn’t seem to care the least bit about how I didn’t exactly fit in here; he was swaying back on his heels and trying to fight the excitement almost desperately.