My Beautiful Hippie by Janet Nichols Lynch Read Free Book Online

and his left hand lightly touched her waist. I hadn’t known Denise could foxtrot, nor did I know where shehad learned it. After a while my parents, Jerry’s parents, and their friends joined in, Jerry and Denise fitting right in with the swirling, foxtrotting older couples. Denise no longer seemed a mere three years older than me, but somehow had advanced an entire generation. My sister was now one of
them
—a grown-up.
    Later the DJ got around to spinning some of the songs of the current decade: The Troggs’ “Wild Thing,” the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer,” and the Turtles’ “Happy Together.” As Rena and I dug into our second pieces of wedding cake, the Doors’ “Light My Fire” came on. I bounced to the beat of the music but froze when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see Pete Wattle. He, Dan, and Jimmy Howe, who was now serving in Vietnam, had been buddies since junior high.
    â€œWanna dance?” asked Pete.
    I did but had to consider who was asking. Pete was hilarious, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks. I had been laughed at enough for one day. “Buzz off.”
    His face was flushed from the champagne he and my brother had been helping themselves to, but he still seemed steady on his feet. “No, really. I want to dance with you.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked suspiciously.
    â€œWhy? Because this song is far out!” He grinned, exposing the cute gap between his two front teeth. He had grown his blond hair out and swept it across his forehead, surfer boy style. His acne had cleared up, and he’d lost or grown into his baby fat. He actually looked pretty cool.
    If I got up to dance with Pete, Rena would be left alone. She leaned into me and whispered, “Say you’ll do it if Dan will dance with me.”
    I relayed the message to Pete, and by the organ solo of “Light My Fire,” the four of us were doing some heavy-duty rocking out. Pete was a pretty good dancer, or at least he didn’t look like he was spazzing out, like Dan. I closed my eyes and felt the music seeping into my brain, the beat pulsing deep in my bones, and the release of all the tension brought on by the wedding. The song changed to the Airplane’s “Somebody to Love.” I kicked off myhigh heels and spun around in stocking feet. My steps grew wider, and soon I was leaping across the dance floor.
    Pete jogged after me, his face crumpled with frustration. “Don’t be hopping all over the place, Joanne.”
    I ignored his pleas, and he soon gave up on my galloping, sashaying, and weaving. I was alone in the music, flying high, Grace Slick wailing, “Don’t you want somebody to love? Don’t you need somebody to love?” Yeah, I did, and I thought of my beautiful hippie.
    After that song, Rena and I flopped, sweaty and panting, at a table next to her parents.
    â€œYour mom did a wonderful job on this wedding,” said Mrs. Thompson.
    â€œThanks. I’ll tell her you said so.”
    â€œAnd Denise was a beautiful, blushing bride. A girl’s wedding day is the most important day of her life,” gushed Mrs. Thompson.
    â€œYeah, right,” said Mr. Thompson, “and a marriage certificate is a man’s death warrant.”
    Mrs. Thompson gave him a wide-eyed, wounded look as he stared blandly back. Her face shattered like glass, and she ran out of the room.
    â€œThat was really mean, Dad,” said Rena.
    â€œAh, hell. Come on, Rena. We’re going.”
    â€œIt’s early. I can walk home.”
    He stood. “We’re going,” he repeated, and headed for the door, not even bothering to turn around to see if Rena was following.
    Rena raised a peace sign at me, more like a sign of surrender than a farewell.
    Left alone, I reached for a handful of chocolate-covered mint patties; then, realizing I was too stuffed to eat another bite, I stashed them in my satin