If I didn't live through them myself, I'd believe the '60s were a myth.

They say the decade was all about Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll. I can vouch for the Rock & Roll. As for the other two, I'd say the aftermath of the 70s & 80s is strong circumstantial evidence.

I was in my sophomore year at military school.

It was Dad's idea, he thought it would 'make a man out of me', and Mom was only more than happy to see me go. She had no idea how to be a mother, and was in many ways more of a child than I was.

When Dad went MIA deployed in southeast Asia, Mom completely lost it. By the time I got home from school on emergency leave, she was gone – along with the mobile home where we lived.

I heard from neighbors that she sold it, and no one saw her since she cashed the check. I guess she couldn't face being a single parent.

Although I was just 15 and she had recently turned 30 – which was traumatic for her – I knew I was going to end up being the parent.

Maybe that's the real reason Dad sent me to military school.

It certainly didn't 'make a man out of me'. I was still the smallest one in my class, and my delicate features made me a magnet for anyone wanting to feel like the alpha male by wailing on the smallest in the pack.

Military school changed me in ways I don't think Dad planned.

I learned discipline. I learned how much physical and psychological abuse I could take. I learned that what others thought may affect my opportunities and obstacles, but my self esteem was based on being true to myself and never acquiescing to the opinion of others.

I was clearly never going to cut it as a soldier.

We arrived at a stalemate.

They were never going to break me. I was never going to change them.

I just tried my best not to stick out... though even at my most “macho” I simply looked like a tomboy.

The resourcefulness, discipline and self-reliance I learned at school prepared me to take care of Mom now that Dad was gone. But now Mom was gone without a trace and I was on my own.

I couldn't go back to school, I couldn't afford the tuition even if I wanted to. It was the spring of 1969 and I was on my own. I decided to make the best of it.

Fortunately the buzzcut from school grew out really quickly while I sofa hopped from former neighbors who felt awful at how Mom had ditched me, but didn't want to get any more involved than giving me an occasional couch to sleep on and the odd job mowing a lawn or something.

Puberty seemed really behind schedule, so I couldn't grow sideburns, let alone facial hair, but the hair on my head quickly reached my shoulders.

I thought I started to look like a hippie, and the idea appealed to me since it's the last thing my folks would have wanted.

It was a good time to be a hippie, but not a good place.

Kansas seemed in no rush to embrace the cultural revolution, so I figured it was time to find somewhere more ….progressive. I think by that time I had overstayed my welcome, and my many former neighbors were happy to bid farewell to the 'community stray'.

I raided a charity clothing bin for my first “hippie clothes”.

I figured the frilly British invasion stuff would make me look the part more. I ended up with a velvet jacket, flowing cotton top and ragged jeans. I also found a long silky scarf that I thought made me look like someone from an album cover.

If I had given it any thought, I would have realized that there weren't any hippies in Kansas donating old clothing.

I probably grabbed some old deceased grannie's jacket and scarf and thought it made me look totally groovy.

I didn't find any shoes that fit my small feet and hated my shiny black school shoes. Fortunately, barefoot was an acceptable look at the time, so I just let my dogs go free.

The final touch was putting some flowers in my now long-ish hair. I heard it in a song on the radio so it seemed like a good idea. A pair of big pink sunglasses someone left at a bus stop completed the ensemble, and I was confident that I was ready to go.

Now that I looked the part, I figured it was time to act the part. I needed a ride, but who would pick up a hitchhiking flower child in Kansas?

Even VW vans need gas, so I hung near a truckstop near the interstate.

After a few tense encounters with truckers who kept calling me “little lady” and were more than eager to take me for a ride, I found a group of kids in an old bus who had room for one more.

“Hi, I'm Saffron!” said the bubbly girl with the dirty blonde hair. “...like in the song....” she smiled waiting for a flash of recognition.

I stared blankly. We weren't allowed radios in the dorms at military school so I didn't know a lot of pop music.

The scruffy guy with hair like a head of sandy brown broccoli began singing “I'm just mad about Sally... Sal-ly's mad about me...” She shot him a glare and barked “MAX! …. I so hate that name!” That made him laugh hysterically, and kind of freaked me out. I don't know what he was high on, but it was something.

“YOU can call me Saffron! That...” she glowered “is Max... my brother's friend from college. This is his bus.” Max was still laughing, apparently unable to stop.

“I'm Jody” I smiled. ...Why did I tell them that? I've always hated that nickname. My Mom gave it to me because she loved the little boy on “Family Affair” and it always made me wince. Still, It was better than Joseph. Hey, hippies can make up their own names... I've already radically reinvented myself. I should give this some thought. Still, I already blurted it out, so I was 'Jody' for now.

“Groovy! Like Jodie Foster! ….far out!” Jodie Foster? I had never thought of it that way. But I didn't give it any further thought at the time. Sal.... I mean Saffron then introduced me to the others on the bus, most of whom seemed to also choose their own names. There was Raven, and old man Dog – which I'm guessing was the laziest way of hippifying Doug, River, Bliss, Owl and Snowcap ….yes snowcap. I guessed a lot of hallucinogenics were involved in the naming rituals. Suddenly Jody – even 'like Jodie Foster' - didn't seem so bad.

I was accepted into this road-family unhesitatingly, and alarmingly quickly. I just took it all in. This was so alien to me after a childhood filled with military school. I wanted a change. I got more than I bargained for, but I decided to roll with it.

Bliss was brushing my hair and braiding flowers into it when she grabbed my ear lobe. “Saffron!” she exclaimed excitedly..... “We have a virgin!”

I stifled a bewildered gulp and wondered how she could tell from my earlobe. Yeah, 8 years at a boarding school doesn't bode well for losing ones virginity ….unless you're into rugged military types, which I definitely wasn't. I wondered for a moment if I was about to be deflowered by this flower child who was braiding flowers into my hair. While I was sorting through the irony of that, Saffron came over and admired my ears, checking them both and scampering off to fetch a small kit and some matches. Apparently I was the only one on the bus – of either gender, without pierced ears. I figured 'what the hell?' and indulged the girls, who seemed positively gleeful. I thought I had already gone 'whole-hippie' but apparently there was always something else, so I just lay back and tried to embrace the experience.

We had been on the road for a few days, and I had proved my worth. Funny, but the skills I learned taking care of myself at military school really came in handy with these older college kids who couldn't even mend a tear or cook the simplest thing. Laundry also seemed to elude them, and it was beginning to become a problem. ...at least for me.

We stopped at an old ranch in New Mexico that I guess was some sort of commune now. They met up with some more old college friends, and again I was welcomed in as if I'd always been part of the group. I asked if there was someplace I could go and get the road off my skin and they pointed me to an old creek behind the barn. I grabbed some soap and took the opportunity to wash myself and my sweaty clothes in the briskly running water. I was neck deep, with my jeans in my hands, scrubbing the funk out, when Rain came over the ridge. “Those are way too hot for the desert. Toss them up and let me get you something cooler”

“Thanks!” I said. Tossing the heavy wet Levis up to her. She shortly returned with a bundle of folded clothes and lay them on the rocks.

“These should be your size. I also left some other stuff Maya said she thinks is really you.”

I think Maya was the old lady of Bear, the guy who seemed to run the place – as much as anyone ran anything in hippie enclaves.

“We're having a drum circle. When you're done and dressed, just look for the fire.” Rain shouted down to me.

The sun was beginning to set, and I was getting chilly, so as soon as she left, I scrambled out of the stream and up to my care package.

It was a cotton maxi dress, denim jacket and sandals. Dangly earrings and necklace in some Navaho design …..And a bottle of patchoulli oil.

I had been with them for almost a week. How could they not know I was a guy? How could I not know they thought I was a girl? …..”Just like Jodie Foster....” I put my head in my hands and let out an involuntary little moan.

I had two choices. Show up naked and prove to them all that I wasn't the girl they mistook me for, or put on the maxi dress and buy some time to sort out how to deal with this.

The maxi dress fit surprisingly well, and I must concede was much more comfortable than the scavenged charity bin jeans.

Unfortunately, it also made it really easy to see the outline of my ….junk. A little creative tucking and folding and I managed to hide my ...tell. I had to buy some time to figure out how to deal with this misunderstanding. 'In for a penny..' I figured, so I threaded the earrings through my fresh piercings, donned the necklace, dabbed some oil in my pits, clavicle and behind my ears, threw the denim jacket on for warmth, stepped into the thong sandals and set off to find the drum circle.

I didn't need to look for the fire, I could just follow the sound.... or one of the 3 friendly dogs who ran out to greet me and lead me back to the group. Everyone looked up when I arrived and most seemed to be positively beaming. “I knew it would fit!” Maya smiled. “That's so much better than those grubby old boy jeans.” She motioned for me to come over and sit by her and Bear and passed over a jug of wine, and as it came around, what I assume was a joint.

I quickly forgot the awkwardness of everyone thinking I was something I was not. Actually, I was not a girl, I was not a hippie, I was not a pot smoking drum circle person. But here I was. I soon decided it didn't matter what I thought I was or what they thought I was or the difference between the two views. I was sitting around a drum circle, warm by a fire, smoking pot and drinking wine, earrings glistening from the flames, with the same stupid grin everyone else wore, and having a mellow good time.

I didn't sleep much that night. I had fun. I was surprised at how quickly I got over them thinking I was a girl. It didn't seem to make much difference actually. Except the guys were a lot nicer to me. And the girls seemed less ….wary... than girls I had known as a guy. Still, I didn't want to deceive anyone. I decided I'd talk to Saffron when I got a chance.

“Get out! No way!” Saffron was NOT buying my 'confession'.

“You don't believe me? Do you want to see it?”

“Actually..... I would actually. And I'm still not sure I'll believe it”

She was serious. I just said that to show her I was for real. I never expected her to call my bluff.

“Oh, hell.....” I lifted up the dress and pulled my underwear down to my knees. She just smiled and raised an eyebrow at the smooth triangle of skin.

“I forgot. Wait a sec....” I fumbled around, since everything was tucked away. I popped the little guys out of their sockets and unfolded the thing from between my legs.

“Hunh” she finally muttered. “OK. I guess you're telling the truth.”

“I never meant to trick anyone. Until I was given the change of clothes, it never occurred to me that anyone thought I was a girl!”

She kneaded her chin. “I believe you.” she furrowed her brow and stared at my junk. “Still, it's not much to look at. OK. You're a guy.... if not much of one”

“Hey! My feelings?”

“Guys don't have feelings” she smiled. “Damn. Everyone liked you as a girl.” She seemed deep in thought. “You know Max is going to throw you off the bus.”

“What? Why? Because I'm not a girl? Oh God. He doesn't have a crush on me, does he?”

“Not especially. He just doesn't pick up guys. Except for Dog, who's Rain's old man, so he's no real competition. I think Max likes being the rooster. He thinks the more girls he gets on the bus the better his chances of one of them liking him. None of us has the heart to tell him.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

She rubbed her chin and thought about this for a while. “I think the best thing would be to do nothing.”

“I don't understand.”

“Did you ever tell anyone you were a girl?”

“NO! But then again, no one ever asked. It never seemed like a topic of conversation until recently” I replied waving my hand up and down my now very female attire.

“And you're not planning on flirting with any boys?”

“Of course not!”

“Or girls?” she smiled.

“Well, that doesn't seem too practical, under the circumstances.” I frowned. “Anyway, you've all become such close friends, I wouldn't want to risk that by hitting on someone”

“You never know” she smiled wickedly. “You may get further than you think. ...but since you're not who people are assuming you are, it's probably best to keep some distance. No intimacy. OK?”

“It's not like I'd be giving up much” I sighed.

“OK. So get back on the bus as if nothing ever happened. And if someone does find out, explain that it all started out as an innocent misunderstanding, and by the time you realized, you couldn't figure a way out without embarrassing someone – or everyone.”

“That's pretty much the truth”

“Which is why it will work. If it ever comes to that. But things will never be the same afterwards, so let's hope it never does come to that.”

“How long do you think I can keep this lie up?”

“Why call it a lie? It's a misunderstanding. You said you wanted to reinvent yourself. You're just reinventing more than you originally expected. You were always just being yourself with us. And we all thought you were another girl. So why not go with it and commit yourself to the new you? Be ok with people thinking of you as a girl. Do you think there's anything wrong with being a girl?”

“Oh God no! Now that I realize everyone thought I was a girl, I'm beginning to understand why I've been getting along better with everyone. Frankly, I think 'being a girl' actually suits me better than being a boy ever did.” I couldn't help but frown a little at the thought. I was considering myself a failure as a boy rather than as an unintentional success as a girl. When I thought about it, I had to concede it seemed a naturally better fit.

So we all piled back into the bus, taking on a few new passengers – all female as Saffron had predicted, and headed west.

I thought Kansas had desolate stretches, but I didn't know desolate until we got into the New Mexico desert. There were long stretches of nothing but sand and road. And in a gas hungry old schoolbus, all that wide open space with the only sign of life a distant soaring vulture made me a bit anxious.

I became “pee girl”, because every time we saw a roadside outpost, I would claim to need to empty my bladder, and cheerfully suggest that while we were there we could top up the gas tank. I really did not want to get stranded in the desert. I had a little bit of survival training in military school. I knew in this place, with these charming, but helpless people, things could get really bad really quickly.

We pulled into a small 'trading post' somewhere outside Picacho and true to their sign, they actually DID take some of Rain's handmade beadwork in exchange for a few fresh eggs. Max suggested we could all have omelets. Saffron told me quietly it was the only thing he knew how to cook, but they were really good.

The woman who ran the store seemed in no hurry to shoo us out. I suspect it was usually quite quiet, so the eclectic and good natured strangers were a welcome break from the monotony. Around back, we spied an old person bundled in a handmade blanket with a colorful geometric pattern, apparently asleep in a rocking chair in the hot sun.

"Who is THAT?" Rain asked.

"Oh. That's my 'GreatGram'". Said the shopkeeper. She seemed to be in her 50s herself, so I couldn't imagine how old her 'GreatGram' was.

Saffron whispered to Rain. " 'GreatGram'. Is that a man or a woman?"

"At that age, who can tell? I suppose it doesn't matter either by that point. Anyway, how do you ask such a thing?"

At that point, GreatGram opened one eye and smiled. “How indeed?”

“OK." Rain asked directly and without hesitation. "What ARE you?”

“I am a shaman, child. When I was young, younger than you, those like me were called “two spirits” and sought out for our special insights. I was called 'N'atapwe' the 'seer of truths'”

“So, you're like a psychic?”

“That is your word. But you are not too far off the path.”

“So can you tell us, like, our futures?”

N'atapwe smiled. “The future is not yet written. I can not tell you what has not happened. But I can help you see your true nature and offer insight into the path you yourself have already chosen.”

“Groovy! Would you? Would you do me?”

N'atapwe smiled indulgently and motioned Rain close. She sat her down and talked about her past and her path, her quest and her true nature, her passion and her destiny. It all sounded like generic BS to me, but Rain bought it completely.

“Oh wow! That was amazing! Do someone else!” N'atapwe smiled indulgently as a sea of eager faces gathered around. I figured 'let them have their fun' and slowly drifted to the outside edge of the crowd.

“You.” I heard the exclamation, and saw everyone look around. I stopped my retreat long enough to see who the next victim was, when the disappointed crowd parted and I saw N'atapwe's smiling eyes and bony finger pointing my way. Was there a reason the one person who did NOT want to be read was the one chosen? I tried to politely decline, but the old shaman – and the crowd – were having none of it.

“Come, child.... you have nothing to fear from me...”

I had my doubts. Still I pulled up the adjacent seat and braced for scrutiny. The face was quite aged, which made the clear, sparkling eyes even more jarring.

“Relax, little one. There is no need for anxiety. I know you better than you know yourself. You have only begun your life's journey. Until recently, all has been preparation, acquiring the skills to use on your journey.”

“See?” Saffron said. “You were meant to come with us!” She elbowed Max “We were meant to pick her up. It was destiny!”

N'atapwe smiled indulgently, and turned to gaze back at me.

“Little one. We are very much alike. You are of my people.”

“You're part Indian?” Rain exclaimed and was instantly shusshed by N'atapwe.

“Our people are in every tribe. Every group. In every nation. In my past we were called 'two-spirits'. Do you understand?”

I nodded. I got it immediately. It made perfect sense and was an instant, comfortable fit.

“We were always shamans, healers, advisers, consuls. We see more than others can. We are bridges between people. We understand things in a way others cannot, and can help guide them. As I am guiding you. As you will someday guide others.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. I didn't ask for this. I felt overwhelmed at the prospect, yet I knew at my core that there was no way of avoiding it.

“Yes it is a great responsibility.” She said answering the question I was only just beginning to form. “But it is also a great gift, bringing solace and joy to others. And helping the lost to find their true path. A talent can be a burden, but it can also be a blessing. Never lose sight of that.”

I nodded.

“You feel you are alone in the world, but you are not. You never were. You just keep others out. In time you will learn to let them in, and you will all be richer for it.”

I wasn't sure what she was talking about but it had a ring of truth to it, so I just nodded.

“All you need do now is listen and remember. You will understand when it is time.”

“Ask her a question!” someone from the crowd shouted. “Psychics love questions!”

N'atapwe smiled indulgently, as if at the innocence of an unruly child. I felt embarrassed about the outburst. She squeezed my hand and smiled at me.

“No. It is alright. Ask..”

I hadn't even thought about this, but suddenly a thought burst from the back of my mind.

“My mother.....”

The sad tenderness in her smile took me by surprise.

“Your paths are destined to cross again. You gain insight never dreamed and will be richer for it. Through understanding comes empathy. Through empathy comes forgiveness. You will understand her better than she has ever understood herself.”

“We will see each other again?”

I couldn't read the expression that came over her, but I sensed something weary and forlorn.

“You will see her. She will not see you. But as you know deep in your heart, she never really did.”

I think I understood what she said, but it made me overwhelmingly sad, so I just pushed it down and filed it away for later.

“As I said. When it is time, you will understand.” She pushed a smile onto her face. “You have many marvelous adventures ahead. Many paths to cross and lives to touch. We are living in a magical time. You have the youthful energy and ageless wisdom to seize the magic. Do not hesitate or hold back. Your life will be richer than you can imagine.”

“You're going to be rich.” Max laughed. Saffron elbowed him again.

I turned and looked at him. We both heard what she said, but he didn't get it.

“There are many kinds of riches” I smiled.

N'atapwe lit up. “See? You are well on your way. Go with joy, little one.” At that, she motioned with her hands and shooed us all away, returning to her languid doze.

Even though our alleged destination was Height Ashbury in San Francisco, we kept a southern route and ended up in San Diego, crashing with people somebody knew through somebody they met somewhere. They were totally cool with total strangers dropping in unannounced and staying for an indefinite time.

If you didn't live through the 1960s, this is unexplainable, so I won't even try. A lot about the 1960s you will just have to take on faith, because there is no rational explanation, but there is overwhelming evidence that things actually happened this way. Inconceivable from our perspective today, but – like so many things - it takes a profound paradigm shift.

I think the reason we ended up in San Diego is because Max 'the rooster' really wanted to experience Tijuana. Which he did. Having disappeared for a week and returning uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. The girls seized the opportunity to hit the beach, work (start) on their tans and take a crash course on being California Girls.

There seemed to be two cultures in San Diego. Military types from the local base, and scruffy surfers. It would seem the two couldn't have less in common, but that was not altogether true.

They shared one common passion.

California Girls.

“Oh my God. I CAN'T! This is going TOO FAR.” I exclaimed as Saffron held out the very skimpy bikini.

“Oh, puh-leeze. It's not like you don't have the body for it. And the way you tuck that tiny thing away, no one will ever notice.”

“...That's not the point. OK. Maybe I can pull off the bottom...”

Saffron giggled. I shot her a glare. She regained her composure but I could see her stifled smirk.

“OK. I'll admit... there's not much to hide down there, and maybe I could get away with it... even going in the water getting it all...” She beamed at me.

“But.. the top will be a problem.”

“Not all girls develop equally..”

“No. But they ...develop something!” I cupped my 'breasts'.

“Well, that's not nothing. Maybe a double A cup?”

“These aren't boobs. They're pecs. And pretty lame ones at that.”

“You know, there is one thing you share with actual girls. Maybe we can use that.”

“What? What do I share with 'actual girls'?”

“Negative body image.” she smiled sheepishly.

She had me there. “OK. I won't even try arguing that. ...still....”

“So, here.” she beamed and tossed me a cap sleeve T-Shirt with the logo of a local surf shop on the front.

“You're self-conscious of your body and you want to hide it. That's not a gender-specific issue, right?”

I shrugged. She had me.

So put on the bikini, even if the top is covered by that T-shirt, put on some baby oil and come with us to the beach!

I really didn't want to stay home alone, so it didn't take much arm twisting.

Nothing is like it is in the movies, but except for the lack of people breaking into pop songs or beach-spanning twist numbers, it was more like an Elvis or Frankie Avalon movie than I expected.

It's not as if there weren't any Elvis or Frankie Avalon wannabees ...or Annette Funicello/Sandra Dee clones. There were also a lot of folks at the beach who didn't seem to be mimicking the movies.

It did seem to break down into a few groups... families with kids, girls on the prowl, and the two camps of boys.

There were the surfer boys with their sunbleached sruffy hair, tanned natural athleticism and sun-baked (or otherwise baked) easygoing demeanor. And the military types, with their discipline-honed physiques and intense focus on grabbing life with both hands before they shipped out for Southeast Asia and god knows what.

My friends immediately fell in with the surfer dudes, as expected. I think I raised a few eyebrows when I did not spurn the advances of a buzzcut recruit who had the temerity to approach the 'hippie chicks'.

“I didn't really think you'd speak to me...”

“What would make you think that?” I asked innocently and honestly.

“Well, we all know what you people think of us.”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean by 'you people'?”

“Well. You know... flower children... we know you hate the war...”

“Of course we hate the war. Can you imagine that we hate it any more than people like YOU... people who are ordered to actually fight it?”

He regarded me for a long moment. “I never thought about it that way. I just assumed that people like you...”

“First. Enough with the 'people like you' and 'you people' stuff. I am me. I don't speak for anyone else and no one speaks for me. Second. I know a little about what you're going through. My Dad disappeared over Quảng Thắng a little over a year ago.

“Oh. Jeez. I had no idea. I just assumed...”

“There you go making assumptions again. Yes. We hate the war. But we hate the war because it takes decent, honorable guys like you... and my Dad... and throws them into the meat grinder.” I smiled sadly.

He returned my weary smile and shrugged.

“Have you ever thought of just sneaking off to Canada?”

He shrugged. “If I did, I'd just be condemning someone else to take my place. I don't think I could live with myself if I did that.”

I squeezed his hand. “I'm Jodie by the way.”

“Dale. Corporal Dale Collins. Pleased to meet you ma'am.” he replied reflexively. Then after a short pause. “Damned pleased to meet you” and his face broke out in a stupid grin I couldn't help but echo.

“So, when do you ship out, Marine?”

“No idea ma'am. Could be a week. Could be tomorrow,....”

“So I guess we better 'carpe diem'”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ma'am?”

“Sorry. Latin.”

“Well I know 'Semper Fi”!” he grinned.

“OK. I smiled. You just doubled your vocabulary. It means “grab the day”

“Ma'am?”

“Make it count, soldier. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?” With that I grabbed his hand and started running for the shed renting surfboards.

It was a good day. Dale seemed torn. He had a girl back in Arkansas and he thought he was being unfaithful to her.

“Look, I'm not trying to be your girlfriend. Somehow the universe brought us together and I'm trying to be your friend. God knows what the future holds, but...” I squeezed his hand “you'll always have this. The beach. The surf...”

“...the girl... “ he said and pulled me close.

“Look. I don't want to get us both into a situation either of us may regret. Think of me like a sister.”

“I hate my sister, She made growing up miserable.”

“OK.” I laughed. “A cousin”

“How far removed?” He pressed his lips closer to mine.

“Not far enough!” I laughed and pushed him away. “What would your girlfriend think if she could see you know?”

He backed off a bit and got all embarrassed.

“Relax!” I laughed. “It's not like I'm going to tell her. I don't even know..”

“Lacey”

”What?” It had been a rhetorical statement.

“Lacey Claprood. God. We knowed each other since the fourth grade. I can't believe I almost...”

“Not almost. Not even close, casanova” I smiled. He looked at me with confusion and relief.

“It's just that any day now, I could....”

“I know.” I whispered, and took his head, cradling it to my alarmingly flat breast. I felt less like 'the other woman' and more like a surrogate mom.

We had a good day and evening, but his pass was nearly up and he had to return to base.

“Thank you ma'am”

“Ma'am? I feel like a waitress or a stranger on the street”

He smiled sheepishly, “Jodie. I had a really good time. ...A real good day.”

“And you will have many more” I smiled warmly. “It was a pleasure Corporal. Godspeed.” I mock-saluted... you could put the military school brat in a sundress, but you couldn't take away the snap.

Dale smiled and returned the salute. He turned and walked toward the gate as I said a silent prayer for him and Lacey.

“So, how was your night with GI Joe?” Rain asked as I stumbled in wearily.

“Did you talk him into going to Canada?” Saffron smiled.

I smiled back sadly. “He chose his own path. I just hope it turns out well for him.”

“You just weren't persuasive enough” teased Solstice as she started doing really rude things to her popsicle.

I threw a bag of potpourri at her and laughed. “I should report you to J Edgar Hoover as an unamerican influence!”

“Arggh! I hate them all! Killers!”

“Hey.” I touched Rain gently on the shoulder. “It's easy to hate the war. It's a lot harder to have compassion for the warriors. They're doing what everyone tells them is right. We all start out doing what's expected of us and only in time learn to hear and trust our own inner voice.” I shook my head sadly, thinking out loud “Some never do. Let's hope they don't hear and recognize it too late and have to live with the consequences.”

She seemed to think about this for a moment “...Heavy...” Then rediscovered her forgotten bong.

San Diego was a lot of fun. I spent a lot of time on the beach, and kind of surprised myself at how easily I took to it. My skin browned a lot better than I expected given my Irish/Alsacian background. Other girls kidded that I may not be 'Black Irish', but there was no doubt I was dark brown Irish.

With my thick jet-black hair and olive/brown eyes, I certainly didn't look Irish. I sure didn't look like all the blondes on the beach with their lemon-lightened hair. Saffron tried giving me 'the treatment' but it just brought out some coppery reddish highlights. Well, I didn't look like the other girls on the beach. I never forgot that I wasn't like the other girls on the beach. Soon they started teasing me and calling me “Annette”. I knew that was a dig at my 'wholesome, squeaky clean' reputation, but I didn't mind. A few offered to drive me to the free clinic so I could get on the pill if I was worried about 'getting in trouble'.

I WAS worried about getting in trouble. And nothing they could offer me at the free clinic would help that.

The local surfers pretty quickly realized I 'wasn't interested' and pretty quickly just started treating me like a cool little sister. This also helped a lot with the local girls who stopped seeing me as someone trying to poach their men. Curiously, this made me the one person who could travel freely between the world of the locals, and my traveling companions... the “Hippie Horde” as the locals called them. Though it often sounded like the girls were saying 'hippie whored'.

Suddenly, and not for the last time, N'atapwe's words hit me. I was 'a bridge'. Trusted by both sides and able to dial-down misunderstandings and tensions between my two groups of friends before things got out of control. Usually it was just a cultural difference and I could eventually talk things out so each side could understand the others viewpoint – even if they didn't agree with it. Saffron kidded publicly that my hippie name should be 'Olive Branch'. And after that, no matter how I tried, I couldn't stop people from calling me 'Olive'.

Sigh.

It was tiring. And satisfying. 'Talent and curse' I mused. Can't have a coin without two sides. And I wasn't going to meet my first Buddhist for almost another year.

By the time we tired of San Diego and headed up the coast, I was so dark most people took me for a local, either Mexican or Indian. It was interesting to see how differently I was treated than my friends. It wasn't always bad. I was often taken for granted, presumed to be just another local chica... but my friends always stood out and often attracted the types who prey on gullible tourists. I was often able to step in with an 'I'm on to you' attitude and get them to back down.

Max was the pilot of our little adventure, but he was no navigator. Our 'trip up the coast' ended up with us broke and out of gas in Needles... about as far from the coast as you can get without leaving the state. Rain tried to sell more handicrafts but no one was buying. One older couple in a beat up pickup offered us a lift to Barstow, suggesting that maybe she could get some truckstop to take some of her crafts in exchange for a few gallons of gas. It was a better idea than any of us had come up with, so we quickly accepted the ride.

While Rain went off to try and trade her handicrafts, I decided to “explore” Barstow. There wasn't much to explore. We were right by the interstate and it was all asphalt, truckstops and industrial lots. It was dusty and hot, and I had been guzzling water all day, which finally caught up with me. I saw this funky diner and thought 'this looks like the kind of place where they would let a stranger come in and pee and wash up without buying something first.'

I stepped through the door into chaos. The place was bustling. And there was a very harried couple, I took to be in their mid 60s, trying to keep up with it all.

The guy was scurrying from the kitchen back and forth to the booths delivering food, often to the wrong people. The woman was working the register and trying to take orders and bus tables as people kept coming and going.

I finally got the guys attention and was about to ask for the restroom, when I saw the sign.

He looked at me impatiently. I smiled and pointed to the sign. “Waitress wanted?” I yelled over the din of the crowd. Suddenly he stopped scurrying and smiled. He looked me up and down and his smile got wider.

“How soon can you start?” he smiled. I returned his smile. While I hoped Rain would sell some jewelry, I knew we were closer to getting gas for the bus. But first I really had to pee.

“Can I use your restroom?” I asked. He nodded vigorously and scampered back past the kitchen, I presumed to get the key.

He returned with a bundle and handed it to me. “This should fit. Hurry now.” And he turned back to deliver an armful of plates.

When I got to the washroom, I unfolded the dingy brown, but freshly laundered waitress uniform with “Juanita” embroidered above the breast. I shrugged and asked myself 'how hard can waitressing be?'

Rule One: Everything is harder than it looks, especially until you get the hang of it.

Roy and Daisy were pretty patient with me, all things considered. It was quickly obvious that I'd never done this before, but I was a quick study. And I think they were so desperate for a third person, they would have kept me no matter how badly I did. After a few hours, I got the hang of it. A few more and we began developing an easy rhythm. By the time ten hours had passed, I was feeling like I had been doing this forever. Shortly before closing, Rain found the diner. Her eyes went wide when she saw me refilling a coffee at a back booth.

“I've been looking for you everywhere! I got $7.32. But I spent some of that for food.”

“I wish you found me sooner. I could have saved you some money.” I smiled.

“What the hell... Juanita?” she cocked her head and stared at me.

“Long story. I'll explain on the way home.” Daisy was shutting down the outside lights and Roy was wiping the counter. I walked up to him and smiled. “Thanks for the opportunity... Boss!”

He smiled back warmly. “No. Thank YOU....” then his face got all weird. “Heavens. In all the commotion, I didn't even get your name....”

“Olive!” Rain chirped before I could stop her. “Olive Bra..”

“Bracco!” I blurted. I was not going to be 'Olive Branch, the hippie waitress'

“Well, thank you Olive” said Daisy. You were like an angel sent from heaven at just the right moment. You really saved our bacon!”

“And you're saving our summer trip. We ran out of gas and cash in Needles and were kind of stranded.”

“So it seems this is working out for all of us.” Roy smiled. “...you weren't planning on getting back on the road anytime soon were you?”

Rain and I exchanged glances. She just shrugged, I figured this was a good opportunity to put away a little money for whatever came next. I scrunched up my face as if I was thinking – but I had already made up my mind. “Y'know, what we have won't get us far. And we could be here for days anyway trying to make some more money for gas.... so why don't I just keep working here as long as these nice folks will let me?” Roy and Daisy smiled. They knew what I was up to.

Rain was really pondering this. I could tell because her eyes just kind of stared at the ceiling to her left for a while. Then her face returned to its gleeful childlike expression. “Far out! We can just hang out at the bus and you can make us money for more adventures! ….And you can bring us all food from the diner after work!”

I rolled my eyes and smiled at Roy and Daisy, who just gave me a benign shrug.

“Well, I'll see what I can do” I smiled to her, and went to change out of my uniform. As I was getting ready to leave, I gave Roy and Daisy a big group hug. “I can't thank you guys enough. What time tomorrow?”

Roy glanced at Daisy. “Breakfast shift? That will give you time to go into town. Lorraine can handle the register.” Daisy nodded. “4AM? We open for breakfast at 5.”

I shuddered involuntarily. Up before dawn? This felt like military school all over again.

“Great!” I pasted on my biggest smile. “I'll see YOU in the morning and we can wake the roosters!”

Roy smiled back. “I'll look forward to it Olive. Have a fine night girls. ...but not a late one!” he winked at me.

As we walked back to the truckstop to hitch a ride back to Needles, I reflected on how, just when life's path seemed to reach a dead end, you got there and noticed a new direction you couldn't see beforehand. This morning, we were broke and stranded hippies. And now I was a working girl with a uniform (even if it did say 'Juanita') and coworkers and everything. I smiled to myself. Roy and Daisy were a sweet old couple, and tomorrow I'd get to meet another new coworker. Lorraine. That was a name you didn't hear much anymore. In fact I hadn't heard it since......

Oh, no.

4AM seemed bad enough. Considering that I had to hitchhike from Needles, I set the alarm for 2:30.

Why had I even bothered to go to sleep?

Staggering in at 3:50 I was greeted by the heavenly aroma of fresh brewing coffee. I began to think I might be able to make it through my second day of work after all.

Roy showed me how to set up the booths and prepare my station for the morning rush. He gave me a run through of what to expect as the breakfast rush peaked and waned. It was a welcome briefing and pep talk. He also showed me how to work the register.

“I thought I was just going to be waitressing. Wasn't....”

“...Lorraine”

So I had heard right... “right..Lorraine... going to be handling the register?​”

Dale tried to hide his sigh, but I caught it. “Yes. Lorraine will be working the register, but you may need to do it when we open at five and until she gets here.”

“What time is she due to start?”

Roy looked a bit embarrassed. “Well... when we open. But it's never that busy to start and she knows it. She's always here before it gets too busy. So it's best that you know how to work the register until she gets here.”

“I see.” I shot him a sympathetic glare, and I could see in his face that he understood that I knew all about Lorraine without him needing to say another thing. He had no idea how I could know,

I was now nearly certain that it must be her.

When Lorraine staggered in at about 8:20, all my anxieties and butterflies were confirmed.

“Hey hon” she said, handing me her cigarette, more ash than tobacco. “Take care of this for me. I need to use the shitter.” And she staggered off toward the rest room.

I was stunned. Utterly gobsmacked. Some dark part of my mind kept telling me that 'Lorraine' would end up being my mom. But I had never expected her to look so …..worn... so... depleted.

I had also never expected her to look right through me.

She looked a lot better when she finally got out of the ladies room. Though that still wasn't saying much. She still looked very hung-over and pained, and....exhausted.

She sold our home. Everything we owned. And she skipped town with her 'windfall'. I expected her to be living the highlife in Tahoe or Miami or something. How on earth did she end up a world-weary cashier at a tiny greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere?

After her third cup of coffee she began resembling a human, and finally shooed me away from the register.

“Outta my way..... 'Juanita'.... hey, that was the name of our last girl too. Is that like 'Jane Doe' for you people?”

I laughed, thinking she was making a joke. Then I realized she wasn't joking.

“This is what they gave me when I started. The name came with the uniform. I'm...... my friends call me Olive.”

“Well, pleased to meet you Juanita. Cause I sure as hell ain't your friend.” Then she let out a sound that could have been a cough... or a laugh... or even a furball.

OK. I finally realized that this was her idea of a joke. So I smiled politely. Even if my disdain was a bit too transparent.

“I suck at names, so don't take it personally if I just call you 'Hon', hon?”

I shrugged. She had called me 'Hon' all my life. I always took it as a motherly pet name. Now I began to think she just could never be bothered.

As the day went on and the coffee kept flowing – along with pieces of toast and even a couple sausage links off someones tray, the hangover seemed to fade and she started acting a bit more civil.

“So. I remember you saying you're not Juanita.... but dammit hon. I forgot your name.”

“My friends call me Olive.”

“Oh right. And I joked about I wasn't your friend.” I got the impression that at this point even she no longer considered this funny, and shook her head.

“Well. Olive's a right pretty name.” She looked me up and down. Scrutinizing everything. ….seeing nothing. “Really suits you. Exotic name. Exotic girl. You should be Olivia or something. More classy.

I smiled sadly. “Maybe when I'm a middle aged lady. Olivia sounds a bit stuffy for...” I searched for a non-bitchy way to say it.

“...A sweet young thing with her life ahead of her? Yeah. You're an Olive. How old are you sweetie?”

I bristled. She brought me into this world. She ought to know. But she was staring at her own child and she was blind.

“Old enough” I laughed bitterly.

Her smile surprised me. It was warm. And sad. And more than anything, weary.

“Yeah. That's what I thought too when I was your age. Hell, even younger. The world was my oyster. I was going to have it all. I was going to marry a flyboy... see the world... have a life of adventure.” She barked a jaded little laugh. “Well, I got the flyboy. Then his flybaby. Then the damn flypaper. You know how much of the world I seen?” Her gaze bore into me. She formed her fingers into a giant '0'. “All because I was a stupid little tramp and..” then she took the O-fingers and did something rude with the fingers from her other hand.

That was when we heard the bell on the door tinkle as a group of boisterous truckers came in and we had to get back to work. Saved by the bell.

I tried to keep as busy as I could and avoid any downtime 'chatting' with Lorraine, which really meant her telling me her version of her life's story. I found that almost unbearably awkward. Although I was quite surprised at how relieved I felt that she thought I was a total stranger.

At one point I confronted her about this. “Why are you telling me these things?”

She barked that phlegmy, smokers laugh and grinned at me. “Hon. There's shit you'll tell a stranger that you would never tell your friends.”

“....or your family...” I smiled sadly.

“Oh, GOD no!” Her face went a little pale. “Jesus, if big Joe had any idea...”

“...or his son... Joe Junior was it?”

Lorraine clasped my hands, and looked me in the eyes. “It would kill 'em.”

I smiled back. What she confessed wasn't flattering. But it wasn't earth shattering.

“Oh, shit. I wasn't going to go this far.... I ain't never told nobody this... oh... fuck it. You asked after all.”

I don't remember asking anything and I tried to get out of it, but she wouldn't let go of my hands.

:” can't believe I'm gong to tell you this.....”

“So don't. Why share such ...intimate... stuff with a total stranger?” I thought a moment about whether I wanted to finish my thought out loud. Oh, hell... “especially stuff that's... not really ...flattering. I'll be honest, it's not making you look good. Lots of bad decisions and questionable choices here.”

“I know..” she squeezed my hands tighter and somehow bore her gaze into me even more intensely. “But I sense no judgment from you. I look into your eyes and I see no judgment. Pain maybe...” she laughed. “...same pain I feel when I remember all those bad choices. But no disapproval or blame... just... what the hell's that word? ...not sympathy,...you don't feel sorry for me, and that's a relief... I hate pity...what the hell is...” and she started snapping her fingers as if trying to conjure something from thin air. I couldn't let this go on.

“...empathy?”

“YES! You get me. You don't judge me. You don't approve... but you don't blame.... you just....see me!”

I let out an involuntary sigh as my shoulders slumped from the weight of N'atapwe's words.

'You will see her but she will not see you.'

I tried to gather my strength for whatever was to come.

Lorraine told me her life's story. Really. From practically her first memory. Once she started, there was no stopping her. She'd shout it across the diner if I was servicing an end booth. No one seemed to care. I guess 'crazy Lorraine' was a fixture the regulars just tuned out by now. I'm sure no overheard snippet would make any sense anyway. But bit by bit, I got the whole coherent story. Whether I wanted it or not. Her mom's neverending search for the decent guy after her own dad was killed in North Africa ... the endless parade of stepdads and cameo siblings that never lasted longer than her mom's frequent failed attempts at 'landing a good one'. Lorraine's rebellious teen years and determination to do things differently. Her mom hooking up with Frank, the burly landscaper and moving them in with him on the reservation. Her tough time at the local school, spurned and despised by the native kids. How she just stopped going and no one seemed to care. How her mom picked one of the better ones with Frank, who was a hard worker, but always angry at the cards life dealt him. And how, though he avoided it, when he would occasionally drink, all that anger and resentment and unrestrained.... passion... would pour out uncontrollably. How she always avoided Frank, but especially when he was like that. And the last time. When she couldn't avoid him. When he came home and she was there alone. With no way out but past him......

Sweet Jesus! I can't believe she's telling me this. How can I make her stop? Then I saw the pain and catharsis in her eyes, and knew that even if I could, I wouldn't be able to bring myself to.

She ran away from home and got as far away from South Dakota as she could afford. Which was the bus to Kansas. That's where she met my Dad, and lying about her age, got him to fall in love with her. She 'landed a good one' as her mom would have said. He came from money. He would take care of her. And she would ...take care of him... after Frank, she never considered her body a temple. It was more like a marketplace or bazaar. She would trade what people valued for the things she needed to survive.

When she told my dad she was going to have a baby, he did exactly what she knew a 'good one' would do. He 'made an honest woman' out of her.

My dad never seemed to give a thought to how quickly it happened. Maybe he thought it proved his virility. Anyway, when his family found out about it, they disowned him. So much for mom's 'set for life' scheme. Dad joined the Army and quickly decided military service suited him, though when his hitch was up, he enlisted in the Air Force hoping to someday fly jets. Mom hated life on the base and the constant moving, so eventually they saved and bought the mobile home as our 'permanent base'.

I stifled a bitter laugh when she got to that part.

“Well, my life didn't turn out exactly like I planned. Actually nothing like I planned. Here I was living in a place that wasn't much different than what I left on the reservation, my man was off god knows where having adventures being a flyboy, and I was stuck in this trailer with the rugrat”

“Joe Junior.”

“Yeah!” She laughed. “Joe Junior ….my idea not his. Though he liked it when I mentioned it. I figured it was one more reason he'd never question it was his. Did cause problems though. Living with two people with the same name. So they became Big Joe and Baby Joe”

“Baby Joe?” I never knew that.

“Well, so long as he was a baby. We thought about changing it to 'Little Joe' ...y'know, like on 'Bonanza'? But Big Joe figured that would cause problems too, and we'd have to change it again when he grew and was no longer 'little'” she laughed to herself “never shoulda worried about that”

I bit my lip.

“Anyway, Big Joe just called him 'Junior' or 'Boy' or something...”

(...it was 'Son'...)

“And I started calling him Jody, like that cute little kid on TV.”

I couldn't resist one little jab. “You mean Jodie Foster?”

“No!” She laughed. “She wasn't around then. That little boy on 'Family Affair'. He was the only Jody I ever heard of. Mine was just as cute. And at least as well behaved. Still, kids are a handful, no matter how well behaved. Have to drag them along everywhere... no life of your own... and with his dad always off doing his...

“Flyboy stuff?” I smiled sadly.

“Yeah.” she laughed. “Well, he was a handful. Big Joe finally made a truce with his family. He never asked for their forgiveness, but he insisted that they not hold it against his kid. Their grandson.”

“And he never even knew he wasn't m....” shit! “He never even knew he wasn't the boy's real dad”

“That's where you're wrong. He WAS a real dad. He loved that kid. Tried to teach him everything he knew.... not that any of that worked. He even crawled with his tail between his legs back to his damned family to plead for a better life for his kid. And he got them to pay for boarding school. On the condition that they never have to have anything to do with their bastard grandson and he and the boy forfeit all family claims.”

“He did that?” I looked to be tearing up, but I was holding back an emotional Lake Meade.

“For his …..son...” she looked at me. I could see in her eyes she was pleading for forgiveness. For absolution. All I could give her back was compassion.

“So. Jody's off at school being raised right. Big Joe's off around the world being a flyboy, and finally I'm free to live my own life for myself for once.”

“So everybody wins.” I said, trying to pretend I bought into her 'happy ending'

“No. That's when life sneaks up from behind and hits you with a pipe.” She told the story about getting the letter from Washington. About forwarding it to Big Joe's parents, figuring they would find out sooner or later, and at least that way they would step up and take care of their grandson. How she knew she never was a good parent, being a child when she had a child. Figuring that they were strict and cold, but they were rich and would raise the kid better than she could, judging by how Big Joe had turned out. So she sold the double-wide and set off to live her life. Only to find the money didn't last nearly as long as she expected, her decision making hadn't improved over time, and soon she found herself looking up her mom's childhood friends... her godparents, Daisy and Roy who took her in long after any obligation to do so had expired.

I thought about her version of things. And I thought about my experience. How I was sent 'home' from military school after word of my dad reached them. No doubt when my grandparents pulled the financial plug. Being told I was 'on leave' to go home and attend to my mom during this family crisis. Only there was no home. And no mom. And thought of all the strange twists and turns that brought me here. Sitting, hearing the confession of the woman who looked me in the eye and could not see me.

There are no adequate words.

“So..” Saffron beamed, how was your first day of 'WORK!' saying it with an alarmed expression I instantly recognized from Bob Denver's 'Maynard G Krebbs' character on the old Dobie Gillis TV show. That broke the ice and I let out a relaxed laugh for the first time that day.

“Oh my God. I can't begin to tell you.”

“And more importantly. What did you get us to eat?”

I looked pleadingly at Roy, who smiled indulgently and rustled up some bread, milk and vegetables that wouldn't make it until the next day anyway. He also generously threw in some eggs.

“Omlettes!” Rain squeed.

“Gotta give Max something to do while his women are out there making ends meet.” I laughed. I waved goodbye to Roy as we headed for the door. “Same time tomorrow?” he nodded and smiled.

Lorraine blocked me at the door.

“Real treat to meet you Olive. I'll see you tomorrow morning”

I raised en eyebrow. “eight... eight fifteen?”

Her face fell like an ashamed child. “5 AM. Promise. Hell, for once I'm looking forward to coming to work” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this was a surprise even to her.

Looks like this was going to be the start of a ….weird... relationship.

Crossing paths with my mom was a bit of a surprise, but some subconscious part of me had been expecting it since that encounter with N'atapwe. And even though the old shaman had tried to tell me in her own oblique way, I was not prepared for my mom to not recognize her own child.

Still, as I reflected on our 'first day', I couldn't help but think that she was far more open with me as a stranger, than she ever would have been as her child. I had to concede that again, N'atapwe's words held more weight and power than I could have imagined.

If Lorraine needed to think of me as Olive, the exotic (really just deeply tanned) coworker who reminded her so much of her younger self, rather than her own pale, diminutive, buzzcut military school brat, I could live with that. The misconception had actually brought us closer, and I could offer insights and observations as a “stranger” that I could never proffer as her child.

The 'momentary setback' became an extended break. I had my waitress job, Rain and Saffron actually became a bit of a hit with the locals who got over initial misgivings about the 'band of hippies' and grew amused by their quirky innocence. The jewelry and leathercraft business found a bit of success among the truckers and farmers, who were less in the market for handcrafted trinkets than the charming antics of these free spirited kids.

It seemed like the most barren of places, yet we began to plant roots. The most surprising development of all was when Max found a job.

He was hitchhiking along the road from Needles to Barstow to meet up with Rain, when he came across a couple of distraught young coeds in a broken down bus, not unlike our own.

“What are you girls doing out in the middle of nowhere with a monstrosity like this?” He asked. Not really trying to chat up the two college girls, but because for better or worse, Max had no filter, and the thoughts in his brain just spilled out of his mouth. “Where's everyone else? It can't be just the two of you in this whale of a thing. That's an awful waste of space.”

“Oh, no. There's no wasted space. It's jam packed. This is our bookmobile. We're library science majors, and our summer internship is spreading the classics to folks who are too far out to have a nearby library.”

“Bringing the Bard to Barstow... Nietsche to Needles. How far out.”

“Pretty far. Maybe too far.”

“No, I mean far out spreading the wisdom of the ages to the people.”

“No, I mean it. We're TOO far out! Our bookmobile broke down and we're so far out we don't even know where we are!”

“Somewhere between Needles and Barstow. I'd call someone, but I'm trying to hitch a ride myself. There are plenty of truckstops and freight depots in Barstow, I'm sure the place has plenty of people who could help. If you could get there. Meanwhile, mind if I take a look? I know more than I want to about cranky old beasts like this.” as he patted the fender affectionately.

“Knock yourself out. You already helped us by mentioning hitchhiking to Barstow. We'll try to get help there. When we get back and on the road, we'll give you a lift back into town.”

“Good luck with that” Max said dismissively. “No one stops on this road. They all drive by so fast that even if they wanted to stop, they'd be miles down the road before they could. When you give up, I'll be here, trying to get this old whale going”

The two girls waved goodbye and headed for the shoulder. Within 10 minutes they were in an air conditioned Kenworth on their way to Barstow.

It didn't take them too long to find a mechanic willing to come to the rescue of two stranded college girls, but as they were getting into the tow truck ready to go retrieve their crippled bookmobile, they were stunned to see it pull into the truckstop with Max waving out the window.

“It was just a clogged fuel filter. Happens all the time in these old wrecks.” he shouted over the roar of the engine. “First thing I checked. Easiest fix.” he smiled.

Suddenly the two girls were a lot more impressed by this disheveled young man with the unruly shock of sandy brown dandelion hair. He may be a flake, and possibly a stoner, but he was also an able mechanic and seemed to know a thing or two about literature.

So before you could say 'Power to the people' Max was the unofficial driver/mechanic of the San Bernadino incorporated library district bookmobile along with his new literary friends Sharon and Chloe. They had no authority to pay him, but he never asked for money. He was happy driving the bookmobile, arguing with the girls about literature, politics and philosophy, and talking about books with the folks wherever the bookmobile stopped. Sharon & Chloe shared their meal allowance with him and proved stimulating company. Intellectually anyway. Max still was no casanova, but he seemed to find he missed the intellectual stimulation he left behind when he dropped out of college. Shari & Chloe rekindled that spark, and I could tell it was only a matter of time before Max had a bookbag slung over his shoulder again on the way to his next class.

I was talking with Lorraine about Max one day at the diner.

“That's a real great thing. ….college...” she blew out a breath of air and shook her head. “Why would anyone who had a chance think twice about quitting such a thing?”

“Well, maybe it's easy to take it for granted ...or maybe even resent it if that's what's expected of you?”

“Damn. I'd snap at the chance to go to college. Fool kids don't know what they're pissin' away.”

“Well, there's always community college...” I suggested. “It's really affordable and you could get an associates... think of it like priming a pump. If you like it, you could go to a state university. California makes it really affordable for residents.”

“Ha” she coughed. “Something tells me I'd have to finish High School first...”

If she saw my jaw drop, Lorraine had the good grace not to mention it.

“I did tell you how old I was when I had 'Joe Junior'” she glanced at me with an expression I couldn't read. “And I mentioned how awful the kids were to me at the reservation school. And how I just left and no one seemed to care?”

How could I have missed this? Mom didn't get past her sophomore year of high school. I fought to regain my composure.

“Wow. I never really did the math. Your really did lose your best years Lorraine. But you've got plenty of great ones ahead of you” I tried to bolster her spirits ...and mine.

“You really think?” she said with heartwrenching, naked honesty.

“Absolutely!” I lied. I scrambled to come up with something to rationalize my insanely optimistic claim.

“So, you need to finish high school before you can start college. No big deal. I bet Shari and Chloe from Max's bookmobile can help you find out how to get your G.E.D.”

“G.E.D?” Lorraine looked at me blankly

“Yeah, It's kind of like the equivalent of a high school diploma for people who never got to finish high school... for whatever reason” Though I imagined a great many were reasons like her own... parenthood came unexpectedly early.

”They have such a thing? And I might be able to get one?”

“Not might. WILL. If you commit yourself to it.”

“Hell yeah! I thought that door was closed.”

“Things are not always as black and white ...or in this case, as open or closed - as they seem” I smiled.

“Thanks hon. I'd kinda given up on myself. Figured I blew my last chance... until I bumped into you. OK. I take it back. You're nothing like I was at your age.”

“Not true.” I said as supportively as I could. “We have a LOT in common” (More than you can ever imagine.) “We're both finding out who we are and becoming who we can be. We just have to be patient and take it one step at a time.”

“You mean one day at a time” she laughed. “...Which reminds me.... I'm late for a meeting”

The diner was normally closed on Sundays, but on the evening of the third Sunday in July it was the site of a very special private party, as were countless homes and venues across the globe.

Jackson, an old friend of Roy's, let him borrow a 'giant' screen 21-inch television from his TV and appliance store to host a 'moon party' at the diner. The TV was black and white, but they were saying that the actual transmission from the moon would be black and white anyway, so no one made a fuss about not seeing Walter Cronkite or Jules Bergman or Chet Huntley in color.

Like so many people, we watched in silence and held our breath as 2 human beings came within seconds of running out of gas and crashing where they could never be rescued, and instead successfully landed for the first time on another heavenly body.

Even Max - who had spent the entire night telling anyone who would listen how Nixon had blackmailed the guy who made 2001 to fake the whole thing for TV so he could steal the NASA money and spend it on war – was duly respectful during those final minutes of the most riveting live TV any of us would see for the next 32 years. There were whoops and hollers and tears and prayers, and we all nodded in agreement with the guy from Mission Control who confirmed the moon landing by letting the crew know “we're breathing again”. We were all crying and hugging, and after finding and embracing my busmates, my mom and Daisy, I went to look for Roy but he was nowhere to be found. The breeze from the back door was my clue. I found him out back leaning against his pickup and just staring at the stars. He was Lorraine's godfather, so I felt like he was kind of a surrogate grandfather to me, I think he got that vibe off me too, and liked it. Though his mind would be blown if he had any idea of our actual connection.

“What'cha thinking about?” I asked as I sidled up next to him.

He still just stared at the sky. “Did you know that when I was born, the Wright Brothers were still just bike mechanics?”

I did the math in my head and could only respond with “Wow"

He shook his head and laughed a little. “Yeah. Wow.”

We just leaned there... staring at the sky.

“The things I've seen. Airplanes, cars replacing horses, the 'War to end all Wars' and then the more terrible one after that, radio and television and A-bombs and H-bombs, and now men walking on the moon....”

“Would you have imagined any of it when you were a kid?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Sure we had Jules Verne and such, and figured some wonders were ahead. Our folks grew up before telephones and electricity and ether in hospitals, so we expected we'd see some things.... but never so much in our own lifetimes. I can't imagine what wonders ...and horrors... you will witness by the time you're my age”

“If we don't blow up the planet first” I laughed.

“You don't really believe that do you?” he looked down at me with an uncertain smile on his face.

“No. I still believe responsible, sensible people outnumber the crazies by a wide margin. What does Nixon call them? 'The Silent Majority'?”

Roy laughed. “If tricky Dick's bragging about them, no wonder they're silent!”

We both laughed.

I got serious for a moment. “I can't imagine what I'll live to see.... good or bad... but I look forward to it all, because it's such an adventure.... I intend to embrace the good and endure the bad, and make the most of my time on this rock.” Then looking back at the stars “...or any other rock I find myself on”

Roy gave me a gentle squeeze and a warm smile and guided me to walk with him back into the diner. “They should be ready fot the moonwalk soon. We should get back inside. ….by the way, thanks for being so good with Lorraine.... for being such a ….”

“Friend?”

“No. More than that....”

“Analyst? Therapist? Sounding board? Confessor?....” I smiled.

He laughed and shook his head. “Yes, all those. ...But no... “ he furrowed his brow and scrunched up his face “....Role Model?”

I was gobsmacked. I was NOT expecting that. All I could do was stare at him with disbelief.

“No. Really. I think that's the best word for it. I haven't seen her this positive... this ...focused since.... “ He looked at me and his face got all funny again. “Probably since she was your age.”

I just continued staring at him. Utterly at a loss for how to respond.

“One day, the spark just went out of her. We kept hoping, but finally resigned ourselves to the idea that it was gone for good. I guess we never figured on you coming into her life. ….into our lives.” and he pulled me in tighter to his side as we walked back indoors.

Much as it was awkward and agonizing to go through, looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way. N'atapwe was right. I'd quickly learn she was always right, but I would only understand how when I reflected back on events in my life. I also knew that this chapter was ending, and wondered with nervous anticipation – and a touch of dread – what new adventure was next.

It truly was a team effort, but between Saffron and Rain selling their handcrafted jewelery – and picking up money from teaching crafts to local children - although I always suspected it was really more babysitting than mentoring, and Max actually earning money once Chloe & Shari realized their bosses actually expected the bookmobile to break down frequently and had a line item in their budget for repairs, They would get inflated repair estimates from local shops, get the funds from their bosses, and have Max do the actual repairs, splitting the estimated repair reimbursements between the three of them.

Between those sources and the $1 an hour I was making working under the table as 'Juanita' We said our goodbyes in preparation for the next leg of our journey,

On the ride to L.A. I reflected on how ...natural and comfortable I was being Jodie, ...or Olive ...or even Juanita. Many names, same girl..... same ….me. It was now Jody... or Joseph Junior... or Cadet O'Donnell that seemed like the fiction... or a biography I'd read. I remembered events from his life, but not viscerally. All the recollections were in my head... but none of them any longer lived in my heart.

I wanted a fresh start and a new outlook, and I thought about that old adage about 'be careful what you wish for'. I got way more than I bargained for, but I wasn't unhappy. In fact I was surprised to find that I was more ...comfortable... in my own skin than I had ever been. I don't know if that was leaving behind my old life trying to live up the expectations of others and taking up with this band of free spirits just embracing the moment, or if it had more to do with leaving Cadet Joe O'Donnell Jr behind and embracing the idea of Olive Bracco. However randomly it happened, I liked the idea of being Olive more every day. After my conversation with N'Atapwe and learning to hear and trust my own inner voice, I was certain the universe was trying to tell me something, and I was trying hard to pay attention and get the message right.

I thought I had seen cities before, but nothing prepared me for Los Angeles. I think what surprised me most about it was its ...sprawl. It was like a giant quilt of all these smaller communities like cells of a giant organism that were all codependent on each other.

West Hollywood was not what I expected from the name. We were squeezed in between the posh mansions of Beverley Hills and the working studio lots of Hollywood proper. I didn't see any movie stars. At least any current movie stars. Future, possibly and past probably, but they were unrecognizable. What we did see a lot of was bohemians... the ones branded misfits and oddballs by 'the squares'. In other words, our kind of people.

The 'friends' Dog said we could crash with seemed to have no recollection of him, but they were cool and figured if someone told us to look them up, they must be cool and we by extension must be cool, so we all had a place to crash while we checked out the city of angels.

Getting around LA was not easy. Apparently they used to actually have a really great trolley system to navigate the sprawl, but that was torn up years ago. It was as if the powers that be didn't want the 'little people' to be too mobile and replacing the 'red car' trolleys with a modest bus system, kept the posh neighborhoods inaccessible to the 'wrong kind' of people. People who didn't have cars... or licenses. People like me and my friends. The bus would get you to where you needed to go... from the modest homes in Watts or East LA to your housekeeping or landscaping job in the hills, and on a schedule just frequent enough to ship 'the help' to and from their day labors. If you wanted to go anywhere else, you had to use your thumb. My friends and I soon discovered that it was very easy for us to stick out our thumbs in L.A. and get picked up. And we quickly realized that we did not want to get picked up.

Rain thought she could handle the wolves. She was very disarming in a Goldie Hawn kind of way, and she was every bit as smart as we all suspected – and later confirmed – Goldie was. She thought she had these LA hotshots wrapped around her little finger. And usually she was right. But eventually she got outplayed. She got lured into 'the scene' and often invited us to join her at the parties she began to frequent. We went to keep an eye out for her – and each other. The guys were letches, and kind of proud of it. I guess they thought we'd fall all over them because they were production assistants on some sitcom and they knew people who knew people who could make us 'stars'. It saddened me to think that this worked on some girls who actually came here with dreams of stardom. None of us wanted to be the next Tina Louise or Peggy Lipton, so we never fell for their tricks. Rain wasn't tempted by dreams of stardom either, but I think she was impressed by the big houses and the indoor pools and brushing shoulders with people we'd all grown up seeing on tv or at the movies. What I think she was most seduced by was the endless supply of drugs and other 'pleasures without penalties'.

That mirage came crashing down to earth early one Tuesday.

“Olive. You awake?”

“I am now. You just getting in? Another party til dawn?”

“No. I got home hours.....Olive. I'm late.”

“You said you got home hours...” suddenly, I think I knew what she was saying. The look in her eyes seemed to confirm it.

“Oh.” I looked at her plaintively. She just nodded and cast her eyes to the floor.

“How late?”

“Two... almost three weeks?”

“Oh. ….Shit.”

“Yeah.” she fumbled a bit and looked at me, kind of lost.,, “I was wondering.... if you weren't doing anything today, if you'd mind coming with me to....”

“Well, I suppose I could call Hef and reschedule” I lamely joked trying to break the mood. It was not funny. Rain just stared at me, confused, lost and quietly freaking. “Sorry. Not funny. Oh my God... of course! Aw, GOD sweetie!” and I impulsively lurched forward and embraced her in the tightest hug. She returned the embrace, and let out these little gasping sobs.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit... what am I going to DO?”

I stroked her hair and 'shusshed' her and whispered as calmingly as I could “Oh, baby. You're going to do what we are going to do....together... we'll go downtown to the clinic and see the people who know what to do” I lied... not believing anyone knew just what to do no matter how many times and how many girls they had counseled.

After the sobs subsided, I eased away and, fingers still on her shoulders I regarded her with what I hoped she would know as sympathy and slight curiosity. “Why me?”

She stared back blankly. I realized she was thinking “I'm the one asking 'why me' YOU'RE not the one in trouble' ...then I think she tried reframing my question, but I jumped in to help her out.

“I mean.... why did you come to ME? Why not Saffron or Solstice or.... I mean you guys go WAY back... you've known each other since school... why not them? You've only known me since Kan... OH. That's IT. You've only known me since Kansas. They're your longtime friends, but I'm just...”

“Oh NO. GOD no! That's not it at ALL. Yeah. We've only known each other a few months, but God, you're as much a friend as... especially after San Diego.... and Needles with that train wreck of a waitress” I flinched a little. “No... it's just.... you don't... I've seen you over and over... you don't ….judge” I just stared reassuringly in her eyes. “And.....” her voice got small “you don't ….talk”

“Oh God, honey. Neither do the others. At least about important stuff. Thanks for that. But seriously, you can count on your friends. I'm flattered and touched that you consider me a friend like them. But trust me....they can be discreet too. It's not just me.”

“Trust them?” She looked at me sadly. “Like you trusted Saffron?” Her face fell, but her eyes bored into mine. “She told me about you.”

I felt the blood leave my face. I was numb. I couldn't respond. I couldn't even move. I just stared at her like a deer in headlights. Apparently this only confirmed what she had been told. Slowly she cracked a tiny smile.

“So it IS true. I couldn't really believe it when she told me. You have to admit it IS a bit hard to believe.” I nodded, shell-shocked. “ssshhhh. It's ok. It's OK. And nobody will believe it anyway. If they confront you, don't even lie. Just act all insulted and offended that they would even suggest.... They will realize how foolish they sound and back down.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

“Even with you right here admitting it, I find it hard to believe you're still a virgin.”

I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath, but my sudden burst of breath surprised us both. I tried to hide my relief which Rain took as an emotional shock when she actually said 'the V word' aloud.

“I'm sorry. I just wanted to explain why I can't trust Saffron ….or the others”

I put my poker face back on and silently thanked Saffron for dutifully dishing the dirt and outing me as a virgin, while not outing me.

“Oh God. Please don't tell Saffron I told you! I don't want to wreck your friendship!”

I smiled. “Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. ….or actually... MY secret...” I cocked my head as we both thought about this for a moment... and burst out laughing.

It was an awkward bus ride filled with painful silences. Fortunately the free clinic was right off the busline, only a few blocks from the UCLA campus. Although thinking back, that had to be by design. To be as accessible and convenient as possible to a student demographic who had few conveniences in their lives. The center was as friendly and comforting as possible considering the nature of their services and the circumstances of their clientele. Warm lavenders and bathed in sunlight from the glass along the eaves of the roof. We filled out the paperwork and waited just long enough to reflect on our situation and begin freaking out. We were snapped out of our dark daydreams when Rain was called in to see Dr O'Brien. She clung to my hand as if to drag me in with her. The receptionist nodded. Apparently this was common.

I sat in the exam room for moral support while Dr O'Brien inquired about Rain's sexual history. Apparently she was an 'early bloomer' and had become sexually active when most girls her age were dreaming of training bras. She had been quite adventurous for a long time, but had been extremely lucky until now. She was routinely tested for STDs and samples were taken to determine if she actually was pregnant. It's hard to imagine in these days of absolute privacy and 'pee sticks' that in those days you waited days to find out if 'the rabbit died'. Dr O'Brien asked Rain about other diet and lifestyle habits and strongly urged her to come back when 'everything was resolved' and talk with her about birth control. She looked at me and said, “This should be a wake up call young lady” although I doubt she was more than a few years older than I was. At that, Rain who was leaving to go to the ladies room and leave a urine sample turned and laughed.

“You don' have to worry about her. She's still a damn vi....” she shot her hand to her mouth and looked at me, mortified. Which only made it worse.

Dr O'Brien shooed her out to the restroom and turned to me with a ...look. Waiting for me to explain.

All I could say was “Wait. It's way more complicated than that.” Which only got me in deeper. When Rain returned with her sample Dr O'Brien sent her back to the waiting room. Rain tried to stay with me as I had with her, but Dr O'Brien insisted that this was to be a 'private consultation'.

She handed me an exam gown and motioned towards the stirrups. “This comes under Doctor Patient privilege? Anything you learn here stays between us?” She nodded solemnly. I screwed my face up and blew out a big breath of air. “I don't know where to begin...” I confessed. I stared long and hard at Dr O'Brien, and seeing nothing there but patience, mild concern and a hint of curiosity, I began at the beginning.

I made it as quick as I could, knowing she had other patients but she just made a dismissive hand gesture and kept prompting me to continue. So I told her about Joe Jr, and military school, and dad going MIA, and mom going ….m.i.a.... and my crazy notion to reinvent myself as a hippie ...and my accidental reinvention of myself as a hippiechick... the commune and the maxidress and San Diego and digging myself deeper... of becoming Olive and Needles and Lorraine and LA and Rain asking for my help... MY help of all people... and how much I loved and cared about my new girlfriends and how devastated we would all be if the truth got out. She just sat there. Nodding. Sometimes wide eyed. Occasionally smirking. But mostly just nodding, retaining a professional demeanor, although it seemed at times she was struggling to maintain that.

“..and so here we are and you're motioning to the chair directing me to 'assume the position' and I'm trying to explain to you why I don't need birth control or an exam or anything and how much it would destroy my friends if any of this came out.”

And she just sat and nodded. And furrowed her brows. And stared at me. And cradled her chin with her thumb, stroking her pursed lips absentmindedly with her index finger. And furrowed her brows further. And stared, Until I couldn't take it any longer.

“I can't take it any longer!” I exclaimed. “Say....SOMETHING.....:

“Wow.” she said quietly. And she nodded. And stared, and furrowed, and stroked and stared and furrowed.

“That's IT??? ….just WOW?”

She smiled and said “Kind of at a loss for words. That's all I've got at the moment.” and she continued regarding me.

“OK, then” I said placing the still folded exam gown back on the table. “I guess I'll go now, Rain must be freaking after all this time” and I headed for the door.

“Wait.” she said, and leaned to the intercom, “Donna, tell the young lady waiting for her friend that we're just going to be a few more minutes...” then she glanced at me and smiled “and tell her not to freak out... her friend is fine... we're just talking about... her condition....” She smiled at me. “She did start to say you were a virgin, no?”

I nodded. “That part is true”

She broke out into a wide grin “Oh sweetheart, that's not the HALF of it, is it?” and again she pointed to the stirrup chair.

I don't know why, but I trusted Consuela O'Brien, I told her as much. She teased that maybe it was because we were both half Irish. I retorted that no one would ever guess the truth to look at either of us. She kidded back that in that department I had her beat. I know she meant it as a friendly joke, but she blanched the moment she said it, and I knew she felt that she'd let the friendly banter go too far. I squeezed her forearm and threw her own words back at her “that's not the HALF of it” I laughed. Tension dispelled.

The stirrup chair was ...interesting... I don't doubt that Dr O'Brien believed my story, but having a close look at things only seemed to intrigue her more. She was surprised to find that I had retracted my testes back into their body cavities, and that they seemed quite content to stay there. She also examined my other 'boy bit' and was surprised as well that it seemed to be quite comfortable to remain tucked between my legs. She put on her exam gloves and proceeded to pry it out. She made no effort to hide her surprise that it took some prying to get it free, that it was apparently quite less than she expected, and that there was no sign of arousal. She asked me about that and I admitted that I don't recall it ever being aroused. She asked if I understood about arousal, and I explained that I had taken the required health courses in school and heard guys talk, so yes I got what arousal was. And no, I don't recall ever experiencing arousal, explaining that I presumed I would remember it if I did. That made her laugh.

“I daresay you would!” She scowled. “No erections? Wet dreams? No waking up with ...tumescence?” I didn't know the word but quickly figured it out. I shook my head yet again. “You never engaged in ...autoerotica?” I thought I knew what she meant, but I raised my eyebrow because I needed to be certain. “You never ….played with yourself?” she just sighed “masturbation?” OK, that's what I thought she meant. I shook my head, a little embarrassed. “...not even ONCE?”

I shook my head and sighed. “I guess that's not normal, huh?” she raised an eyebrow at the question. “I suppose that makes me even MORE of a freak....” I hung my head.

She clasped my hand instinctively and instantly realized where her gloved hand had ...been... quickly releasing it with a blush. “Sorry!”

I smiled. “Well, since I never really fondled it myself, I guess this is about as close as I'm going to get” I smiled as I examined my hand. THAT made her laugh.

She regained her composure and got back on track. “I was just going to say you're NOT a 'freak'... not that being a freak is necessarily a bad thing anyway.... but....” and she waved her hand dismissively... I think she distracted herself again.... “I think you're.... an anomaly..... something that doesn't comfortably fit within the narrow bounds of “ and she made air-quotes with her fingers “..normal”

“So you're saying I'm abnormal....”

“NO! ….well, technically....by the clinical definition...yes...but NO...no... that's not what I'm saying. It's that just that there's a narrow range of what statisticians consider the median... and that includes a small degree of deviation from the basline, but you... your development... and experiences... or lack of experiences are far outside the standard deviation...”

“So you're calling me a DEVIANT?” I raised an eyebrow in mock petulance.

“STOP!... putting words in my mouth” she laughed. “What I MEAN is, you're.... something ...else....” She got very quiet and said to me with great warmth and it seemed a touch of awe “I've never seen anything like you....” then her brow furrowed as she thought about her words.”..I mean anyONE like you...”

I threw my head back in mock disdain. “That's just great! Go ahead OBJECTIFY me! … I EXPECT that from the boys...but....” I couldn't keep up the bogus indignation and burst out laughing. Fortunately Dr O'Brien did too.

She then proceeded to poke prod and palpitate me and took enough fluids to start her own lab.

“I suppose asking for a sperm sample is a non-starter?” she asked awkwardly. My scowl just evoked a nod. “Technically, I HAD to ask.” she said sheepishly. I responded with a snort. She directed me to get dressed and walked me to the waiting room.

“I should know something within a week or two, and I hope to get you in for a followup. As for YOU young lady..." she said to Rain, "... eat right, lots of rest, no booze or drugs just in case... and stay off the uneven parallel bars until we know for sure.” Rain smiled. I knew Dr O'Brien was making jokes but I don't think I got half of them. We headed home on the bus when Rain turned to me.

“You were in there like, for-ever! What happened? Are you ok?”

I nodded. “We mostly talked.... about my ..situation.... then she took a peek and the usual blood, pee, saliva, hair....”

“Blood and pee, yeah. That's normal. But spit?”

“Well from the inside of my mouth with a little squeegee thing”

“And hair?”

“Just a little” I held up my fingers “like trimming split ends. No biggie”

“That's not ...normal...”

“Well, maybe I'm not normal?” I smiled. It seemed harmless, but Rain still seemed worried.

“What kind of a Doctor IS she?” Rain scowled.

“Maybe a witch doctor?”

We laughed so hard we nearly got thrown off the bus.

Rain heard from the clinic Friday afternoon and we had a memorial service for the rabbit that weekend. She was really quiet and introspective. I let her know that if she ever wanted to talk, I would be there for her. I think she did want to talk, but didn't even know where to start. We just hung out a lot. Sitting in the park, listening to the guitar boys. Strolling Sunset, smiling at all the eager buskers. There sure were a lot of musicians around.

“Penny for your thoughts” I said.

Rain barked out a small laugh. “You sound like my mom” she said in a tone of voice I'd never heard before. “....she was about my age when she had me.... my....dad...was shipping out to Korea... they had known each other all their lives... they were going to get married when he got out of the Army, but she wanted to give herself to him before he left so he'd keep thinking of her until he came back....”

“He never came back, did he?”

She shook her head. “It happened really fast. Mom heard the news before she even knew she was ….going to have me..... it was a scandal. They sent her to this ….place.... it was supposed to be a sanctuary for unwed mothers, but it was really a workhouse. The girls did laundry and mending... they had a bakery that served the parish.... and an orphanage.... they took the babies away to give them to 'respectable' families.... for a tidy donation.... and the mothers had to 'work off their debt' until the parish decided they had adequately atoned for their sins. It was slavery, plain and simple. My mom stole me back from the orphanage and ran away.”

“No one is going to send YOU away....if... you decide to have the baby. Have you decided?”

“I don't know.... it's just so scary either way.”

While Rain was agonizing over which path to take, I discovered I was becoming some sort of celebrity lab rabbit at the clinic. When I returned the next week to see if my 'results' came back, Dr O'Brien asked me if I minded meeting a few of her colleagues. I nodded and told her to send them in. She sheepishly said that they didn't work at the clinic and wanted to meet me at their campus offices or if I preferred at their offices at the UCLA medical center. I quickly realized that whatever was happening was anything but routine. I nodded... “wherever....” I said, and Dr O'Brien caught the anxiety in my voice.

“Don't worry Olive. It's nothing awful. Just kind of a repeat of the exam we did here.... and your explanation of how you ended up.....” she looked me up and down and gestured at me “....here.”

“OK. That wasn't awful.... just really really ….awkward.... But you're really easy to talk to Doctor O'Brien... I'm not usually so..... No. I'm not ever so ….forthcoming. I don't know if I could be so candid with strangers.”

She nodded. “OK Olive, let me be frank too. Doctors Kendrick and Lantigua are researchers.... they're professors of mine. I work at the clinic here for school credit, but I'm a grad student. I hope to someday be a researcher into genetic effects of environmental changes. We've changed the world more since the end of World War 2 than we have in all of history up to 1945. And we're only beginning to see the effects. It will take us years to understand them. Did you ever read Rachel Carson?” I shook my head. I'd never heard of her. Dr O'Brien was not surprised. “I read 'Silent Spring' over a summer during highschool...” She smiled awkwardly “You may not know it to gaze on my suave elegance... but I was a serious bookwoorm in school.” She made a mock curtsey and a reflexive self conscious laugh at her embarrassing revelation. “I'd read her methodical case for ways we were playing recklessly with nature, with little regard for the possible consequences. At dusk, I'd see neighborhood kids chasing the DDT spray truck like it was the ice cream man... I really began to wonder what we were doing to ourselves. ….And when we finally began to wake up and realize what we had done, who was going to help us get out of the mess we got ourselves in. That's about the time I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

I nodded reflexively, not really understanding.

“Doctor Kendrick is a clinical endocrinologist, and Doctor Lantigua is doing research into genetics.”

“Genetics?” I had heard the word, but didn't really understand what it was.

“Inherited traits... how you got your black hair... and your green eyes...”

“My mother's eyes” I interjected.

“Exactly. How you got some traits from your father's side, and some from your mother's side....nature's recipe for.... YOU.”

I nodded. I was beginning to get it. “And endo... what was it?”

“Ah. Endocrinology. Yes. Studying the soup.”

OK. She lost me.

“The mix of hormones and blood chemistry that make the body work the way it does.”

“Hormones. Oh. You mean why I'm a boy that looks like a girl?”

“Not really. Yes. That's a part of it, but just a part. There are all sorts of hormones. They regulate metabolism, whether you're lean or heavy... Growth... State of mind.... fight or flight.... that primal instinct comes from the adrenal gland.....”

“More hormones...”

“Exactly. They effect us throughout our lives, but especially around puberty.” Suddenly, she looked a little embarrassed.

“What? OK. So I didn't have a normal puberty. That's pretty obvious. No need to get awkward.”

“Well, I think it's more than that. I don't think you've had any puberty. Your voice hasn't changed. You don't look like you ever had a growth spurt. What are you 5'2” tops?”

“Hey! I'm 5-4 if I'm an inch!” Then I realized she tricked me into admitting that I was still as tall as I'd been at 10. I blushed.

“Sorry. It's just pretty clear that no growth hormone has kicked into overdrive. What body hair you have is still a light down and your skin is uncharacteristically clear for someone your age.... and let's face it... soft...”

“Soft as a baby's butt” I mocked.

Dr O'Brien smiled sadly. “Well put. Your blood chemistry seems closer to a babys than a teenagers. That has Dr Kendrick intrigued. And Dr Lantigua too for similar reasons. So will you meet with them?”

I nodded my uncertain assent, and things took off quickly from there.

Doctor O'Brien didn't mean 'in a few weeks' or even 'a few days'. It seems that her two professors were so intrigued by what they saw in my lab samples, that they wanted to meet with me soon. Like - 'Donna, reschedule my day, Ms Bracco and I are leaving for the med center' ...and 20 minutes later I was on an exam table chatting with Doctors Kendrick and Lantigua - soon. They took a lot of blood. And more samples of my hair and scraped a bunch of skin. I told my story again, which I had managed to condense to a coherent account with repetition. None of them treated me like a boy. None of them treated me like a freak. They didn't exactly treat me like a girl either.... I felt more like a ….specimen. Kind of like a lab rabbit. They would talk to each other as if I wasn't there, and I didn't catch most of the medical jargon. One thing I did catch were pronouns. Which were always feminine. So I didn't feel too uncomfortable.

Long story short, it was determined that I had something called “Androgen Insensitivity”... Dr Lantigua claimed it was some anomally in my DNA. Dr Kendrick explained that it meant my body just ignored testosterone. Not that my body was making any to speak of. Apparently the 'boy bits' didn't really do much of anything. They figured out that even in the womb I was mostly ignoring the signals to make me a boy, so the job was done poorly and ineffectually. The plumbing I had wasn't textbook boy or girl, but it leaned ever so slightly to boy that they figured that's why the doctors assigned me “M” at birth. Doctor Kendrick joked that he'd seen many an enlarged clitoris that was more impressive than my so-called penis. My scowl got a perfunctory apology from him, and for a few moments they acknowledged that their 'specimen' was paying attention to what they were saying. I guessed that as clinical researchers they didn't usually have to give any thought to 'bedside manners'.

I was more than a little shocked to find that Dr Kendrick had given me a MASSIVE dose of testosterone, and had felt smug when over time my body failed to respond and validated his hypothesis.

I don't know whether it was testosterone or adrenaline or just plain bile, but I was FURIOUS when I found out what he had done to me to 'test his theory'. I ripped him a new one, and to my surprise, Drs Lantigua and O'Brien backed me up. I completely flipped out, and he shouted at me 'not to get hysterical'.

“How the hell CAN I, when 'hysterical' refers to the female organs and endocrine system, and I don't seem to have THAT either????”

Suddenly everything got quiet and Dr O'Brien shot me a look. She called her colleagues aside and they huddled. There was lots of gesticulating and some furtive glances my way, and finally three nods.

“You're right Olive.” Dr O'Brien said. Then she broke into a grin “...as usual! OK, after Dr Kendrick's ill-conceieved …experiment” she almost spat the word “...it's clear that you are unresponsive to male hormones and will never develop into an adult.... man. However the small amount of testosterone your body is making is being converted to estrogen...”

I shot her a startled look. She just waved her hand dismissively.

“No, no. It happens all the time. Both ways. It's perfectly normal.... which I guess for you means it's the exception.....” she smiled awkwardly. “Well, anyway it's trace amounts anyway. Insignificant really. But we DO know that your estrogen receptors work. So, the question for you is this....” She scrunched up her face. “Puberty. For it or agin' it?”

I looked her in the eyes. “You just told me my body ignores male hormones.” She nodded. “And you're offering me ...puberty?” She nodded again. We both knew where this was going but it had to play out this way. “So what you're asking, really is do I want to live as a boy or a girl?” She shook her head.

“Boy.... or WOMAN. Because you're incapable of developing into a man.... and you're already living as a girl.... a pre-pubescent girl.”

“So, you're asking me if I want to grow up?”

“In a manner of speaking. Do you want to remain an aging, ostensibly male child, or develop into an adult woman... with hips and curves and breasts....”

“But no ovaries or even a vagina?”

“Well, there's only so much we can do chemically. But there are places where they can do surgeries like Christine Jorgensen....”

I waved my hand dismissively. “That's a subject for another time. What you're saying to me now is that I can develop breasts and hips and become more like a woman”

“Physically, and emotionally. You're still pre-pubescent, so sex really isn't on your radar is it?”

I shook my head. “I guess not”

She smiled. “Well, that may change... and you better be prepared for that, because with puberty may come urges and desires that you're not physically able to act on.”

“And that makes me different from a small percentage of other women ….how?” I smiled.

Doctor O'Brien laughed out loud. “God! So wise.... I know you still look to be a teenager, but something tells me you're more like.... a thousand....” she smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an old soul?”

I nodded contentedly. “In fact, they have.”

So it was decided. While Doctor Lantigua still used me as a lab rabbit to try and determine what in my DNA made me 'immune' to testosterone, Dr Kendrick documented how eager my body was to process estrogen and progesterone. I got curvy quickly. And people noticed. I also got really moody. And that they also noticed.

A big part of my mood swings – at least to my mind, was Rain's dilemma. Part of my brain kept telling me that it wasn't my life and it wasn't my problem. Rain would sort things out and choose her own path. But most of my brain – and all of my heart – kept trying to imagine the anguish she must be going through. A new life, growing inside her, and she was wondering if she was grown up enough for the responsibility that would take.... and remembering her own past, suddenly seeing her childhood from the perspective of the young girl who was her own mother. Or maybe I was just projecting all of Lorraine's baggage and memories of my own childhood. Either way, it filled me with compassion and nearly unbearable sadness knowing that I could never find myself “in trouble” because nature had deprived me of that option. Then I would feel guilty about how much I envied my friend in her anguish.

I was an emotional basket case. Unlike Rain.

“I've decided.” She whispered to me. “I'm going to have her.... but I'm not bringing her up alone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who's bringing her up with you – and 'her'?”

“Oh, yeah. I can tell. I'm going to call her 'Sunset' – like the boulevard.... or maybe just 'Dusk' ….does that sound more exotic?”

I sidestepped that issue.... “Call her what you want” I smiled. “When she is ready, she will choose her own name...... as we did”

Rain returned my wide smile.

“So, who is going to help you bring her up?”

“Oh. Derek.”

“That producer guy? With the house in the hills who throws all those wild parties?”

“Yeah.”

“He's the dad? And he agreed to this?” He always struck me as a kind of feckless swinger.”

“Well, he could be the dad. No doubt about that. And he's loaded. Look at where he lives. And the parties he throws. They must cost a fortune!”

“All that tells me is that he spends money – not that he has money. And in fact, thinking about how much he spends, I have real doubts about how much he has. ….And he's cool with this?”

“Oh, he will be.” she beamed. “I'm meeting him tonight for dinner.”

“So he doesn't know. ...And you're telling him at a restaurant....” I had a really bad feeling about every aspect of this. “Well, at least it is a public place..... if you need anything... anything... call me. I'll be home all night ….by the phone.” My dread was growing, but I couldn't explain to Rain why I thought this was a very very bad idea.... and a little voice in my head kept saying 'it's her life...it's her choice' ...and against my intuition, I listened to my logical head and not my passionate heart.

I stayed home all night. Watching TV. Waiting by the phone for the call that never came.
Around 11, Rain glided in.

“So?” I asked the moment she shut the door. She glanced around nervously. “Everyone's out” I assured her. Of course they were. It was Thursday night in West Hollywood. There were things to meet, people to do. Rain walked up to me, pokerfaced... then erupted in a radiant smile and hugged me tight.

“He took it well?” I choked out from the bear hug.

“Oh, Olive!” she gushed “It went better than I dared to hope for!” I patted her back warmly, but still couldn't shake my nagging feeling that something wasn't right. Rain did not share my skepticism. “I thought he'd be upset, but all he did was raise his eyebrow just a smidge and purse his lips for a moment when I told him.... then he clapped his hands together and said this was cause for a celebration and ordered champagne,”

“Should you be drinking while you're pregnant?”

“Oh. It's OK. It was really expensive champagne!”

I hid my scowl.

“Derek asked me what my plans were, and I admitted I didn't really have any beyond keeping the baby. I explained that it's not really going to change things. His house in the hills is huge and loaded with guest rooms. Any one of them would make a great nursery. He asked who my doctor was, so I told him about that nice lady at the free clinic, but he said I need a real doctor. He said he knows lots of them so I should just leave it to him. Actually, he was really super about it. He said I should leave everything to him.”

So she did. The next day Derek the film producer called with the name of a doctor for Rain to see. I offered to go with Rain to her appointment, but she knew I was meeting with MY doctors and she didn't want to make me reschedule. When she came back that evening, she said the visit went well. The Doctor examined her, gave her some vitamin shots and a bottle of pills for morning sickness, which he predicted she should be getting shortly. Sure enough, within a few days she wasn't able to hold anything down and started taking the pills. I wasn't so sure they were helping, but Rain said they made her feel better. They just seemed to put her to sleep, but when she woke up, she was just as nauseous. She was pale and sweating and I strongly urged her to check with her doctor, which she promised to do.

That evening when I asked, she said she tried to see her doctor but he checked out.

“Checked out? Of his office?”

“No silly. The hotel. Derek said he was a doctor friend who was in town for a few days and owed him a favor, so I met him at his hotel.”

“So a man you never met who claimed he was a doctor, 'examined' you and gave you shots and a bottle of pills in his hotel room?”

“....When you put it that way.....” Rain laughed nervously. “Oh, Olive, what do you think I should do?”

“Get your coat. We're taking you to the emergency room right now.” I was firm and she didn't protest.

We sat in the waiting area for hours. Two hippies – one trembling and sweating, neither with insurance, we were pretty much bottom of the list as knife wounds and drunk driving victims and bar fighters kept coming in and jumping ahead of us. I remembered that old reporters' saying 'if it bleeds it leads' and realized that all these violent injuries were getting in ahead of us. All Rain had was fever-like sweating and repeated vomiting into bags. They probably figured 'just another strung out druggie'. They did pay attention when Rain doubled over onto the floor with a scream of pain and started hemorrhaging – violently.

Since I was not immediate family, I was not allowed back with her. Finally a doctor came out to me and asked “are you here with Rhonda Vartanian?” I had never heard her actual name and looked at him a bit quizzically.

“She never told me her real name. About my age, sweats, bad cramps... bleeding?”

He nodded. “Are you Olive?” I nodded back.

“Your friend is very very ill. Do you know her next of kin or how to contact them?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “I'll try to find out. We're all kind of out here... on our own”

He nodded. “Of course.” While he didn't say it, I knew he was thinking 'damned hippies'.

“How is the baby?”

His look told me everything.

“That's the least of her worries right now. Her kidneys have shut down and one by one all her systems are failing. She's young and seems strong, so she may beat this, but we won't know for at least a few days. We're going to move her to intensive care as soon as she's stabilized.”

“Did she tell you about the pills?”

“What pills? She didn't say much of anything, between vomiting and gasping for breath between convulsions. About all she managed to get out was what we finally agreed was Olive... then we figured it might be a proper name and I came out to find you.”

“Her boyfriend set her up with this ….'doctor'.... I nearly spat the word. He gave her some vitamins to take for the baby.”

“Do you have them?”

I shook my head. “I can bring them in”

“Please do that as soon as you can. Ask for Dr Manetti. If I'm not here give them to the ICU duty nurse, I'll leave instructions at the duty station. ….Oh, and if you can.... try not to touch the container with your bare hands.”

I gave him a confused look. Could they be too dangerous to even touch? He saw my confusion.

“Fingerprints. It's a long shot, but something tells me we'll want to know who handled those pills.”

I gulped. “Can I see her?” He shook his head sadly.

“We're inducing a coma. Her convulsions were too severe. Anyway, she'll be out of it until....” he paused “it's over...one way or the other”

The buses had stopped running, so I just sat in the emergency room lobby until nearly sunup and caught an early bus home. I told my housemates about Rain. No one seemed too surprised. She partied hard and never met a drug she wouldn't try, so I guess everyone expected a bad trip or overdose sooner or later.

Max even started jokingly singing 'White Rabbit'. That's when I lost it. I started screaming at them and everything came out... the pregnancy, Derek the slimy producer and his sketchy doctor, the shots, the pills, the convulsions.... Rain flopping like a fish on the hospital floor in a puddle of vomit and blood, and the near admission by the doctor that our friend was probably going to be dead in a day or two.

I felt the innocence of my hippie adventure evaporate like dew off a cactus leaf. I grabbed the bottle of pills and gingerly picking it up by the edges with a napkin, put it in one of Max's fresh baggies. Dr Manetti was not there, so I left it with the nurse on duty at the ICU desk. I noticed her name tag... “Nurse Baldwin. ….Carole? ...my friend came in last night and they took her up here. Doctor Manetti wanted me to bring in the pills she was taking.“

Her face went ashen with recognition. “Vartanian.... you were the one who brought her in?”

I nodded.

“Well, Miss.....”

“Bracco.... Olive Bracco.”

“Miss Bracco..... you just may have saved her life.” Then her face did a thing. “Actually too soon to tell..... but if you didn't get her in here when you did......” she kind of lowered her eyes.

“Can I see her?”

Nurse Baldwin smiled sadly. “Sorry. She's in dialysis right now... and anyway... only immediate family are allowed in ICU.”

I had a thought. “Is step-sister immediate family?” She nodded. I was thinking as I went here, and I'm pretty sure she could tell. “....we have different dads....” Not a lie. Nurse Baldwin smiled.

“That would explain the different last names.” She grinned.

“Yes. Yes it would. I mean does.” I smiled back sheepishly.

“OK. Let me put you on the visitors list. Does she have any other …..family?”

I shook my head sadly. “Not out here. Just me.”

The nurse smiled warmly and squeezed my forearm. “She's lucky to have you.” She looked at her clipboard. “She should be out of dialysis by 4. You're on the list now, so you can come by. But be warned she won't....”

“Dr Manetti said something about medically induced coma....” I interjected

She nodded. “Until they can find out what's causing those convulsions.”

“....still....” the words kind of caught in my throat. “....I'd just like to sit with her for a bit.... she's my....” I was about to say 'friend' but nurse Baldwin finished my sentence as she looked me in the eye.

“....Sister....”

I realized after all we'd been through how much more …appropriate... that word was than 'friend'. I nodded as I felt my breath catch and I knew I was about to lose it, so I forced a smile and broke away, rushing to the ladies room.

Once I felt I had things back under control, I kiddingly cursed Dr Kendrick and his hormone shots, cleaned my face up and went back to the nurses station to thank and apologize to nurse Baldwin, who was gracious and professional about my little outburst. I marveled at how she could deal with this stuff day in and day out, and felt unspeakably thankful that there were people like her who chose this difficult and sorely needed profession.

It was touch and go for days, and I was running on stress and adrenaline but no sleep. Rain survived, though it was a really tense week, and her recovery took ages. Her health was fragile for a long long time, but her state of mind had me most worried. Losing the baby. Nearly dying herself. And her betrayal by that bastard movie producer Derek. It was determined that the 'vitamins' were animal tranquilizers, steroids and rat poison, but Derek managed to weasel out of it claiming it was the word of a respected film producer against a crazy drugged out hippie. No one could find the doctor and the only prints on the bottle were Rains. They covered their tracks and got away with it. We all seethed, but Rain just moved on with her life. I may have been angrier than she was. I figured she just didn't have the strength for it. I wanted to pay some Hell's Angels to break every bone in his body. They all knew and liked Rain and probably would have done it for free. But she stopped me. Max suggested that with all his wild parties, his fancy house might just burn down one of these days. Rain just shook her head. She seemed convinced that Derek would get his someday and that we should have nothing to do with him. Sure enough, an anonymous tip got him busted with two very strung-out 15 year olds in some scandalous circumstances. Apparently the casting couch was too mundane for him, so he had his own dungeon.

This brought Rain little pleasure. She just expressed relief that he would never hurt anyone again. The episode with the baby and the near-death experience changed her. Her carefree spirit was gone, but in its place there was an eerie calm. She drifted away from our group and fell in with a group centered around Transcendental Meditation and Macrobiotics. We remained friends, though we were no longer close since we traveled in different circles now. But the Meditation and Macrobiotic people “the M&Ms” I would teasingly call them, seemed to help her find peace and a path for herself, so I was happy for her.

As for me, I kept going to the clinic doing the 'lab rabbit' thing, though once Dr Kendrick joked that I was getting so curvy that 'lab BUNNY' was more like it. Fortunately Dr O'Brien shut him down before I could even respond. I think she scared him so much with talk of inappropriate behavior and bringing him up before professional review boards that he became contrite instantly. Something told me this wasn't the first time he said or did something inappropriate. Or got in trouble for it.

One side benefit of the 'treatments' and their positive effects on my appearance was that it was a lot easier to get work. This is L.A. Here more than anywhere, beauty is currency, and I found myself with a bit more in the bank. Places that wouldn't even consider me to bus tables or wash dishes were suddenly offering me waitressing jobs. One place still had 'cigarette girls', and the owner, Maury, a sweet but ancient guy kept telling me I was just the thing he needed to 'liven the place up'. Actually, what he needed was customers who were born in this century, but I never had the heart to tell him.

The waitressing jobs helped me pay my way, but I had about as much interest in a career in food service as any of the other girls – most of whom were aspiring actresses or singers or just wanted to marry up and become famous for being famous – like Zsa Zsa Gabor. ...Or any number of reality TV stars a generation later.

I had no dreams of fame or fortune. But I did have my own passions. It was a ragtag little non profit called “Fine Lives Pet Placement”, that found homes for pets. Maria, who started it with her friend Steve, was an elder-care worker, and she became increasingly distraught at the plight of former pets when one of her old folks passed away. They were almost always taken to the pound and ended up being euthanized. When we met at a party and she told me her story, I was immediately overwhelmed at the tragedy of animal companions who gave such comfort to their elderly owners being brusquely disposed of like so much refuse after their owners demise. It struck me as far beyond inhumane... and I asked what I could do to help.

As it turned out, I ended up doing more than I ever imagined. I felt such a bond to these animals, who had everything in their worlds ripped away from them. They lost their human caretaker, they lost their home and everything familiar to them, and in short order they would lose their lives. Their trauma and despair was instantly apparent to me. I was shocked that others couldn't grasp it.

One of the things I did, was become an advocate for these tragic animals. I found it fairly easy to articulate their plight to others, and the adoption rate for these bereft pets skyrocketed.

The other thing I did was to bond with the pets themselves. They were like little refugees, bewildered and shaken to their core by all the upheaval in their lives. The funny thing is, I didn't consciously do anything. I just spent time with them. Getting to know them... their personalities... and responding to them in the manner that best suited their nature. It was a slow, subtle process, but it worked every time. The time they spent with us before they were ready to be placed with new families was a kind of 'halfway house' where they could transition and acclimate to their new lives.

We had some serious emotional wrecks. Like Lucy, an older Tiger Cat who would hide from everybody, that I drew out by conspicuously ignoring. I think she began to get really miffed that she was being snubbed and got more and more in my face until one day as I feigned a nap in a beanbag chair, she got literally in my face. All it took was one slightly opened eye and some soft soothing words and she plopped herself down on my chest, slowly waving her tail and staring at me. A light scratch behind the ear, and I knew from the way she leaned in to my hand that I had won her over. Shortly she was purring and kneading her claws through my peasant blouse... which hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to ruin the moment. We made a breakthrough so I toughed it out. Within a week, she was comfortable with other people, and not long after that, even friendly to strangers. It didn't take long to find her a great home with a middle aged studio musician who lived alone. He absolutely cherished her. Which she clearly recognized and approved.

Most of our refuge pets were cats and dogs of the recently deceased. Occasionally we got birds, or the odd other creature, and even more rarely we got a walk-in. Like Kesey.

“Interesting name for a Bull Terrier.” I said to the scraggly young man who brought her in.

“Yeah.....” he fidgeted and scratched his neck “....well we originally called him Cassady...”

“Like Neal.” I nodded.

“Yeah... but everyone thought 'like David'....” he cast his eyes down to his shoes “...or even worse...”

“...Like JACK!” I couldn't suppress my laugh.

The wiry guy smirked guiltily. “Yeah. I wouldn't do that to a dog.” He lifted his head just enough to make tentative eye contact. I wasn't sure who was more skittish, the guy or the dog. It didn't even matter. They both really needed the same thing, so I smiled as warmly as I could.

“So tell me about Kesey. How did you two find each other? And what's causing you to part?”

His eyes locked at the floor again, and he thrust his hands into his pockets as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I'm... a musician... I had hooked up with some guys and we were playing a dive in Bakersfield. We played there a week and slept in our van. He wouldn't even let us sleep in one of the rooms over the club. I think now those rooms were where his real business was. Well, we did the week, sleeping in our van. When the week was up, the guy stiffs us, saying we misled him. Said he wanted a cover band and we played all our own stuff, so he wasn't going to pay us. He NEVER said anything about covers... not that we would anyway... well, maybe Kinks or Yardbirds or Them... but not Monkees and Fifth Dimension and stuff he says he hired us to do. A bunch of the guys got really pissed and started toward him, then he grabs a pipe and opens this cage and this ….THING tears out, and he yells at the dog to tear us to shreds. So we all run to the Van. Gary got there first and jumped behind the wheel, firing it up and ready to peel out as soon as we reach it. We whipped the back doors open and were jumping in as Gary's pulling out. Nick had to reach out and pull me in, the van was picking up speed. But the damn dog keeps ...coming! We whip around the corner and even though Gary has it floored, we're not speeding up fast enough,,, the doors are flapping open behind us and the dog is running like hell... catching up to us... and suddenly... LEAPS into the back of the van! 'Oh shit” we think. But the dog just glances at us and burrows under a pile of clothes.... we looked at each other and decided we wanted to get away from the owner... forget the dog. We finally got the doors shut and were out on the freeway headed for the coast. We were pissed off about getting screwed, but couldn't stop laughing about our crazy getaway and how much worse it COULD have gone, and each of us is telling his version of the story and everyone's laughing, then I see this stirring and see the eye peering out from under the pile of clothes. It doesn't take long to realize this nasty looking dog is even more scared of us than we are of him. He won't come out, and none of us are going to tear into the pile to get him out. When we stop for gas, I get some jerky and sit next to the pile, noisily eating and making all these 'mmmnnn mmmnnn' happy sounds, and smacking my lips until finally I see the eye again. I talk to the pile real friendly like, saying 'oh, man this jerky is soooo good' and making all these drool-y sounds, then I make a big show of tearing off a piece and pointing it down near where I saw the eye. After I did it, I thought I probably should have thought it was a bad idea and he could snap my whole damn hand off in those jaws... but I didn't think of that and this snout kind of peeks out and hesitantly takes the piece of jerky from my fingers and disappears again. I keep making 'mmnn mmnn' sounds and the face pokes out again, but this time I hold my hand a little further away. Well this goes on for a while as I slowly draw him out. Meanwhile the guys are laughing quietly, watching this ...as they press up against the other side of the van. They were not getting any closer to that dog than they had to. Well, soon enough we clicked. He ditched his hiding pile and laid down by my feet. Pretty soon it was clear he was MY dog now. The band said I fed him, so I was stuck with him. The band broke up soon after, but Kesey and I were a team. But, I'm a musician and have a hard enough time feeding myself, let alone him...”

“Her actually” I observed.

“Yeah. I noticed. Still, he ….vibes... 'him' so that's what I call him.”

“Your dog. Your business.” I shrugged.

“Yeah.... about that.... I guess he is my dog now.... but....”

“You don't think you can take care of him”

He nodded.

“You think he deserves better”

He nodded again

“You don't have a very high opinion of yourself”

He began to nod then caught himself “Hey, I resent that.”

“Bruised ego. A promising sign.” I smiled. He betrayed just the slightest grin. “So, why are you breaking up this …beautiful friendship?” I smiled, thinking of Casablanca. And immediately I knew he got it too.

“It's just.... he's great... but.... it feels... it feels like having ….having a kid”

“Responsibility” I nodded, putting on my stern face. He nodded back in agreement. Seeming relieved that 'I understood'. “Like having a kid....” another nod “....only no worry about providing a stable homelife, 3 square meals, carting him off to school, or picking him up after swim meets, no saving up for college, making sure he doesn't fall in with the wrong crowd.....”

“OK” he smiled “...not really at ALL like having a kid.”

I nodded back.

“But still. It's awkward. He can't always come with me. Like if I have a gig....”

“Oh? Where are you playing? Who with? Have I heard you?”

He shuffled a bit. “Actually, since the Watchmen broke up ….um my old band? I mentioned....”

I nodded

“...um yeah. Since then I've kind of …soloed.....”

“...Busking...”

He cast his eyes to the floor. “Um. Yeah. And Kesey comes with me of course. He lays down beside the hat. And he's usually pretty cool, but sometimes... well, there's people you meet on the street and they make you ….kinda...”

“Skittish?”

“Yeah. And I just get super watchful. But Kesey... he sort of.... flinches.... and gets all tense.... and”

“People freak out.”

He nodded. “And they leave. Fast. So suddenly I have my guitar and my dog and my empty hat and no crowd.”

“Bummer.” I nod sympathetically.

“Yeah. So I think I've gotta....”

“You need to work on that flinching thing.”

“Well, I actually thought.....”

“I know what you were thinking, but if Kesey stopped freaking people out with that flinching thing... if he would just stay mellow and lay by the hat.... would that..”

“Well... yeah... I guess if he stopped doing that whole....”

“Ready to attack thing?”

He let out a big puff of air. “Yeah. That's really what it is. You finally called it what it is.”

“Do you think he would attack?”

“Kesey? Hell, NO! He's way more freaked out by people than they are of him”

“Only nobody knows that but you.”

“And HIM.”

“And him” I smiled

“And you, I think. Oh shit. What kind of an... I'm sorry. I'm Colin...”

“Colin” I smiled and met his awkward, self conscious handshake.

“....Logue.”

“Colin Logue. Colin AND Kesey Logue” I smiled, and the moment I said it, I saw his acceptance and knew these two weren't splitting up. “Pleased to meet you both. I'm Olive. Olive Bracco”

“Well, since you're here, let's get a look at you” I smiled and playfully shook the skin around Kesey's neck. He cocked his head and leaned into my hands and his stubby tail began to wag.

Colin regarded me while I gave Kesey the once over.

“He's usually extremely shy, I'd even say ...skittish... around strangers. I've never seen him take to anyone the way he's taken to you....”

I smiled and regarded him for a moment. “What about you?”

He shrugged sheepishly.

I resumed my examination. The more I observed, the more disturbed I became.
“It seems your instincts were right” I said to Colin without looking up. I didn't need to.
“It seems Kesey is in fact male.” I sensed his puzzlement. “...or at least was...”

“Ohmigod. Was he castrated?”

“Nothing so humane. It appears to be a rather severe wound. One of many. I can't imagine how he survived.”

I looked up at Colin. “Could this dog have been bred to fight?”

He shrugged. “The guy who had him was a real dirtbag. And Keysey seemed really desperate to get away from him. I guess it's possible.”

“More than possible. I think it would explain a lot. This poor, fierce-looking, but shy gentle creature has been severely traumitized. Looking at these scars, I can't imagine what he's been through. I'm amazed that he can still trust anyone.”

“Well, now that you mention it, he seems apprehensive of everybody.”

“Not you.” I smiled. And I saw Kesey regard Colin. I felt he knew what we were saying and signaled his agreement.

Colin blushed again. “Not just me. He seems to really have taken to you. I've never seen him act this way.”

I turned my smile from one to the other. “I'm no expert, but I can tell how you feel about each other. You're good for each other. You found each other. And it's just what you each needed.

Colin smiled bashfully, and Kesey just regarded me with what struck me as calm acceptance. I looked at the two of them and smiled. “Maybe I should just call you two Butch & Sundance” I laughed. I had learned to trust my feelings, and I had no doubt in my mind that these two were together for life.

"Then I probably should have stuck to calling him Cassidy" Colin laughed.

While I knew these two were definitely a pair, I had not forseen how I could get caught up in their orbit as well. Colin was always coming by asking me to look at Kesey for something or another, and while occasionally there were troubling things.... like a habit he picked up of biting himself, I picked up pretty quickly that it wasn't medical... Kesey was a sweetheart, but a troubled soul – or if someone got offended that I'd imply that an animal had a soul, I would refer to his 'troubled spirit'... His biting phase reminded me of some troubled girls I knew who were 'cutters'. I worked with Colin and Kesey, although I think much of it appeared like play to Kesey. I suggested ways Colin could quell Kesey's anxieties and make him feel safe, loved and protected.... and we managed to get the self-biting stopped. Colin was amazed at how well it worked and kiddingly asked if I could come on the road with him and use my techniques to chill sketchy club owners and promoters.

Colin was coming around often and I think an easy friendship was growing. So much so, that he felt little hesitation asking the enormous favor of requesting that I mind Kesey while he left for a few weeks on the road.

Since we had pretty much figured out that it was the upheavel of life on the road that brought on most of Kesey's stress attacks, I realized that I had unwittingly set myself up for being his 'sitter', since other than Colin, I seemed to be the only other one he ever relaxed around. Colin started kiddingly referring to me as 'Auntie Olive' when he'd talk with Kesey, and very quickly the humor evaporated and I simply was 'aunt Olive'. It made me smile inside every time he said it.

Kesey was a real sweetheart and soon my housemates were laughingly referring to him as my 'nephew'... I kind of got the feeling that he was aware of this and seemed to like it. He was the perfect houseguest, well mannered and easygoing. I was not the only one to observe that he was much better behaved than many of my human housemates.

When Colin was on the road and Kesey stayed with 'Aunt Olive' he would lay across the bed at my feet.... unless he was pining for Colin, when he'd plop his head across my chest below the ribcage, and seemed to find comfort in my slow rhythmic breathing. It also made it easy for me to scratch him behind the ear, which he seemed to really love.

When Colin was off the road, busking around town, I didn't see that much less of Kesey. He and Colin were always around, asking if I wanted to go to the park and toss a frisbee, or go to the beach or something. I tried, as tactfully as I could, to explain to Colin that those of us in the boring old non-artistic world had these things called 'working hours' where people were expected to stay in a place for a fixed time. I teasingly suggested that he should find a rich heiress girlfriend like Patty Hearst who could hang out with him in the middle of the day. His face fell. He just looked at me and said. “I'm happy like this.”

I felt something shift, but needed to reflect more on what just happened.

So, life went on that way for a while. Kesey staying with me while Colin was on the road, and with Colin when he was in town. Colin laughingly called it our 'custody arrangement'.

There was a small break from the routine when Colin's van broke a tie-rod and he asked if he could crash with us for a few days. Until then, it had never occurred to me that Colin had been living in his van.

While this really troubled me once I realized it, I bit my tongue. I felt I needed to have something constructive to say. In so many ways he was just a big, charming child. I looked at my friends and busmates and realized that we all were, in our own way. But there was something special about Colin that I couldn't put my finger on. Starving artist was bad enough. Vagabond minstrel was way beyond. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I knew to my core, that I had to help this 'lost boy' put down some roots.

Meanwhile, the other pieces of my life were avalanching merrily along as well. And two areas were on a collision course.

Dr O'Brien took me aside during one of my 'lab rabbit' visits. She said there was good news and '...other news'.

I thought her good news was that they were done with their research and the other news was that I would be free to go back to my life. Yet I already had figured out by paying much more attention to their medical jargon than they suspected I'd picked up, that without the continuous hormone routine, I'd quickly experience 'early onset menopause'. That thought shook me into a near panic. And that brought Dr Kendrick - who I secretly nicknamed 'doctor quick-prick' - to rapidly jab me with a sedative.

While I scowled at him for his now notorious needle reflex, the shot did help me calm down long enough for them to explain that my results were so intriguing that Drs Kendrick and Lantigua had managed to get a major research grant to study me, and Dr O'Brien as their research partner could parlay her role in the research into major academic currency toward her advanced degree.

“OK. I presume that is the good news.” I said with obvious relief. “What's the …. 'other' news?”

Dr O'Brien made a face while her two male colleagues just looked at her. They were making her do whatever dirty-work was coming.

“Well.... the grant and research involve a LOT of bureaucracy.”

I nodded. That came as no surprise.

“...a LOT... of paperwork....” she locked her eyes to mine.

I nodded again. “I guess that's to be expected....” I returned her gaze. Her face was making this increasingly pleading expression. I knew she was urging me to 'get something' but I was still lost. I saw her eyes dart to her two older colleagues, then bore back into mine.

“A LOT of ….documentation....”

“Oh.”

I immediately saw in her eyes that she knew I got it. And I immediately knew how much of my story she hadn't shared with her team.

OK. Time to talk all around the thing none of us wanted to talk about directly. This could be tricky.

“...you mean like social security numbers and stuff like that....” I said meekly to her.

“Yes. ….like that...” she replied solemnly.

I looked up at her two colleagues and let out a weak smile. “I don't ...um... actually have one...”

They just glared back at me.

“How the hell can you not have one?” Doctor Kendrick shouted... a little louder and more emotionally than I think he even intended.

I shrugged.

“I thought you waitressed?” Dr Lantigua asked.

I shrugged again. “Sometimes it's easier to just do the work and take the cash.” I quietly replied.

“So our research subject is working under the table...” Dr Kendrick gave me that germ under the microscope glare. Then he really stared at me. “Oh, Christ. Are you even an American?”

THAT gave me an idea. I looked up at him with indignation burning in my eyes and declared resolutely “....a hell of a lot more American than YOU... my mom was still living on the reservation when she found out she was going to have me.” And I bored my eyes into him ...daring him to say something glib or condescending. He glared back. I could see his mind going through every possible obnoxious reply. And I saw him concede to himself that he had no snappy comeback. He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes.

“Actually, that does explain a lot of what we're seeing in our test results” Dr O'Brien said enthusiasticly to Dr Lantigua. I got the distinct impression their badly behaved colleague was being ignored and given a 'time out'. I suppressed my smile.

I was not sure if Doctor O'Brien was just trying to distract them, but it worked. Doctor Lantigua excitedly talked about getting census studies and other data on indigenous populations and the conversation was barreling along in another direction.

“You're through for the day Olive” Dr O'Brien smiled while Doctor Lantigua hurried to the teletype in the corner and started requesting census data.

Meanwhile, I noticed, Doctor Kendrick just sulked at his desk.

“Give me a call when you can and we'll get together to sort out all the paperwork.” she winked.

“Thanks!” I smiled and waved airily as I gathered my things. Hoping no one sensed how truly rattled I actually was.

The one smile I didn't have to fake was for Doctor Kendrick. 'So long, doctor quick-prick' I thought as I breezed past him and out the door.

I spent the rest of the day stressing over my lack of ….documentation.

I would rather go through life with no documentation than saddled with Joe Jr's birth certificate and history.

I also suddenly realized ….I'm technically a minor with no legal guardian.... which makes me a prime target for the 'social welfare' system. The MAN... in all his infinite benevolence... would strip me of my freedom and put me under the control of foster-strangers simply because I haven't had the official number of birthdays. ….and once I DO have the official number of birthdays, the MAN will remove me from foster care and take direct control... shipping my body and soul to southeast asia to do his killing for him.

I HAD to deal with the 'documentation dilemma' sooner than later.

I got to work about a half hour early as usual. Got the usual wide smile from Buck the Bouncer ...okay, he was officially Buck the doorman, but we all called him Buck the Bouncer ...or Bouncer Buck... because that was his real talent and job. And without saying a word, I started helping Manny the barback set up for the night.

It was a good crowd for a Tuesday. The band wasn't bad, but I didn't think I'd see them on American Bandstand anytime soon. They called themselves “Cerulean Enigma” and I got the impression that they wanted to be Pink Floyd, only commercial. 'As if Pink Floyd could somehow get on the radio or the billboard charts', I chuckled to myself at the thought of a record promoter trying to talk Kasey Kasem or Dave Hull into playing 'Careful with that axe, Eugene' or 'Mademoiselle Nobs'.

Well, what these guys lacked in musical originality, they made up for in presentation. Whoever was doing their lightshow was fantastic. I think most of our crowd had dropped acid before they came and were just nursing drinks until it kicked in. I was sure the light show guy was going to hit it big, and eventually end up with a band that was going places. Maybe Lothar and the Hand People, or Major Domos Obsidian Express....

It was a good night. Not an outstanding night, like the time a drunken Jim Morrison crashed the stage and ended up jamming with this Doors cover band, the Reptile Royals. Not an outstandingly bad night like when Jack Stryker of the Reigndevils OD'd right in the middle of the show. No, this was a good night. Nothing to tell friends about, and nothing to make you want to take a scalding hot shower when you got home. The mood was mellow.

While Manny was closing up the bar, I wandered over to him.

“You like your job?”

“Sure. What's not to like?”

“Yeah. Me too. I don't even mind being paid under the table...”

He nodded. I went on.

“What with taxes and social security and stuff.... even at the minimum on the books, I'd go home with less....”

He nodded and looked at me, patiently waiting for me to get to my point.

“Still, I don't see myself doing this forever......”

Another nod and a slight smile.

“And there's gonna come a time when I'm gonna have to show someone a social security card...”

Nod.

“But to get that... you need lots of other paper work.....”

“Yeah... it sucks.”

“Yeah....” I wasn't sure he was going to bite, but even if he didn't, I was sure he wouldn't narc me out.

“There are guys who know guys who know ways....”

“...wish I knew one of them...”

“Yeah... they're not cheap....”

“Well, they wouldn't be.... not if they do things right.... they would have to know people... in places.... and that all costs money....”

Manny just nodded. “Yeah.”

“Funny thing is I should have my own papers.... but mom left home when she found she was going to have me... and I don't know if she gave birth in a box or behind a stove...” I tried to plant the idea of a feral cat having a litter.

Many just nodded. “Super sucks girl. Now you're officially nobody.”

I nodded and sighed. “...yeah....”

“I can't even ask anyone on the reservation where my Mom grew up”

“You were born on an Indian Reservation?”

I smiled. Little nibbles. “My memory's not as good as you think. I couldn't tell you. All I know is that's where my mom found out she was pregnant. I just remember being a kid growing up in a trailer park in Junction City Kansas. I do know my folks moved there after I was born.”

“Why don't you just ask your folks?”

“Well, Dad was lost in 'Nam and Mom split with the trailer by the time I got home from school.”

“She split while you were at school???” His jaw dropped.

I laughed ruefully. “No. It wasn't like I got off the schoolbus and found an empty space.... They sent me away to boarding school when Dad shipped out, so Mom wouldn't have to deal with me.”

“Boarding school. Damn. I don't see you as raise-hell-girl.” he smiled.

I smiled back sadly. “No.... that would've been Mom”

“And you have no birth certificate or drivers license or nothing?”

“Not even a library card.” I tried to smile.

“Damn. Must be records somewhere.”

“That's what I thought, but I found nothing anywhere. That's why I think she must have had me like some kind of stray. I don't even know if I was born in a hospital. If I was, I never found it... and it's not like I haven't been looking.”

“What about that ….boarding school?”

“I think the only paperwork they're interested in is the back tuition bills.”

Manny nodded and scowled. “Sounds like you'd be better off just starting from scratch.”

I nodded solemnly. I think I was reeling him in.

“A birth certificate from that ...reservation... probably would be kinda hard to doublecheck...”

“Someone would have to be pretty determined” I nodded. “And it's not like I'm some wanted criminal....” I smiled.

“...or an escaped heiress off on a fling” he smiled.

That actually made me laugh. “...I WISH!...”

“So you need a birth certificate from the reservation or tribal council or whatever....”

I nodded. “With that I could get a social security card... and a drivers license....”

“...AND a library card.” he laughed.

I suddenly felt better about my prospects.

It took a few weeks... and a lot of double shifts... and Colin, who offered his van to roadie for other bands to help me raise the money. My housemates even had a 'rent party' where everyone paid a cover so they could make their rent, but it really was for me. I was really touched, and really freaked, since I could have bought a brand new Karmann Ghia with this money... and I still wasn't sure that it wouldn't all go wrong before I got my 'papers'.

But somebody out there likes me, because a guy knew a guy who knew 'people'.... I figured it was someone with a printing press and a real talent... because I got a very official looking birth certificate stating that Olivia Bracco was born to Nadine Bracco on March 22nd 1951. I didn't want to change my actual birthday, but I wanted to be able to work, and stay out of the childcare system... so I made myself two years older. Frank Lightfeather was listed as the father – not spouse. I didn't mind being the illegitimate daughter of an unwed mother. In fact, I thought 'Love Child' sounded like a totally hippie thing to be.... who would want to be an 'obligation child' or an 'indifference child' ...or, oh no... a 'guilt child'! I was totally cool with being a child of love... and I guess the Man was too... because I got my social security card and the clerk at the counter barely even looked at me.

So now I could start paying taxes... and get called for jury duty... and... man... being an upstanding citizen was turning out to be a total bummer!

Well, not a total bummer.

When I handed my birth certificate to Doctor O'Brien, she examined it, smiled at me and said 'very good!'. I'm still not sure if she was commenting on the certificate itself or just that we could now wrap up the paperwork and move on with her research. I think that's exactly the way she wanted it.

I continued to work under the table at the club. The last thing I wanted to do was get Manny in trouble by handing the boss my social security card and expecting minimum wage and taxes withheld. But having a social security card, and once I was able to talk Colin into letting me use his van for the road test, my drivers license, I knew that my next job would be a real job... like at a bank or an insurance agency.

I wasn't expecting that my first 'real' tax-paying job would be as a projectionist at a foreign movie house.

Really, I was supposed to work the ticket booth, but once the tickets were sold and the film began, I'd go up to the projection booth and hang out with Max. I think he still thought he had a chance with me, and I still thought he was weird.... but harmless, and once you learned how to take him, he could be funny and interesting. He knew a lot about stuff no one seemed to care about. He could go on about Bergman and Sergei Eisentsein and the French New Wave... one night we were showing Goddard's Alphaville and he made me watch it while he 'deconstructed it' then let me go down into the theater and watch it myself ...with my eyes opened by all the ideas he had put there. He really should be back at college, taking film and philosophy classes. Heck, he should be teaching film classes... I liked having him around, and I was eternally grateful that he let me on the bus way back when... but he seemed to be wasting his time and talents. I wondered when he was finally going to move on.

A mere two weeks later, it turned out. Somehow selective service tracked him down and he got a letter that since his student deferment was no longer valid, he was to report for processing in 14 days.

“Processing... they call it.... you ever read Upton Sinclair? “The Jungle”? That's the kind of processing I'm talking about. We're all just sides of beef on meathooks, lined up to be processed by the war machine!” he railed.

When Harold the manager came to me in my ticket booth and asked me if I had seen Max today – he knew we were housemates – I saw the panic in his eyes, and just knew what happened.

Max split. He was probably halfway to Canada by now. And Harold had a theater full of people and no projectionist.

I had spent enough time with Max in the booth and paid attention. I was curious about what he did, and he was proud to talk about it, explaining that it only looked easy because he was so good at his job.

He wasn't that good. And the job wasn't that hard if you paid attention and thought ahead. Sure there were little panic moments like film breaks and gate jams, but I noticed that if you let the film run loosely between your fingers as you rewound the reels, you could often feel the damaged sprocket holes and apply an ounce of prevention before it broke in the projector. As for jammed film gates, let's just say that, like so many boys, Max wasn't so diligent at keeping things clean.

Once I bailed out Harold and got through the evenings three showings, he offered me Max's job – if Max never came back. Then he said if Max ever did come back, he'd fire him anyway. So I guess either way I got the job. And, due to the little things I already mentioned, showings started going a lot smoother.

So my life quickly settled into three main parts. Lab rabbit with Dr O'Brien and the 'mad scientists' as I fondly nicknamed her colleagues. Working girl... waitressing at Quay's, and projectionist at The Lightbox. And my volunteer work at the shelter. And in my spare time, being 'Aunt Olive', and hanging out with Kesey and Colin.

When Max lit out for Canada, I mentioned to Colin that we were looking for a new housemate, and told him what his split of the rent would be.

“You want me to move in with you?” he smiled.

“Well, it's not moving in with me... Actually, it's Max's old room.... and there are others... have you met Saffron or Delila?”

He shook his head and smiled. “So, it's a house full of chicks... like some kind of harem?”

“Dream on, Don Knotts. It's no harem and you're no love god.” I laughed. “God, maybe you're too much like Max! And you won't be the only 'cock on the block' Chill is Delila's old man, and he practically lives there.”

“You mean he sleeps over?”

I nodded and smiled. “A lot. But I don't think there's much sleeping. Why? Are you a light sleeper?”

“No!” I can't believe you! He glared at me.

I squinted and pulled my head back like a pigeon. What the hell was he getting uptight about?

“I can't believe you'd expose your nephew to all this hippie decadence!”

I exploded with laughter as Colin tried to keep up his disapproving glower and Kesey just cocked his head, seeming perplexed.

“OK. Maybe Chill isn't the best male role model...” I laughed “That's why he needs to spend more time with his dad..... it would be so much more convenient if he were as close as the next room....”

He rubbed his chin. “...and your housemates would be ok with this?”

“Oh. I think you're pre-approved.”

He returned my warm smile.

“Oh, no... I have nothing to do with it....” I held up my hands. “....but any friend of Kesey....”

He grinned. “Sounds tempting....” and he leaned back against his van. “still, I've been at my old place since I moved out here, and I'm kind of tight with the landlord....”

I tapped the side of his van. “I know it will be tough to leave such luxury... but do it for Kesey... he needs his dad.” I smiled. “Anyway, if you don't take it, they may end up renting it to some square who works in an office or something.”

“....OK. I'm in.” he grinned. “...but I'm only doing it because our little one needs a mom AND dad.”

“Hey, wait a minute! I thought I was the cool aunt? I get to do the fun things with him. I'm not ready to be a mother!” I kidded ...and died just a little inside when I thought to myself 'I never will be'.

“Hey. Whoa. ….earth to auntie Olive.... can you hear me major Tom?....” Colin waved his hands in front of my face.

“Oh. Sorry. Just lost in thought there for a moment. I'm back now.” I smiled weakly.

“Second thoughts? Is me moving in a problem?”

“Oh. No. God no.”

“...because for a moment you looked all...”

“Oh. Nothing to do with you. No, you moving into Max's old room is totally cool. Everyone likes you....”

“Everyone?” Colin shot me a look.

“OK. Max doesn't like any guys. I think he's really insecure and gets all threatened around other guys.

This really seemed to tickle Colin.

“Really?... I threaten Max's ...what?... his masculinity? His....” he was groping for words

“Rooster-ness?” I smiled. “OK. Not a word.... but I think it's the best description...."

Colin smiled. “Works for me..... So, I threatened Max's....studliness?” he flashed a goofy grin.

“Oh, god... that's worse than roosterness!” I laughed.

“Yeah. But I've actually heard people say 'studliness' ...so it is a word.” he leered.

I shook my head vigorously “Please don't ever say that word again, or I'll have to cut my ears off.”

Colin just laughed. “OK. OK. ….so, Max didn't like me because I'm all....” and he pursed his lips and pouted like Mick Jagger and did Mick's little strut-walk, just ...taunting me....

“Argh! OK. OK!” I laughed “...even ..worse!...: and I covered my eyes.

Colin let out a hearty laugh

So it was done. We had a new housemate, Kesey had a permanent pad, and I started seeing a lot more of Colin.

While I enjoyed seeing a lot more of my new housemate, I also began to worry.

“Shouldn't you be out ...I dunno.... busking or something?" I asked while I cut up some fruit for breakfast.

He just grinned. “What are you, the house mother or something? It's cool. Rent's covered.”

“I didn't mean it like that. Just.... you're a musician.... shouldn't you be... I don't know.... off making music or something?” I smiled.

“Mo-ther!” he mocked, mimicking a petulant teenaged girl. ….disturbingly well. It startled me a bit. And I could tell from his wide eyes and stricken expression that it rattled him too. Maybe even more so. He seemed so freaked, I dropped it instantly and put on my best June Cleaver.

“Don't give me any lip young man.” I chided smiling. I really should have said 'young lady' after his outburst, but I knew that would only freak him more. So I quickly changed the subject.

“Toast?” I said, offering him my already buttered slices.

He shook his head, but remained ...aggressively... mute. He just stood up, went to his room, grabbed his guitar and headed for the door. He slapped his hand against his thigh and Kesey jumped up to follow him out.

“Be home in time for dinner dear!” I shouted, keeping up the mock Donna Reed act. I didn't know what else to do at this supremely weird moment, so I kept up the silly sitcom banter. Colin just nodded and, back to me, waved as he and Kesey headed out the door.

'What just happened?' I asked myself. And after turning it over and over in my head, was forced to conclude 'I have NO idea.' So, not because I was remotely satisfied but because I reached a dead end, I dropped it. Not before thinking 'You're usually so GOOD at reading people. Why not Colin?' I sighed and halfheartedly attacked my morning fruit cup.

It did occur to me that I had no idea exactly what kind of musician Colin was. I mean, I knew he played guitar, and he mentioned that he wrote. But he also mentioned that people wouldn't throw money in his guitar case for songs they didn't know, so he just did covers when busking, and only did his own stuff when he was out on the road with his band. Only right now, he didn't have a band. But I already knew he was still writing. He had a notepad with him all the time. I kidded that he was always jotting down his poetry, but he didn't take offense.

“As soon as I put music to this, it's not poetry... they're lyrics” He grinned.

Still, I had no idea what he did, but I was getting really really curious to find out.

One morning I had free from the shelter, I ...followed him.

He spread out his blanket, laid down his case and lovingly removed his guitar. Kesey lazily sprawled next to the open case, and he quickly tuned and once the first passersby began to approach, he launched into 'Sunny Goodge Street'.

I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't Donovan.

Still, he was really really good. He did some Leonard Cohen, a CSNY thing.... I think it was a Graham Nash one.. very mellow and melodic... he even did an amazing cover of a Buffy St Marie tune.... somehow infusing it with ...masculine energy... without depleting or tarnishing its inherently feminine poignancy. I have no idea how he did it, and I could tell, this was not his music... the stuff he really wanted to be performing. But like a sprout eating earthchild who took a wage-slave job at Jack In The Box, he diligently gave the people what they seemed to want. His guitar case accumulated a respectable amount of cash. He was right about there being no worry about him paying his part of the rent. And even though I found him to be quite the enigma, one thing was absolutely clear. This was not the music he wanted to be making... no matter how good he was at it.

What he really wanted to do was far more ….primal.... It wasn't angry exactly, like 'Revolting Proles' or 'Watts is Burning'.... it was ….energetic and frustrated.... like Eddie Cochrane's Summertime Blues, but with the frenetic zeal of Little Richard and the raw simplicity of Sam The Sham and the Pharoes' 'Wooly Bully', Question Mark and the Mysterian's '96 Tears' or the Standell's 'Dirty Water'.... something any kid who picked up a guitar for the first time could bang out in an afternoon of practicing, but with a raw energy and power, that stuck in your mind like a splinter, an itch that would never be completely scratched away and lyrics that seared like the edgiest Janis Ian or Phil Ochs song.. Years later people would call it Punk... or Garage Rock... but Colin just called it 'his music'. His band, 'Modern Mayhem' pretty much consisted of all of his friends who were between better paying gigs. The music was easy to learn, fun to play, and a satisfying way to let off steam. About the only thing is wasn't... was profitable.

They had a following. Only it was mostly just other musicians, who were not exactly the most ...lucrative... audience. Which is why Colin busked as 'sensitive folky art-boy' to pay the rent. And he picked up gigs as a sideman when friends played in town. He had an impressive list of friends, but he never bragged. They all knew each other from the days when they were all struggling to 'make it', though many of his old friends actually did... finding themselves on the cutting edge of progressive rock, or the nascent glam-rock scene, even rock bands that borrowed liberally from old music hall and burlesque acts but with a twitchy rock-edge. He was loved and respected by his fellow musicians, but the public never really noticed him, no matter how many of his famous friends let him share their limelight. Where he really shone was at the after-gig jams. A bunch of guys from bands playing in town would show up at an after hours club or someones room at the Hyatt House and the jam would commence. None of the kids crowding the clubs around town had any idea that the best show in town was after hours behind closed doors, when the rock stars passing through town would get together to entertain, show off for, and challenge each other. Colin was a fixture at these get togethers, and I've heard from many people over the years, that he was always the one who challenged the others to up their game. He would push them, provoke them, embarrass and inspire them, but when he was through, everyone he jammed with was stunned and delighted to find that they were a better player, a more versatile artist, and more aware of the unique skills each of them possessed. More than one person told me that they believed Colin was a muse. His true talent was opening others to possibilities and showing them how to achieve what they never even imagined. He inspired countless friends to greatness and success. But it seems part of his gift/curse was that success and recognition always eluded him. Except in the eyes of the peers he inspired. And they were a pretty large following come to think of it.

Still, he used to claim that there was a line between art and commerce. He needed a roof over his head and food on the table to make his art. So for his commitment to the ripped denim of his own music, he put on the fine lace and crushed velvet of the fey poets for the coin-tossing crowds. He had little conflict about it, and often joked how it still beat working as a gardener or janitor since he could still play his guitar while working.

We settled into a nice routine for a while. Colin easily covered his rent and food and even squirreled a little away each week for his 'road fund'. He was itching to get back out and play his music anyplace that would have him. I was working at the Lightbox, and when I finished up there, I was waitressing at Quay's until closing, then up early to the shelter and back to the Lightbox to set up for the first matinee. Lather, rinse repeat. The only break from this pattern were my visits with Doctor O'Brien and the mad scientists.

Things were settling into a groove. ...or actually a set of parallel grooves. Life was kind of mellow and comfortably predictable. Until finally Colin saved up enough and he and Kesey set back out on the road.

And I found myself in jail.

The lightbox was having a European New Wave series, running many of the classics of the French avant garde as well as edgy films from Germany, Italy, Finland and Scandinavia. It was during a showing of Vilgot Sjöman's I am Curious (Blue), that we got raided.

Apparently some gung-ho vice squad detective heard we were running 'that Swedish porno' and rounded up a squad to nab the perverts and pornographers ….and to confiscate the film for their own private screening. I imagine they were confused and disappointed to find a challenging Swedish art film and not the blonde bimbo porno they were expecting. Even if they HAD confiscated the much more well known and controversial I am Curious (Yellow), instead of the obscure and overlooked (Blue) which we were screening, they would have been just as perplexed and annoyed that it was an art film that challenged conventional narrative structure, but wasn't really that lewd or titillating.

Still, I found myself fingerprinted, mugshot, and placed in the cooler with the other 'enemies of society'.... which consisted mostly of drunken and combative women and weary, beleaguered 'ladies of the evening'.

I chose to hang out with the hookers. They were much better company than the gang of angry women looking for a fight.

“Hey darlin' what are you in for? You're not shitface and pissed off, and you sure as hell aren't one of us!” The stocky 50ish woman cackled, letting out an alarming smoker's cough.

I shrugged. “Public exhibition and possession of pornography.

“Get OUT!” Another one laughed. “YOU? Pornography? No!....”

I shrugged. “Yeah. That's what I thought too. It's just an art film from Sweden. There's nothing pornographic about it. But detective MacMillan found a judge who agreed with him and issued a warrant for the vice raid.”

“And let me guess, the Johns all walked free with a boys-will-be-boys wink.” another girl spat.

I shrugged. “Well, they weren't ...'johns' exactly... they were the audience.”

“Customers. Clients. The ones who paid.” shrugged another.

“OK. Yeah. I get that. The ones who paid. Yeah. I don't really know. I heard the commotion down in the theater, but I was busy having the door of my projection booth kicked in and trying to get the guys to not damage the projector while they tried to rip the film from it.” I shuddered. “Of course I was handcuffed and pinned to a wall with an arm to my neck. Everytime I tried to tell them how to stop the projector and safely remove the film, they'd slam my head to the wall and scream at me to 'shut the fuck up'....”

“Yeah.” shrugged a pretty young woman with a large welt on her cheek. “”That's what they do.”

“I have no idea how much damage they did to the projector.....” I muttered to myself.

An older, tougher looking woman snorted. “Yeah. Fucking bulls in a china shop.” Then she barked a phlegmy laugh and leered at me. She grabbed my wrist and looked at my ink stained fingertips. “Well, your cherry's truly popped now. Welcome to the bad girls club hon!” She dropped my wrist and walked away, shaking her head and laughing bitterly.

The novelty of the new girl wore off and the working girls kind of ignored me and resumed talking among themselves. The drunk and angry group across the cell kept glaring at us. They were itching for a fight and I didn't want to get anywhere near them. I scanned the large holding cell for a place to be ignored and noticed a single small figure huddled in a far corner, trying to be invisible.

She stared at me warily as I walked over, all the time trying to not make eye contact or even acknowledge my approach. It was an interesting effect. I made no attempt to hide that I was studying her as I got nearer. I hoped I was expressing curiosity but no threat as I went and sat next to her. Still, I could tell she was on full alert and her fight or flight instincts were fully charged and on a hair trigger. I suppressed a jaded smile as I realized that there was nowhere to flee and she did not want to start a fight in this crowd. I smiled as benignly as I could, sliding down beside her.

“Wow. THIS is all kinda overwhelming.” I chuckled. She continued eyeing me warily, trembling like a wet chihuahua.

“Never.... ever.... expected to find myself here.....” I muttered, shaking my head and trying for an ironic smile.

She just kept eyeing me in that sideways glance looking-but-not-looking way of hers. She didn't even acknowledge my presence, but I was certain that I was the only thing in this whole boisterous cell she was paying any attention to.

I shook my head and said quietly, as if to myself. “Funny how life turns out. Sure didn't see THIS coming....”

She made a sound. It might have been a reflexive snort that was quickly stifled. She quickly put her head down and stared intensely at her feet.

I looked at the two crowds of women clustered on opposite sides of the cell. “I feel like I accidentally crashed a private club where I'm definitely not wanted, but I can't get out.”

Again I heard a sound. This time I think it was a stifled bitter laugh. I turned my head to look directly at her and slowly she raised her eyes to meet mine.

“I'm guessing you're not a regular either.” I smiled. Her face did something. I think it was a battle between jaded humor and not wanting to betray any expression.

“You a first timer too?” I smiled slightly.

She nodded .

“Kinda overwhelming.”

She nodded slightly.

I discreetly crooked a thumb over in the direction of the two groups. “And it's not like the regulars make newbies feel welcome.”

That actually did elicit a tiny laugh, which she made no effort to stifle.

I gave her a genuine smile. “Olive.” and I extended my hand, then looked again at my inky fingers and withdrew my offered hand with a slight scowl. That brought a slight smile as the girl held up her ink stained hand to me and gave a slight wave.

“Priya.”

“That's a lovely name!” I whispered. When she said it... it just ….rang.... “And it so suits you!”

She blushed and finally let out a genuine, unguarded smile. She nodded her head in a slight thank you, and finally looked at me directly, but still quite sheepishly.

“...actually, it means 'Beloved'....”

“It's perfect. Whatever it's means, Priya is perfect. It's ...you...” I smiled and held her gaze. I did not know I was going to do any of this and was probably much more surprised than she was, but the ….cosmic rightness of that name, for this....soul... it just kind of swept over me, and I got kind of ...forceful... at not letting her change or embellish it.

She smiled and blushed and lowered her head shyly. “I kind of like Priya too.” she smiled quietly.

“Of course you do.” I returned her smile. “It's who you are. The moment you said it, I knew it.” I screwed up my mouth and said under my breath “...I've learned to trust my instincts on these sorts of things.”

She just gave me the warmest smile. The wariness in her eyes was gone, and they sparkled.

“So, what are you in here for?” I said innocently, just trying to make conversation. ...And sent her back into her protective cocoon.

She tensed up, drew herself into an even tighter fetal position, wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. Quietly muttering “Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod....” She was having a major freakout and I had to stop her before she drew the attention of the room and made things worse for herself.

Without giving it a thought, I reached over and clutched her to my chest. Gently stroking her hair and rubbing her back, whispering gentle shushhing sounds in her ear. I have no idea why I did that, but it seemed like the only thing that could possibly derail this freakout express. I wasn't sure even that would work, but eventually to my relief it did. She slowly regained her composure, and I could feel the tension drain from her body ever so slightly. I could tell from her eyes she was still panicked, but trying to hold it together, knowing that surrendering to it would only make things much worse.

“OK. I'll go first....” I said, trying to distract her. “Hi. I'm Olive...” I said again. “...public pornographer.” I broke a half smile/half scowl.

That worked. Her eyes went wide and she uncurled from her tight ball. She stared at me incredulously. “....No!!??”

I nodded sadly. “Apparently. Didn't think that was on my what I want to be when I grow up list.... but according to the fine upstanding defenders of virtue in the vice squad, I'm leading young America astray like Eve with the apple. ….and all this time, I thought I was just a humble projectionist.”

She shot me a look.

“...at the Lightbox...”

“....Off Sunset!” she exclaimed. THAT surprised me. We weren't that well known. ..I thought.

I nodded.

“But all they show is art films.... Goddard and Truffaut and Fassbinder and Pennebaker and student films and Maysle brothers and....” Suddenly she gasped. “Warhol! They raided you for Warhol?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Wow! You must go there a lot!”

She shook her head slightly. “Never. Kind of out of my budget. But I've been by it enough, and I always check out the marquee.”

“Are you a film student?” I asked innocently.

Oops. Her face puckered and I sensed another panic attack coming on. I quickly changed the subject.

“No. It wasn't Warhol.” I laughed. “You'd think, right?”

She smiled back at me. Panic attack averted,

“It was the Swedes actually. Vilgot Sjöman.”

“I Am Curious Yellow?!?” she gasped.

“Wow. No. Not even that. It was Blue”

“But it was YELLOW that got banned in Boston. And even THAT got overturned! Why did they raid you for BLUE? What were they thinking?” she was getting up a head of steam. I couldn't help but laugh.

“Oh my God. What makes you think they were thinking?” I laughed.

She grinned. “Yeah.... what was I thinking?”

“You obviously know a lot more about this subject than LA's finest. Do you want to defend me in court?”

Damn. Again I touched a nerve. She winced and got tense, then I guess she decided something because she let out a burst of air and a small laugh that was packed with bitterness.

“God. My parents would just love that. Finally the golden child follows the plan.....”

Oh. So that's the nerve I touched.

Priya just looked at me for a long moment. Obviously she was weighing stuff in her head. Finally she made up her mind, I could see it on her face. She sighed.

“Gotta trust someone.....” She looked at me again. Waiting for a reaction? I just patiently waited, regarding her as placidly as I could.

“Trust.” She said quietly. I think, to herself. She swallowed hard. “Really couldn't get much worse.” she muttered. Then gasped raggedly. Obviously, it could. She gave me another long hard appraising look, then plunged in.

“I'm a runaway.”

I shrugged. That was obviously the revelation she was agonizing over.

“I was an exchange student at Stanford. Stanford law”

I nodded. That's why I touched the nerve joking about her defending me.

“My parents......” she drew a long breath, rethinking her opening line. “....as long as I.....” clearly another consideration. All I could do was be patient, let her regroup and try not to scare her off. I sat placidly, waiting for her to begin again.

“The plan all along......” heavy sigh “I was the first born. And as such, had certain ….responsibilities.... It's how my family does things.... DID things.... for more generations than anyone can count. So.... My life was never really my own..... We were..... kind of powerful..... not exactly the Kennedys or the Rockefellers..... but not far off. There were expectations. Not of ME as a person... but as the firstborn.... I was expected to 'fill the position'.... and had been groomed for it all of my life. At first I never questioned it... it was just the way things were. They way they had always been. But as I grew... and became.... myself.... it became clearer and clearer that it was a really really really bad fit. If I had died as a child... an accident or something... it would all fall to the second born.... kind of like when JFK's older brother died in the war....”

I nodded. Interesting that she said they weren't like the Kennedys but used the Kennedys as analogies.

“I thought about suicide. ….actually I thought about it a lot.... and often.... but I didn't really want to kill myself.... I just wanted out. So I decided to bide my time and keep searching for better solutions. Maybe I'm just a coward....” she barked a bitter laugh. “Well, I kept following the plan.... which included being groomed for wealth and power in every way possible... and that included secondary schooling abroad.... a prestigious degree ….degrees actually.... to add additional gravitas. My parents wanted to send me to Harvard or Yale... but I held out for Stanford... one of the few times I stood up to them at all.. I was eager to get out of their immediate orbit, but I figured that if I got to travel abroad anyway, rather than be surrounded with Boston brahmins or New Haven nabobs, I'd prefer California and be surrounded with Haight hippies.” She smiled. “Obviously those were not the people going to Stanford, but it was still a lot closer to the flower children than New England. So I dutifully went off to school, and again fulfilled expectations..... only at every chance I got, I slipped away and became my true self.... explored my true self... and the more I discovered and accepted who I really am... the harder it was to go back to school and keep up the charade.” She sighed and got lost in thought for a moment. “Still, I DID it.... because it was expected of me.... and I'm a coward..... and I didn't know how I could actually make it ...work.... breaking away from my family and their support... their financial support... and being who I now knew I truly was.... I started thinking about suicide again because it seemed the only way out. I figured I could tough it out some more and keep searching for a better way, at least getting to actually live after class and on weekends.” She took a ragged breath. ” ….Then I got the call.”

I could tell how hard it was for her, so I gave her time.

Brushing away the beginning of tears, and with just the slightest quiver, she resumed.

“I was to return home immediately. Over spring break. It was time. I was to be married.”

I did NOT see THIS coming.

Priya drew in another ragged breath. “We hadn't seen each other since we were six. It didn't really matter anyway. Our parents had successfully completed the negotiations and it was a done deal. Like everything else in both our lives, it wasn't about US... it was about our positions.... so.... time to ….fulfill another obligation.....”

I reached out and touched her forearm. I had no idea people still did these things. Sure, in the middle ages, but in the 20th century?

She gave me a thankful smile and brushed away another tear. She seemed to read my thoughts.

“Where I'm from, it's still quite common.... but I just couldn't do it.... it was too much.... I had done everything expected of me so far.... but I couldn't do this.... because this time it wasn't just myself I was betraying....”

“....you couldn't do it to him....” I soothed. That brought a strange, guttural, anguished sound. Again, Priya turned to me with the most doleful expression I've ever beheld.

“....Her....” she choked out a laugh. In an instant, everything changed. And became crystal clear. I lunged forward and wrapped her in my arms in the tightest, most protective, consoling, ...accepting hug I could.

“Oh, sweetie....” was all I could manage as we rocked and she sobbed, burying her head into the crook of my neck.

When she finally pulled herself together and came up for air, she gave me the most awkward, shy, thankful smile.

“I certainly wasn't expecting THAT!” she gasped as she wiped her red swollen eyes.

“I think that makes two of us.” I joked. She barked an embarrassed laugh.
“.....but it explains....so much.....”

“Yes....” she continued to daub at her stinging eyes. “My birth name was Devendra Chakravati-Chankeer... my ancestors liked the way the British honored the merging of the bloodlines of powerful families with hyphenated surnames and eagerly adopted the affectation. I was supposed to lead the next generation of our family into our bold, bright future.... I couldn't see a way out of it, short of my demise.... so I kept telling myself I could 'tough it out' until a better solution presented itself. But then came the arranged marriage and I realized that I could be ruining two lives.... more if we were to have children... though I don't see how that could possibly happen.... I'm uh... I never really was a textbook.... um... I don't see how that could possibly happen...”

I nodded gently and whispered “I understand.”

“....SO.... now my little lie was about to ruin other lives... and I just couldn't ...permit that... I never had the courage to break free, and I will admit it was out of fear that I finally did. Not courage. And I had no plan. I just grabbed my things... my own things... and fled. I figured that they would start to search for me around San Francisco, so I fled south. I've been living on the streets since. It's not easy. …..I've had to do... things.....” her voice broke and she hung her head with a sob. I rubbed her arm and gave her a consoling hush trying to assuage her pain and guilt.

“You did what you had to do to survive... and you did survive.... see? You're not the coward you call yourself.... living... surviving... is the bravest, hardest thing to do.... and you did it.....”

“And here I am. Picked up for soliciting and thrown in the womens cell... and if they ever find out and throw me.... oh God!....” she was on the verge of a meltdown again. I had to talk her down.

“Shushhh.... Not gong to happen.... soon we'll be out of here and.....”

“You'll be out of here.... THEY'LL be out of here....” she pointed to the drunks and the streetwalkers. “Someone's coming for them. Someone's coming for you..... no one is coming for me. No one knows me. And if anyone finds out who I really AM.....” she let out a little moan of despair.

All I could do was rub her back and absorb her wracking sobs.

Eventually, as Priya predicted – someone came for each of us. Harold – who ran the Lightbox, came by with 'our lawyer' a glum, rumpled guy in an ill fitting suit named Sandy Goodman. Turns out he had a storefront just a few blocks from the theater and was the 'go-to guy' whenever one of the neighborhood regulars ran afoul of the law. I later found out that Sandy got into law with visions of being the next Ralph Nader, but one Ralph Nader was enough and making a living fighting for righteous causes wasn't the best way to become rich and famous. Still, he never sold out and managed to survive, mostly by bartering his services. I have no idea what the Lightbox offered him, but he was here and I was getting my bail posted and my court date set. I was 'sprung'.

Or I should have been.

But I refused to go until Harold and Sandy posted bail for Priya.

It didn't take too much arm twisting. Both guys were suckers for underdogs, and when I told them her story – with a few liberties and obfuscations – she was the queen of the underdogs. She got bail set at $250, which I promised Harold I would pay back, and she was unofficially remanded to my custody.

I knew she would probably jump bail, but her court date was far enough away, I figured we could figure out something by then. As we talked on the way back - Priya, me, my boss and our lawyer all riding back on the city bus – Priya confirmed what I pretty much figured out. She didn't 'live' anywhere. Suddenly Colin's van seemed like stately Wayne manor. All her worldly possessions were in a series of lockers at the bus station. She quickly learned that no one would question her when she'd walk into the showers at the athletic facilities at local colleges. She had managed to survive remarkably well with no home and no money, but that was no way to live. I offered to let her crash with me until she got on her feet. I think she was wary of the kindness of a total stranger, but I told her that I was raised to believe 'what goes around comes around' 'you reap what you sow' 'do unto others' and other similar versions of the same idea.

She smiled and nodded. “Ah. Karma.”

“Like the sports car?” I was confused.

“No. That's Karmann Ghia.” she giggled. It was such a relief to hear joy in her voice. “This is Karma – the spiritual principle that... well, essentially what you said.” she shrugged. “Only more so. Not just this life.”

“You mean like heaven? ...or hell?”

Her laugh was light and warm. “No. It's.... there are a lot of ways of looking at things that are very different to what you've been taught.”

I nodded. “Yes. No matter how well meaning our parents, the best they can give is a good start. In the end it's up to us to ask our own questions and find our own path.” I smiled and held her gaze.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“So, you'll have to tell me all about this Karma and all these things I didn't even know I don't know.” I grinned.

Priya smiled politely and seemed torn between cheerful smalltalk and hardcore navel gazing. I knew we would have plenty of time to talk at home. And something told me we each had a lot to offer the other.

I let her crash in Colin's room while he was on the road. I was sure he wouldn't mind once I had a chance to explain it to him. I told my other housemates that I 'took in a stray' and that was good enough for them. They had all done the same at one time or another.

Priya seemed in a bit of a daze to have a roof over her head and a soft bed to sleep in. I sensed a continued wariness that at any moment she expected to be asked for some sort of repayment for all this seeming good fortune. One afternoon as I was getting ready to go to work at the Lightbox, I asked her if she wanted to come to work with me. Her face did something and she quietly said “Of course.”

When we got there and I was hanging up my coat, she asked “What do you want me to do? I could sweep the theater ...or maybe clean the restrooms?”

I did a doubletake and realized that she thought I expected her to pay for her room and board. I scowled at her and made a dismissing 'pfffft' sound.

“GOD, Cinderella! I didn't bring you here to do chores! I just thought you'd like to hang out in the booth, see some films and maybe learn how to work the projector. I thought I was your friend. I never thought I was your boss!”

She blushed deeply and cast her eyes down to the floor. This girl needed some serious esteem building. She cracked a tiny smile and said quietly “Yes. I would like that very much.”

Priya became a regular fixture in my projection booth and we found lots of time to chat. She was very slow to warm up to people, but once she did, she was a delight. She knew a lot about world cinema, she had always been rather solitary as a child and movies were one of the few indulgences her family permitted her. She was quite knowledgable about film and filmmakers, cinematic influences, story derivation and cultural influences. I told her that she could easily teach cinema appreciation, but any mention of school brought her pain, so instead I suggested she should write film reviews for local underground papers. She was ambivalent about any public exposure, so I scaled it back even more and suggested that she should write film blurbs and summaries for the Lightbox's calendar flyer. Getting Harold on board was an easy sell, especially since Priya didn't want any compensation and felt she was paying back the kindness of Harold and I getting her out of jail.

The flyers may or may not have been appreciated by most patrons, but Harold got a few glowing comments from some hardcore regulars and soon he was consulting with Priya when he'd be negotiating for titles and putting together new film schedules. Little by little, she seemed to be regaining her self esteem. Or maybe gaining it, it's quite possible that self-esteem was an indulgence she had never been permitted as a child.

Priya proved invaluable in more ways than we – or she – would have dared imagine. In addition to being Harold's go-to film guru, she also spent more and more time with Sandy Goodman.

Initially it was just to go over the basics of her case and discuss her plea. Priya quickly made clear her dismay at the way Sandy ran his office. Sandy knew his only possible plea was 'guilty as charged'. Sandy was a mensch. A real saint. He'd give you the shirt off his back. But no one would want it because it was rumbled and slightly sweat stained and probably slept in for a few days. Sandy was a sweetheart, but he was a mess. And his office reflected his mind. Priya suddenly burst out of her shell and laid the law down to Sandy in a stern but caring way. She pretty much spent every waking hour at Sandy's office, creating a file system for his cases, setting up accounts payable and receivable, and getting very motherly – making sure he ate right, slept properly, adhered to at least a minimum personal hygiene regimen, and cleaned up his sartorial act – literally and figuratively. After a few weeks, Sandy was actually looking like a white collar professional... and acting less like an absent minded professor and more like the serious competent lawyer he actually was. Priya set up a feedback loop, and as things got less chaotic and more successful for Sandy, he was motivated to keep taking it to the next level, and the next. Eventually he actually started taking on clients who could pay and not just barter. His confidence in court led to a greater win ratio and before too long, opponents were clamoring to settle the moment they learned they would be facing off against him.

He was still a mensch. But now he was a confident, successful mensch instead of the disheveled well-intentioned public defender. And he had Priya to thank.

I don't think the irony was lost on her that her parents had sent her to Stanford to be a lawyer, and though she ultimately rebelled against their plan for her life, her sharp mind and affinity for law enabled her to be a real life changer for Sandy Goodman, for whom she grew a strong affection.

He repaid her by getting all the charges summarily dismissed and getting the court to move on without doing any investigations into her background or immigration status. He managed to insinuate that her case wasn't even worthy of their attention since she was a first offender and hadn't had any trouble since her initial run in with the vice squad. The court seemed to be glad to put this case behind them and move on to the mountain of other cases on their calendar.

Even though her case was tabled, Priya continued to work with Sandy, eventually becoming his unofficial partner and collaborator, even though he officially employed her as his administrative assistant. They really complimented each other. Sandy was finally making a decent income and was able to pay Priya enough to get a place of her own. I would still tell Colin that I let a girl crash in his room while he was on the road, but we avoided the awkward situation of him returning before she found a place of her own. I never got the sense that there was anything romantic between Sandy and Priya... he was probably 20 years her senior... but they made a good pair. Each filled in gaps in the others knowledge or personality and it was obvious to everyone who met them that they made a great team.

About a week and a half after Priya moved out, I woke up to loud clattering coming from Colin's room. I rushed to see what the hell was going on, only to find him noisily moving his gear back in from his van. Any irritation I had at being so rudely awakened evaporated immediately. I startled us both by running to him and wrapping him in a tight hug as my face nearly burst from the size of my smile. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him until that moment. My joy was unrestrained. His reaction was muted and anguished. It was instantly clear that something had changed.

“Ohmygod, It's so great to have you back! I didn't realize how much I missed you until just now!”

He wriggled uncomfortably in my tight hug.

“It seems like you've been gone forever! Wow, so much has happened since you left, I hardly know where to begin.... but we have all the time in the world to catch up... oh god, here I go just gabbing on and on and not giving you a chance to even get a word in... but it's just so GOOD to see you back, and I'm so excited! OK. I'll shut up now and let you tell me about your road trip. How did it go? How was the band? Did you play any great places? How were the crowds? Did you... oh, I'm still talking! Sorry. I'm just so... I'll let you... hey.... where's Kesey?...”

I saw the blood drain from his face and the look he gave me as he squeezed me for dear life.

Oh God.

He unpacked in silence. Occasionally glancing in my direction. I could not move. I wanted to know what happened and I was sure his own mind was churning trying to figure out what to tell me. And how. Unpacking and getting resettled in his room was a familiar task that he could perform almost by reflex while his mind wrangled with the issues.

Finally, Colin sighed, threw his denim jacket over his shoulder and walked past me out of the room. He opened the door of the apartment and turned his head back to me. I scrambled to grab my bag and followed him. We walked a few blocks to a small park, and he sat on a bench, staring at the ground.

I placed myself beside him in silence.

We must have sat there for five minutes. I was dying inside and the not knowing was eating at me, but I remained placid on the outside. I knew this was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. I had to give him time and space to tell me in his own way.

He broke his groundward gaze and turned to look at me. The anguish in his eyes almost made me lose it. He clasped his hands together tightly and pressed his forearms into his lap. He stared out at nothing in particular. But I could tell by his gaze, he wasn't here. He was wherever it was. Whenever it happened. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. It was as if he was talking quietly to himself.

“We were done...” he chuckled bitterly. “It was over. The triumphant road warriors returning home. …..I couldn't wait to get home..... to get back to.....” his eyes darted to me and quicky back into space as he shook himself slightly “...to everything.... just to get off the road....” he sighed and became lost in thought again. I waited. In agony. “I was impatient. We should have grabbed a room and slept. Hell, we could have even found a campground and crashed in the van.... but I just HAD to get home.....” He shook his head and stared off for a while more.

“It was, I don't know 11... maybe later... we were heading back west... miles from anywhere.... nothing but desert, and stars and sky that went on forever.”

I thought of driving through New Mexico and Arizona with my busmates so long ago and nodded in recognition.

“I think we saw maybe two cars in hours. Then way off in the distance I saw lights. I thought it was a car, but it seemed so far away. We just drove and drove, and it got a little nearer, but not much. It couldn't be a car......”

I don't know why but I reached out and grabbed his hand. He held it tight and I could feel him trembling.

“It WAS a car.... but it was on the side of the road. It wasn't moving, so it seemed like it took us forever to get to it. It was a station wagon. The lights were on and the door was open. Something was very weird.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“So we pulled over. I held Kesey back as I slipped out my door. I walked over to the car and started looking around, when I heard something coming from deep in the brush beside the road. So I yelled out 'Hello?' and I heard more sounds. No talking. Just scrambling and scruffling. I reached in the drivers door and turned off the lights. Then I killed the motor. As my eyes were adjusting to the pitch dark, I heard whimpering and rapid breathing coming from the darkness. I also heard something else. I didn't know what it was, but I was sure it wasn't human. My eyes were beginning to adjust and I could see two silhouettes in the starlight. It looked like a grownup and a child. 'Are you OK?' I yelled into the darkness. And finally a voice shouted back 'NO!' Immediately there was more scrambling sounds and I heard a child shriek. I ran to the van to get my flashlight and when I threw open the passenger side door, Kesey shot out like a rocket and tore into the woods howling like a hell-hound. I quickly grabbed my flashlight and ran back too, but by then all hell was breaking loose. Their were growls and shrieks and howls and sounds.... oh god... sounds I can't describe and as I was running toward them a woman and a child ran past me in terror. I could see in the faint starlight a whirlwind of activity and violence. I saw what looked like at least a half a dozen shapes maybe up to 10, but they were all moving so fast and kicking up so much dust and the sounds... oh God. I knew I was useless with my flashlight so I ran back to the van as fast as I could and grabbed my road flares. I was trying to strike them as I tore towards the chaos and fortunately got one going before I got there. I'd have been dead if I didn't but I wasn't thinking. I used it to light more and waved them into the frenzy. It startled the animals, and I could see in the harsh flare light that it was a pack of small coyotes. They stared at me with those ….eyes.... and the glow from the flare in them. I knew they wanted to rip me to shreds, but they were startled, so I lunged at one with the sizzling flare and it recoiled. After the first one flinched I could see the others were in retreat mode, so I kept lunging. One or two didn't seem ready to give up the fight so I hurled lit flares at them, and their yelps from the impact or the flame, pretty much convinced the others who took off back into the night. I just stood their dazed. Burning flare in my limp arm, my heart pounding and the sizzle of the flare and my own panting the only sounds in the night. Then I heard the other sound. The labored panting. And I started waving my flare around at ground level looking for Kesey.”

I couldn't help myself. This ….sound.... burst from me. A kind of a choked gasp. Colin squeezed my hand tighter and bored into my eyes.

“I heard him before I saw him. And when I saw him I couldn't recognize him. He was torn to shreds. But I could tell by his heaving, he wasn't gone. I knelt down to what I think had been his face, and finally found a little tuft of fur that seemed to be intact. I gently touched it.” He took a ragged breath. “And he flinched..... but he settled. And I talked to him........ and I told him how proud I was of him...... and how he saved those two women's lives...... and how... how......”

He looked like he couldn't go on, but he kind of drew in on himself, and became one big clench, and spat out the words.

“...and how SORRY I was that I got back too late to save him....”

And he spun and dug into me and crushed the air out of me and held on for dear life, and I tried the best I could to absorb his wracking sobs and the gentle pounding of his clenched fists against my back.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. A while. Finally Colin was able to compose himself. He let go and sat back, and looked at me sheepishly. He took a breath and was about to speak when I jabbed my finger into his chest and spat with a ferocity that surprised even me.

“Don't you DARE...”

That derailed him. I seized his momentary bewilderment.

“You were about to apologize for that ...outburst.” he began to nod but I cut him off. “And I warned you... don't...you...dare! It would be disrespectful. After.... after everything.... well... apologizing would be wrong and so so disrespectful.... so....” my fire was beginning to settle and I forced a weak grin “...so don't you dare.”

He nodded and we just sat for a few minutes. Finally I figured enough time had passed that I could talk around the subject while avoiding the painful part.

“So what happened to the women?”

“A mother and daughter. Long trip. Late night. Too much Pepsi at the last rest stop....”

I nodded. I could see where this was going.

“Daughter finally convinced mom to stop the car. They were in the middle of nowhere so it seemed like the ideal place. No one for miles.” He made a rueful face.

“No people.” I held up a finger.

“Yeah. So mom is waiting. Finally hears daughter scream and runs from the idling car to her side to find a gathering pack of coyotes beginning to circle. I have no idea how she managed to hold them off for so long.... maybe they heard the van coming and thought the meal would get bigger... but it was clear to everyone that the waiting was nearly over. Then Kesey changed everything and in the confusion they escaped. They were just sitting in their station wagon with the doors locked, no doubt getting their wits together. They opened their doors when they saw me returning and began running toward me. I shouted to the woman to send the girl to the car and lock the doors. She fought but relented. After her night it must have been comforting to be back in the safety of the car even if her mom was still outside, although seemingly out of danger. The mom helped me get Kesey wrapped in a tarp and in the back of my van. She then got some wipes from her purse and helped me clean ...uh, clean off the blood.... Once I felt she was OK to drive, I sent them on their way. I changed ...out of my clothes and dumped them in the back with Kesey... and that was about 3AM.... I drove straight here and you barged into my room and.... well, the rest you know.” He gave me a really conflicted smile.

“So Kesey is still in the back of...”

He nodded. I didn't want to finish the sentence anyway. I sighed heavily. What we needed now, Colin especially, but me too I thought greedily, was a semblance of normalcy.

“We need to get you home young man. First thing is a hot bath. Then a long nap. Then we'll talk about what comes next.”

Colin was reluctant, but exhausted in every way possible. I insisted on his hot bath, and he gave me no resistance when I put him to bed just before noon. He slept quickly and deeply. I put away the rest of his things and decided to wait a while before telling him about Priya.

I discussed with our housemates the short version of our conversation. I simply explained that Colin had a grueling road trip and had lost Kesey along the way. Saffron thought he ran away, so I had to be brutally clear with her. I knew they would all respect Colin's privacy and not press him for details unless he volunteered them.

While Colin was sleeping, I called Maria at Fine Lives Pet Placement. I told her about Kesey and I could hear her heart breaking too. I just said he'd been mauled by wild coyotes. I'd let Colin tell her anything more if he chose. She had met Kesey, and I could tell she was as broken up as I was that such a gentle spirit met such a brutal fate. She told me of a guy who did animal cremations. She had worked with him in the past and said he was 'good people'. I took his info and gave him a call. He gave me some options to present to Colin. I had hoped Colin would be open to my idea of having a small remembrance gathering and sprinkling Keseys ashes somewhere Colin thought he'd appreciate.

It was a tough subject to bring up when Colin finally awoke, but I knew time was important. We got Keseys remains to Pete Glover – the cremation guy, who wasn't ghoulish at all. Somehow I had expected that. He was actually very calming. We talked a little while Colin spent a last moment with Kesey. Pete considered himself a sort of grief counselor. He jokingly referred to himself as the 'Prim Reaper', explaining that he tried to deal with all the sordid details so those left behind would have only fond memories. He understood Colin's bond to Kesey, having spent their last moments together. He confided that he was a Vietnam vet, something he didn't tell many people since they were widely despised by many people his age... our age. He confessed that after seeing so much violence and suffering, he found himself drawn to this seemingly unpleasant job, because it gave him a chance to make the painful inevitable just a little more bearable for those left behind.

“I've never shared that with anyone...” he said quietly to me. I could see the surprise on his face that he had openly talked about it. “I never even really admitted it to myself... let alone someone else.” He gave me a look of pain mixed with amused surprise. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” I honestly had no idea.

“Get people to open up? I spent 15 months with V.A. Shrinks and I didn't tell them shit. 15 minutes with you and I spill my guts.” he laughed guiltily.

I shrugged. “Seems to me you just needed to say it. And I happened to be here.”

“….And listening” he choked back a laugh.

“Yeah. I do that.” I blushed. “It's my curse.”

“Or your gift.” he cracked a wary smile

“Matter of perspective, I'd say” I laughed lightly.

“Well, it felt good to say it. Helped to clarify things. I've been carrying all this....”

“Baggage?”

“I was going to say 'bullshit'... but yeah... baggage is better... Memories of 'Nam... shit I did... shit I didn't do.... shit I was a part of.... just eats at me.”

“Good.” I said. That surprised him.

“Good?” I could tell he was offended and about to get defensive.

I nodded and put my hand on his forearm. “Yeah. Good. Shows you're still human.... you're trying to process all this... and it still eats at you.... shows you still have a soul.... and that it may scar, but that's how it heals.”

He just stared at me, his eyes went off somewhere. Then they came back. He clasped his hand around my arm, still touching his... and smiled. “I never thought of it that way.” The moment passed quickly and he snapped to. “Let's go find your boyfriend and get you on your way.”

I was about to protest that Colin wasn't my boyfriend, but it didn't seem to matter. I just nodded and we went to Colin in the anteroom.

Pete asked if we wanted to watch, but neither of us had the stomach for it. He nodded and explained that courtesy required that he at least ask. I could tell he respected and agreed with our decision.

Kesey's ashes were delivered in a small cardboard container that looked to me disturbingly like a take out box. Colin and Pete discussed places to scatter of Kesey's ashes, both from a practicality angle and legal angle. Pete had been doing this long enough that he knew all the ways NOT to do it, and to stay on the good side of local police and park rangers.

Pete suggested a spot up the coast where we could scatter Kesey's ashes from remote seaside cliffs. It was a long drive, but there was a campsite nearby and motels about another hour's drive, so it didn't need to be a daytrip.

As we drove back, I asked Colin when we were going.

His eyes flashed from the road to mine, then back to his driving.

“You don't have to do this.” he mutterred.

“I loved him too.”

I caught a nearly imperceptible nod. But he said nothing. I did notice his hands tighten on the wheel as he drove on in silence.

It was cold and rainy when we got there, and we were a bit worried about slipping on the rocks and turning our tribute into a tragedy, so we decided to stay overnight and try again in the morning.

The drive into town was rather long, and the poor visibility and slick, unfamiliar roads made us think twice about searching for a motel. The camping area looked pretty washed out as well, so we settled on sleeping in the van. Colin still had his bedroll and some army surplus wool blankets in the back.

As he laid out the bedroll and balled up some old flannel shirts for pillows, I had to ask.

“This is really how you lived all those weeks you were on the road?”

He nodded. “Mostly. Occasionally I could crash backstage or someone local would let me crash with them, but usually it was here.” he shrugged looking at the thin bedroll.

“You must have froze!”

He shook his head slightly. “Not really. I had Kesey...” he stopped abruptly, and I saw the lump come to his throat. “Uh... we had each other.... it was... OK”.

I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. I could feel the trembling, though he would never let the emotion show. He swallowed hard, and I tried to change the subject.

I cleared my throat and raised a brow. “I... uh... notice you only have one bedroll.”

He looked at me sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah. It's... um... it's all I ever needed.”

“You stud.” I teased. He went crimson.

“No... God, NO!” he stammered and blushed deeply. “It wasn't like..like THAT... uh... it was just me and Kesey.”

“Oh come on.... cute artboy passing through town.... wandering minstrel enchanting the locals.... you're telling me you never let a starry eyed fan share your sleepsack …..it looks cozy as a peapod....or should I say love-pod?” I grinned devilishly.

“Oh my GOD! ...NO!” he exclaimed. I was surprised at how shocked and defensive he was, but I also found it charming and sweet, and really enjoyed needling him.

Colin shuffled nervously, hands buried in his pockets, head down. Finally he reached a decision.

Bobbing his head in the direction of the back of the van, he mumbled “Take the sleeping bag. I'll grab some blankets and sleep on the seat.”
I regarded him for a while. The longer I looked, the more restless he got. I eyed the back of the van, looking the flimsy cotton sleeproll from top to bottom. I looked at the two surplus wool blankets folded compactly.

“Looks kinda cold.” I finally muttered.

“I'll be OK.” Colin shrugged.

I shot him a mock glare. “Not YOU dummy!” He blushed & thrust his hands even deeper into the pockets of his jeans. “That bag's awfully thin....” I glanced at the blankets again “...and yeah, so are those blankets.” I let that sink in for a moment. The only sound was the rain pelting the roof of the van which rocked slightly from the wind, and the distant breaking of the waves against the rocks.

“It looks like we're both going to freeze tonight.” I continued. “Unless we pool our resources.”

“Resources?” Colin seemed lost. I gave him a moment to figure it out, then realizing he wasn't getting any closer to my point, I nodded.
“....Resources...” I caught his eyes with mine. “like...body heat?”

His eyes went wide as he finally got it. And I immediately raised a finger. “But NO funny business!”

“God NO! ….of.. of course not!” He shot back instantly.

I found myself surprised and a bit disappointed that he obviously wasn't even thinking about it. Am I THAT gross?

He seemed to realize his blunder when he caught my look and quickly backtracked.

“NO. no.... I didn't mean it that way. I mean... I don't think of you that way....”

He could see on my face that he was just digging himself deeper.

“I mean, no. I like you Olive. I really do.... I mean, as much as anyone I.... uh.... I mean like more than a friend.... but... no, not like.....” he was tying himself up in knots. “ I mean.... no... I really, really like you.... all you did for Kesey.... and all ….” He lowered his head, his crimson face staring at the floor of the van, in a quiet voice he muttered “....all you've done for me......” and somehow managed to dig his hands even deeper into his pockets. “..it's just... it's like.... I'd never try anything..... God.... you're... I really... you're like the sister I never had.”

SISTER? Damn.

I didn't want to ….couldn't.... start anything with Colin. But still.... sister? It felt like a cold bucket of water in the face.

“Are you gay?” I asked quietly. That caught him off guard.

“Gay?” he pulled his head back in surprise while he processed this. “Umm ….NO....” Then he gave me a petulant glare. “Don't assume I'm hot for guys just because I don't want to do it with you!”

It was my turn to blush and backtrack. “Sorry. No. You're right. That was really stupid of me to assume just because you didn't want to....”
He held a finger to my mouth and pulled in really close. “No. I get it. I really do. I'm no Lee Marvin or John Wayne.... I get that. And yeah.... a lot of the side man gigs I get are with glam rock bands... but that's just because of my size, and... uh, okay.... I will concede that I'm not the most ...rugged... guy out there...”

I managed to stifle a giggle at his 'confession' and let him continue.

“...but all of that.... I mean none of that.... means I'm gay. ….or even bi.... I have no problem with that, and yeah, most of my friends are....” he stopped to think a moment and chuckled “...is there such a thing as omnisexual?” He grinned. “Anyway... I figure 'live and let live'.... but none of that is me... and yeah, I really really like you..... but I would never risk screwing that up by making a pass at you. So, when I said sister I didn't mean to offend you. God, there's no one I'd rather.....”

He looked off into space for a while. I gave him time.

“.... God. It's complicated.... I don't know how else to put it right now. Just know that I won't try anything.... but it doesn't mean I don't....” he blew out a breath and seemed even further away from what he was trying to say. Time to throw him a lifeline.

I reached out and wrapped my hand around his neck. “OK. I think I get it.”

He shot me a look of immense relief.

I grinned. “NOT that you're making it easy.... God, you're talking in circles...”

Colin chuckled.

“But I think I get it ….enough to know there will be no funny business.”

He nodded.

I smiled back “....but can I at least be your HOT sister?”

He laughed. And I laughed along with him. And we were good again.

It really was nice. I was a little nervous about sharing the sleeping bag, and crawled in nearly fully clothed. I just took off my shoes and socks and emptied the pockets of my jeans, but remained otherwise fully clothed. Jeans and long sleeve top... no bra, but I was pretty small and didn't really need one. And none of my friends who really did need them, wore them either. They considered them bourgeois symbols of the patriarchy. But I really think it reminded them of their mothers, and they were still rebellious of their parents generation. So, jeans and heavy cotton top in the sleeping bag – which really did help me stay warmer in that flimsy sack. Colin followed my lead and kept on his jeans but removed his flannel shirt. I smiled to myself that his long sleeved jersey wasn't that different from my own top. So we wriggled our way into the sleeping bag and there was no 'funny business'. I did wake in the middle of the night to notice Colin's arms around my waist as he spooned into me. It didn't feel sexual. It felt.... cozy. And really, really nice. I felt the van sway, buffeted by the wind, heavy rain ceaselessly pelting the roof of the van... And I happily drifted back to sleep, with the Lovin' Spoonful playing in my head ...you and me and rain on the roof.....

It was a surprisingly nice night. I slept quite well, and I presume Colin did too because we were smooshed so close together that if he had a restless night I would have been unable to ignore it. Still, he somehow managed to slither himself from our sleeping bag without me noticing, because I woke up alone.

The rain had stopped and the sun was just lighting a narrow band on the horizon. I noticed the back door of the van was ajar and Colin was nowhere to be found. I put on my socks and shoes and stepped out of the van into the damp morning air. After a contented stretch outside the van, I decided to find Colin, which wasn't hard since the ground was so damp his footprints were easy to follow. I trudged into the woods a short way and saw Colin in the distance, his back to me facing a large tree. He must have heard me approaching because he turned his head in my direction and shouted “Hey. Can't a guy get a little privacy in the middle of nowhere?”
I suddenly put two and two together, blushed deeply and called out “Sorry! I just woke up to find you gone and got worried you were eaten by a bear or something.”

He laughed and turned back to his tree. “Nothing so exciting. Go back to the van. I'll be along in a moment.”

I went back to the van, wrapped a blanket around me like a serape, and fished through my bag for something we could call breakfast. I had a rather bruised but unopened box of Screaming Yellow Zonkers. I loved reading the box, but wasn't crazy about the sugared popcorn and stuff inside. Still, I reasoned, it wasn't THAT different from Sugar Pops cereal, and it's not like there were many other breakfast offerings in my bag. I did have tic tacs, but those were more for parties when I wanted to look like I was participating and dropping acid too, than for camping breakfasts. By the time Colin returned, I had fashioned crude cones out of a paper towel stack I found in his glovebox, and when he lumbered through the back van door, I held out a filled cone. “Breakfast dear?” I smiled sweetly like some insipid TV ad character.

A crooked grin broke out on his face as he regarded me. “Thanks” he smirked. Then maneuvering around me he muttered “Just let me clean up first.” and he rustled through his messenger bag, flourishing a wash 'n dry towelette. He opened and unfurled it with the exaggerated moves of a stage magician – or a mime. I instantly wondered if that was another bit of his past he hadn't shared. After snapping it loudly into a fully open sheet, he proceeded to wipe it across his face, still holding my gaze, with the tiniest most devilish smile. He trailed the towelette across his face, lingering here and there. And slowly trailed it across his somehow disproportionately large lips with a single finger. I held his gaze, but took this all in through my peripheral vision. I may have even stopped breathing when he did the lip thing. I felt my face flush as I shifted uncomfortably. That just made his smirk somehow even wider. He removed the towelette from his face and proceeded to clean his hands, rubbing it in his palms and then wrapping it around each finger which he seemed to slowly polish with diligent precision. He made cleaning all ten fingers a slow, vaguely erotic ritual. I don't think there was an atom of that towelette that he hadn't managed to rub over some part of his delicate artist's hands. I was mesmerized. And too caught up in the moment to notice or attempt to hide it. This seemed to delight Colin.

He innocently broke from his mute performance and said quite matter of factly “That should do it.” with a wickedly self satisfied grin, as he reached out to take the cone of sugary snack food from my hands.

I snapped back to reality. “It's a shame after all that trouble, that you're going to end up with hands sticky with sugar.” He looked at me blankly. Or maybe just pokerfaced. I shrugged. “You'll have to use your fingers. I couldn't find any spoons or anything....” I trailed off.

He grinned back. “Or milk.”

“Yeah. Couldn't find a cow. Thought I saw a deer or something, but it ran off.” I smirked.

“No. This is great. Amazing actually.” He regarded the cone of shiny popcorn. “I wasn't expecting breakfast.” He grinned.

“Or a sleepover.” I muttered matter of factly. His face did something. And he shook his head 'No'.

“Still. Sorry for getting you all sticky again.” I frowned.

He just grinned, picking up the spent towelette. “Not a problem.” he grinned. And his tongue shot out and curled around a piece of popcorn, which he snapped back into his mouth like some sort of bullfrog or anteater. His grin was wicked and his sparkling eyes locked on mine.

I'm sure he heard my breath catch.

I skipped breakfast myself. I had no real appetite for glazed popcorn, and I knew I would be no match for Colin's dining style. He seemed vaguely disappointed I wouldn't join him. When I told him I didn't want him to see me all sticky faced and fingered, he looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and just nodded instead.

The rain had stopped, so we scouted the area and found a high cliff that looked safe enough to scatter Kesey's ashes to the rocky shoals below.
I gave Colin one final moment alone with Kesey, then we stood together hands clasped looking out over the sea as I said some things that will always remain strictly between Colin, Kesey and me. Colin seemed to know they were from my heart, and I guess they were good enough, because he gave my hand one more tight squeeze, grabbed the package with Kesey's ashes, and bid his old companion a final goodbye.

We didn't talk at all on the ride home. But it wasn't awkward. I felt Colin and I had become closer in ways we never expected, and I was certain he felt it too. We were somber, but not sad. There was this overwhelming sense of one phase... one ...season... ending and a new promising one beginning to reveal itself.

Life went on. I worked my crazy schedule of part time jobs, still volunteered at the shelter when I could, but I couldn't shake thoughts of Kesey when I was there and I slowly began to emotionally withdraw to the point where Maria and Steve noticed. They were kind enough to ease me out and make it seem like a mutual decision. I truly believed them when they said they would miss me, but they were already missing the old me while the withdrawn me was still there. We all agreed it was time for a change, wished each other well and promised to stay in touch. Which we did to varying extents for decades.

Meanwhile Colin and I grew closer. Friends considered us inseparable. At a party after a show where Colin was a sideman, the band's bass player Lincoln drunkenly began referring to us as 'Colive' and soon everyone was doing it. I think they originally meant to annoy us, but I thought it was kind of charming from the moment I first heard the drunken Linc say it. Anyway, after that party, and among our mutual friends, it stuck. Which was fine with me since we actually were kind of inseparable.

When he didn't have a gig, Colin would keep me company in the projection room at the lightbox. We'd snuggle watching Goddard, Fellini, Barbet Schroeder, Luis Buñuel, Konchalovsky, and Truffault. I'm not so sure either of us consciously planned it, but it seemed at some point in time we realized we had become 'a couple'.

I think when I finally realized it was at Aurora Lancaster's Halloween party.

Colin and I were invited ...in hindsight, Aurora invited us together, with an effervescent 'You guys have to come! It's going to be the grooviest party in SoCal!'

So, of course, we did.

I went as Valentina Tereshkova in a 'spacesuit' Colin borrowed from a glam band he occasionally played with called 'Soyuz Seven'. It seemed pretty realistic to me, but Colin kept begging me to go as Barbarella instead. When I told him I would consider it if he agreed to go as Pygar the blind angel, he backed down. Instead I went as the first real woman in space.

And Colin went ...as Underdog. Which was sort of an inside joke, since so many people commented on how he reminded them of a 'Rock 'n Roll Wally Cox'.

When we showed up at Aurora's party, everyone commented on how we weren't in a 'couples costume'. Many commented on how we'd have made a kickass Sonny & Cher, but conceded that they would have been OK if we were just Bonnie & Clyde, Morticia and Gomez, or even Liz Taylor & Richard Burton. It was instantly clear that everyone expected us to come in a couple's costume.

It didn't even matter if we came as Jesus & Mary Magdalene.. as long as it was a couple's costume.

It was, I think, at that moment, that we realized that we were perceived as a single unit.... 'a couple'. And maybe when we began to perceive ourselves as a couple.

But for this party, we were just the cosmonaut and the cartoon character. Although I have to admit, Colin's Wally-Cox-as-Underdog costume ..and impression... was one of the hits of the party.

He 'broke character' when Lavender Conundrum asked him to fill in for their guitar player who was a little too drunk to play. They were all old friends from other gigs and Colin fit in well, except the image of this glam band of chic shiny Ziggy Stardust clones playing their Bowie, Mott the Hoople and Velvet Underground covers with Underdog on lead guitar was an image no one at that party would ever forget.

Since most of the people at Aurora's party were artists, the makeup of the band was as fluid as a lava lamp all night long. Colin would always push it to the stuff he wanted to play like Kinks and Link Wray while his friend Bennett kept trying to veer the music to the subversive cabaret he liked, like Kurt Weill and Hoagy Carmichael, which Colin and his mates tried to rock up.

At one point, I don't know whether it was driven by drink or a dare, the band broke into Wayne Newton's Danke Schoen, and Colin stole the oversized jacket from his friend Chet who came as 'Feeman the G-Man” in black suit and fedora, draped it over his shoulders and spun to the mic startling the room with a dead on Wayne Newton.

I think he expected to get a laugh, but the crowd just stared. Not that it wasn't funny, but because no one could believe how perfectly he captured it. Midway though the song, Colin was getting more uncomfortable that he wasn't getting a laugh. So he kind of turned the song into a medley, mixing it up with Brenda Lee's 'I'm Sorry'.

I knew instantly what he was doing, since we once had a rather long talk about this. He kidded that Wayne and Brenda would never appear together on tour because they sounded like the same person, then he tried to imagine what a duet between them would sound like. We laughed about it at the time, and now he was doing it as a bit at the party. It got laughs alright, but most of them were nervous. I suspect because no one had previously noticed how alike the two sounded, and because Colin was on stage perfectly imitating them both ...as Underdog!

That wasn't the end of the weirdness though. Later as Colin and I were talking with some friends, a guy came up and pulled Colin aside for about five minutes. He came back grinning and shaking his head.

“Trippy....” was all he said, still smiling in mild disbelief.

When we pressed him, he spilled. “Dude wants me to call him. He works at a studio in town. Does jingles for ads and stuff. Wanted to know who else I did.” He grinned.

“When I finally clued in, I told him I didn't DO anybody. I'm no Rich Little or Vaughan Meader.” He grinned. “He told me he thought I DID do people but didn't know it. And there could be good money in jingles and stuff.” He held up a business card. “....crazy....” he muttered.
“Crazy.” We all concurred.

Colin and were inseparable through the holiday season

We had our own alternative Thanksgiving. We invited all our friends who didn't have anyplace else to go for Thanksgiving. Sandy Goodman laughingly labeled our alternative holiday 'Misfitzma', but I think our ragged, diverse group of artists and outcasts had a more thankful celebration of each other and what we had than most people attending forced-family-reunions across the country. It was kind of a stone-soup affair. Colin and I supplied the basics. A few modest staples and a place to converge, but everyone brought something they were especially eager to share with others. Priya, it turned out, is a very talented cook. She told me growing up she would sneak off and hang with the help, her family had a ridiculous number of servants. Once they got over the awkwardness of 'the golden child' hanging around asking all sorts of questions, and sensing a sincere desire to learn, not just to snoop and tattle to parents, the housekeeping and cooking staff formed a warm bond with this curious, precocious child. They eagerly shared their cooking secrets and told countless funny stories that each constituted a life lesson disguised as a cooking lesson. Priya never forgot any of that and quickly showed Sandy her skill as a chef. He was surprisingly resistant to changing his unhealthy bachelor eating habits, but eventually her persistence and her amazing cooking prevailed. He became noticeably healthier looking rather quickly, and seemed to have a lot more energy and enthusiasm for things. I'm sure I'm not the only one who complimented Priya on the positive changes on her ersatz boss and virtual ward. Well, now Priya was pulling out all the stops for our 'Misfitza' celebration. And she certainly wasn't the only one.

Some musician friends of Colin's brought over some home-made beer and wine. I was wary of it, but others declared it surprisingly good. I watched the others enjoy themselves, but stayed away from the beer, wine, and other 'recreationals' guests brought and shared.

At our meal, Sandy – who was feeling no pain – raised his glass.

“A toast. To this land of misfits and rejects.... the folks from everywhere to whom anywhere was better than where they were from.”

The table murmured its impaired approval.

“And to those who were already here, who gave us ….who let us take so much.”

The crowd raised their glasses again. Less enthusiastically. I felt the ambivalence of the room.

“Hear Hear!” I toasted loudly. After my encounter with Lorraine, my earlier encounter with N'Papwe came into focus. I carried the blood of the first people in my veins. I couldn't speak for anyone but myself, yet I saw the stumbling, often tragic, but ultimately tenacious and resilient progress of the values of the first peoples. It was often horrific and frustratingly sporadic, but the core values were being discovered and embraced by the newcomers, the interlopers, the 'conquerors'. The interaction with the wisdom of the natives altered their course and redirected their dogma.

Colin was playing with a band called “Shotgun Surprise” - they thought of themselves as a fusion of the Eagles and Emerson Lake & Palmer. Colin laughed that they were “Art Folk”, and conceded that he took the job because it was a paying gig and the band members were all old friends.... even if the band did fight like cats & dogs over the direction of the group... so they never had any real direction.... band members changed more frequently than the kids behind the counter at the local Jack in the Box, still, because of the talent involved, the band got some local notoriety and even got a record pressed on a local label.

That was really Colin's doing. Doug Cohn, the guy who slipped him the business card at Aurora's Halloween party was an advertising guy with bigger aspirations. After bringing Colin in to do jingles for a local Datsun dealer and an Amana Radar Range jingle that almost went national. Doug yearned to be the next Dick Clark or Phil Spector.... he wanted to be the “...Presents” guy behind the next big thing... so when, in casual conversation before a jingle session, Colin mentioned that he was playing around town with Shotgun Surprise and mentioned the musical pedigree of some of the other band members, Doug was eager to meet with the band and see if they wanted to cut an album.

It was recorded in a weekend in Doug's Pasadena garage studio, and Doug was pushing the hell out of it by the middle of the next week, pressuring all his advertising contacts at local radio stations to hook him up with their program and music directors and dropping off test pressings for review to local publications as he came by to place his weekly ad buys. Doug Cohn was no Dick Clark or Phil Spector, but he didn't know that yet... and Shotgun Surprise was barely even a band.... just a bunch of old musicians who got together between gigs and couldn't even agree on what kind of music they played.

Still, Doug had a few takers. A local underground FM station started playing some tracks from the album and set up a live interview with the band on their late night show “Last Call with Toby Reece” bands would often wander by after gigs and hang out with Toby until sunrise. It was very unstructured, which totally suited Shotgun Surprise, since the band themselves had no apparent structure.

Colin invited me to tag along after I finished at the lightbox. I had never seen a radio station from the inside before, and the band were all a fun bunch and we got along, so I said “sure.”

We got to the station a little after 1AM and were met at the back door by Toby Reece, who seemed really, really stoned. We chatted by the door for a while until I couldn't take it any more.

“Who's on the air?” I asked with more than a bit of concern, since Toby seemed in no rush to bring us inside or go himself.

“Nixon.” he grinned. “Malcolm X …..and John Cage.” he turned up a house monitor and a surreal montage of political speeches mixed with experimental music filled the hall.

Colin grinned to the band who all smiled back.

“Did you make that?” Lewis the drummer asked.

Reece shook his head. “Some dude slipped me the cassette at a party. Said it would blow my mind.”

“Well, your mind looks fully blown.” I smiled. The band laughed.

Reece just nodded seriously. “Totally blown.”

Colin turned back to the band, then to the DJ. “So where do we do this interview?”

Suddenly Toby Reece seemed to notice we were still standing in the reception area. “Oh. In the studio....” and he started walking.

We followed him, presuming that was his expectation. We wandered through some halls into the heart of the building and a maze of twists and turns eventually led us to a dimly lit dingy room with record racks for walls and a wraparound desk in the middle with a nasty old office chair in the center flanked by turntables and lots of stacked pieces of equipment. There were microphones on stands like luxo lamps or maybe dentists drills facing the outside of the U shaped desk. Reece motioned us to wheel in some chairs from the outside offices. The band introduced themselves but I don't think Reece actually caught who was who. He seemed to have listened to the album and to know the songs ….as much as he was aware of anything.... he was really really baked.

The band sat down around the mics and I wasn't sure where to stand to get out of the way. Reece motioned for me to come around and stand behind him near the wall of records. From his side of things it looked like one of those NASA mission control stations you saw on TV. He motioned to us, which made us all stop what we were doing and pay attention. I saw him grab his headphones and with his other hands turn down one knob. He then threw a switch and turned up another knob.... I heard the squeal from the Koss headphones tightly sealed around his head and he backed off the knob a bit. I noticed the absolute silence in the room and the dim red glow of a few bulbs that were now lit around and casting light through the glass outside the room.

“Some serious food for your head from the movers and shakers.... the best and brightest... the finest minds of our generation.... as they keep telling us.... voices of the man... voices of the people.... take it in... let it set... set deep.... so deep....”

I wasn't sure whether he was talking to the audience or himself ...or anyone. There was a LONG silence. I could see the needles on his mixer stir every time one of the band members stirred and their office chair creaked. Across the counter the band looked at Toby Reece expectantly. Then their eyes all lifted to me. I could only see his back, but all I sensed was deep breathing. I reluctantly touched his shoulder and felt his slight jump. He leaned back into the mic as his head scanned the band members facing him.

“We have some special guests tonight. They've been making some noise around town for a while now....”

The band shared disapproving glances with each other.

“...but before we rap.... let's hear a track from their debut album....”

He then turned to me expectantly. I just shot him a blank – if panicked – look. What the hell did he want? Finally he motioned to a stack of albums leaning against the record racks on the wall. I scrambled over & tore through them until I found the Shotgun Surprise LP. I pulled it from its sleeve & handed it to him along with the jacket. He placed it on a turntable and scanned the jacket.

“Lets hear ….this....” and he seemed to randomly drop the needle on the disc on the turntable.

It was 'Brother of the Bride' a not-too-subtle uptempo parody ballad about ….incest. The band cut it as a joke. The whole album had an air of subversive parody to it, but this was probably the least radio-friendly song on the album. Toby Reece didn't seem to notice or care. He just seemed to notice it was the widest band on the LP and picked it. The band shot uncertain looks at each other, which eventually morphed into mischievous grins.

“How long is this track?” Toby asked no one in particular.

The band looked at each other and finally Glen spoke up. “About 7 minutes. Almost 8.”

Toby nodded and rose. He silently walked out of the room fishing into his pocket. Before he turned the corner, I thought I saw him pull out a pipe cobbled from what appeared to be plumbing fixtures.

“Well that was interesting.” Colin laughed.

The other guys laughed nervously.

“Has anybody ever listened to this dude's show?” Alan the keyboard player asked as he darted his eyes from bandmate to bandmate. Most shrugged.

Lewis the drummer said “Yeah. A few times. ….well it was really on in the background.... he's OK. A little spacey.... but hey, it is late overnight.... I mean who the hell isn't?” The band all laughed and nodded. “But yeah.... he's ok. Sometimes he gets really.... arty.... reading poetry over sounds of heartbeats & whales.... stuff like that.... but I've never heard him be a dick to anyone. Even some folks who dropped in who really deserved it. So... yeah.... he's cool.”

That calmed everyone, so we settled in, listening to the track the band had heard SO many times during the recording and mastering sessions, and trying to imagine it blasting through car radios and stereos across the L.A. Basin as they grinned at each other.

After six minutes or so, the guys started to get restless. They sent me off to look for Toby. I got lost wandering through the hallways trying to find the outside door, since I presumed he stepped outside to smoke a cigarette ….or something else. Instead, after wandering through the office labyrinth I found myself back at the studio. I just gave the band a sullen shrug. They were not happy, but they knew I tried.

Just then we heard the 'click click click' of the needle hitting the label.

The track was done.

The guys all looked at me expectantly.

When did it become MY job to fix this mess? Sigh. …...boys.....

I looked around and saw no sign of Toby. Meanwhile the 'clicking' had been going on for about 30 seconds. I saw the meters on the mixer jump with every click.

Against every instinct I had, yet unable to come up with a better plan, I reached for the switch I saw Toby use before and pushed the button, which suddenly bathed the room in a soft red glow. I twisted the knob up to where he put it and leaned in to the mic.

“So.... that was 'Brother of the Bride' from Shotgun Surprise.... off their debut album on GCM records & tapes..... we're especially lucky to have members of the band ….hell... the whole band.... here with us tonight.” I scanned the mixer while talking and saw knobs labeled “Guest1” “Guest2” etc in Dymo labelmaker.... I quickly turned them all on and cranked up the knobs.

“Hey guys. Thanks for coming by.”

They all murmured polite replies, which I heard in an awesome stereo spread in my headphones, so I presumed everything was working.
“So..... Which one of you wrote 'Brother of the Bride? ….and is it about what I think it's about? I know they always say write what you know … so.... does anybody want to ….confess anything?” I grinned.

The group all shifted nervously, coughing self-consciously and murmuring – which actually sounded great in my headphones in that crazy stereo, until Glen spoke up.

“Uh. It was intended as ….satire....”

“You're making fun of incest?” I arched a brow and suppressed my grin.

“Uh.... no..... NO!....” Colin sputtered. “It was just... it's just..... well.... uh.... you work within the possibilities.... the constraints.... uhhh.... not everyone has the ….options.... other people.... most.... people have.”

I was surprised at Colin jumping in to defend Glen's cliched parody. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don't ….JUDGE.” he muttered.

“It was a JOKE.” Glen interjected. “....just meant as a JOKE! ….don't conflate it....”

“Conflate?” I cut him off. “....what is this? NERN? This isn't educational radio.... you mean 'Blow Up' right?”

Glen blushed. “Yeah. Blow up. It was just a joke.”

“....interesting sense of humor....” I grinned

“....Maybe.... OK.... but still.... we didn't mean any....”

I cut him off “If this record gets BANNED because of that song. ...if record stores and PTAs and church groups start pulling copies from the bins and before you know it you can't find a Shotgun Surprise record anywhere......” I grinned.

It took the guys a moment to twig, but one by one I saw the smiles grow as they realized I just dared people to go out and snarf up a copy before they were all confiscated by the purveyors or propriety.

“Well, I guess they'd just have to listen to your radio station to hear it.” Colin gave me a wicked grin.

“I'm not so sure you're going to hear much of it here either. Is the album all about incest?”

“No! Of course not.” Alan quickly jumped in. “...there are songs about.....”

I raised my eyebrow and smiled. I knew what the other songs on the album were about.

“Um....”

“OK. Let's go through the track list. 'Still outside' ….about nature? Solitude?”

Glen leaned in to his mic and cackled “It's about moonshine.”

“And this one.... 'Ozark spree'....”

“It's about a family of bank robbers in the depression... inspired by Bonnie & Clyde, only we made them a dustbowl family and gave them kids.” Alan laughed.

“So the kids rob banks too?” I grinned.

“No! That would be ridiculous!” Glen protested.

“They just help Ma & Pa rob banks.” Lewis smirked.

“Wow. This album is full of inspiration. What's... Pious Piper?” I asked innocently.

“Um. It's about this traveling revival preacher who rolls into town and sets up his tent... the whole town comes out and he tells them they're worse than Sodom & Gomorrah and only he can rid the town of vice and temptation... so the townsfolk give him everything they have to be rid of temptation... and after a fevered all-night prayer revival, the townsfolk wake to find the tent & preacher gone” Glen explained

“….along with all the young girls in town!” Lewis laughed.

“I'm sensing a theme here.” I smiled.

The band laughed. “Why don't you play another track. How about varmint soup?” Glen asked.

I shook my head. “I think the incest song was enough for one night.” I laughed.

“It was a JOKE!” Glen protested.

“Still....” I snorted “...Thanks guys... now everytime I hear that word I'm going to think of moonshine.... ANYWAY....” I corrected “I think we've had enough bad influences for one night.” I said as I reached behind me to the album pile and grabbed one at random. I grinned as I saw it, pulled it from its jacket and tossed it on the turntable. Chatting as I put it on the platter and place the needle down.

“Shotgun Surprise will be playing until Sunday at Faro's on Sunset... look for their album at your local record store... before parents groups burn them all...” I laughed. “So after Sunday, where will you guys be next?”

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“School dances?” I smirked.

“Maybe homeschools” Colin Laughed.

“Bar Mitzvas? Quinceañeras? Elks Lodge dances? Weddings?” I laughed. “I'm sure Brother of the Bride would be a huge crowd pleaser!” The band all laughed.

“Catch them while you can at Faros on Sunset through Sunday. And grab their album before its banned.” I laughed. “Now lets get back to more socially responsible music.... from Ummaguma, here's Pink Floyd.” I grinned as I started the turntable and switched off all the microphones and the sounds of 'Careful with that Axe Eugene' bathed the studio.

The band all laughed.

“Oh my God Olive. You were amazing!” Lewis beamed.

“What the hell happened to Reece?” Glen scowled.

“No idea.” Colin shrugged. “He did seem a bit ...out there.... but still....”

“I think I might know....” I grinned as I reached back to his jacket, still draped over the back of my chair and felt the pocket. I heard the jingle and reached in, fishing out a clump of keys.

The band all looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Seriously?” Glen laughed. “Oh hell.... he's probably still out there...”

“We should probably go get him.” Colin laughed.

“Does anyone remember the way?” Lewis laughed.

“You'd better drop breadcrumbs” I laughed. “This building is like a maze. I almost didn't find my way back!”

“Thank God you did!” Glen laughed. “You saved our interview!”

“I am gonna get in SO much trouble.” I muttered, figuring I'd be banned for life after that stunt. Then I quickly calmed realizing I would never be back here again. What could they do – arrest me? I didn't trespass.... we were invited in.... then again, I thought to myself, getting pinched for commandeering a radio station probably still wasn't as bad as public exhibition of pornography. I shivered imagining what would have happened if Priya hadn't helped Sandy Goodman get the charges thrown out.

I was snapped back to the present as Lewis said “no breadcrumbs, but I have a pocket full of pennies.”

“Why the hell would you...” Glen started to ask, laughing and shaking his head at his bandmate.

“I am NEVER getting another parking ticket!” Lewis proclaimed with heat.

Glen & Colin laughed at their band mate. I just rolled my eyes and turned back to the pile of records. Pink Floyd was down to the screaming part, so I knew I'd need something else soon.

“Go find Toby” I waved to the band. “I'll stall here until you bring him back. I think I'm getting the hang of this.” I smiled as I put a Leonard Cohen album on the other turntable.

The band ventured off and I was surprised to find that I could hear the Leonard Cohen album through a tiny speaker even though the volume knob was all the way down. That's when I noticed there was a little click notch below 'full zero' and when I turned it all the way down to there I could hear the record through the little speaker. 'Cool' I thought to myself. It made it much easier to set up the next track. I transitioned... rather gracefully I thought, to the Cohen song after Floyd ended. I waited impatiently for the guys to get back with AWOL Toby Reece.

Finally a face peered around the corner. It was Colin.

Alone.

“No sign of him. The guys looked all around while I held the door. They're all going to the bucket for drinks. I told them we'd catch up.” He smiled and held out his hand.

“Doesn't seem right just ….leaving... and abandoning the place.” I scowled.

“Not your problem. Not your job.” Colin shrugged.

“I know.... but still.... it just seems ….wrong....”

He shrugged again. “So what do you want to do?”

“SOMEONE will have to show up eventually, right? Maybe we just hold down the fort til then?”

Colin scowled.

“Meanwhile” I grinned “We have an amazing record collection and the world's bitchin'est stereo!”

Colin gave me a hard stare for an uncomfortably long time then broke into a grin and attacked the wall full of albums.

We were having a lot of fun and kind of got lost in our little game of 'top this'. I had one turntable and Colin had the other. We kept trying to one up each other and playing the most unexpected but surprisingly perfect match for the song the other chose. This went on for a few hours until this guy burst into the room.

“What the HELL is going on here?” He demanded.

Colin & I froze.

“Who the HELL are YOU?” He nearly shouted. His voice rang with authority but it seemed less angry than bewildered.

“Where the hell is Reece?” He spat before Colin & I could even answer his last question.

“I have NO idea” I said as Colin spoke on top of me.

“That's what we'd ALL like to know!” he muttered.

The guy looked around, regrouped and addressed us more calmly.

“OK. I guess my first quest....”

I raised a finger and switched the song ending on my turntable to the one on Colin's. I grinned when I heard his choice. The Beatles' 'Flying' from Magical Mystery Tour flowed from the ringing guitar note at the end of the song I chose and was ….just perfect... Colin & I shared a smile then turned back to the authoritative guy questioning us.

He caught our shared smile and nodded with a smile of his own. “Nice.” He grinned. Then got back to business.

We explained how the band came in for an interview, Toby Reece stepped out and never came back, then I held out his jacket and jangled the keys in the pocket. The guy and I shared a look. Nothing needed to be said.

“It just seemed …..wrong..... to walk away and leave the place empty.... so we figured we'd carry on as best we could until someone ….you, I guess.... showed up.” I sheepishly smiled.

He nodded. “Thanks for that. I knew something was up when I got in my car and heard the radio.”

“Sorry.” Colin said quietly. “We just wanted to keep something playing.... we didn't....”

“No.” The guy held up his hand with a slight grin. “It sounded good. ...Good.” His face did something. “That's how I knew something was up.” He smirked.

His posture changed. “So where do you work?” He asked. I wasn't sure whether he was talking to Colin or me.

“Like I said. I'm with the band. We came in for our interview.”

“And I'm a projectionist at the lightbox off Sunset ....and I waitress at Quays.” I volunteered.

“No... I mean....” Then his face flashed a mix of confusion and mild concern. “....neither of you are on the air anywhere?”

We looked at each other and shook our heads.

“Any radio in college?” he asked.

Colin and I again shook our heads, not volunteering that neither of us had even gone to college.

“So.... no background.”

We shook no.

“No station experience? No third phone?”

“We don't even have ONE phone” Colin laughed. “We have to use the neighbor's”

The guy shook his head. “No. I mean a third class radiotelephone license with broadcast endorsement.”

We stared at him blankly.

“Honest. We didn't know anything about needing a license.... we just....”

He waved dismissively. “No. Don't worry. No problem. ….well.... not your problem.... I'll handle it.” He went behind the equipment and pulled out a clipboard.... looked through it.... checked some instruments and hung it back up.

“Not your problem.” He repeated. “It's Reece's problem... and I'll deal with that when I see him.”

He looked at us and smiled. “I never even introduced myself. Gerry Burke. Program Manager.”

He extended a hand. Colin reflexively reached in and shook. I followed.

“Olive. Bracco.” I said and nodded to Colin “Colin Logue.”

“So you're Toby Recce's …..boss?”

He shook his head and smiled. There was something unsettling in that smile.

“Former boss is more like it.” he said quietly. I shivered.

“Look, you said your bandmates went out for drinks? Why don't you catch up with them? I'll take it from here.” he said as he settled behind the console.

We nodded and went to grab our coats.

“And thanks.” He shouted out as we headed for the door. “....for everything.” And he smiled broadly.

Colin and I figured they guys had already left the bucket. It was a little hole in the wall place that reminded Lewis the drummer of a club in a movie called 'bucket of blood'. Everyone thought it was hilarious and that became its new nickname.... which was quickly shortened from 'bucket of blood' to just 'the bucket'. The place stayed open late, but Colin and I decided even if they were still there, we just wanted to go home.

“Well that night didn't go as planned.” Colin laughed as we snuggled against the cold, meandering home in the early morning hours.

“Still... it was fun wasn't it?” I buried into him.

“More than should be allowed....” He grinned. “At least without a license!”

I laughed. “Oh yeah. That guy said we needed one.”

“oh, man.... a FUN license.... Nixon would just love that!” Colin laughed.

“sssshhh!” I teased. “His spies are everywhere.... don't give them any ideas!”

Colin pulled me closer and we walked in silence through the near deserted streets home.

We both slept in late and grinned when we staggered from our rooms and crossed paths in the kitchen.

“Morning.” Colin mumbled, holding his hand over his mouth to cover his morning breath.

“Afternoon” I corrected, pulling my own T-shirt neck up over my nose to cover my own morning breath – and my broad grin.

We puttered around the kitchen silently, preparing our breakfasts. I grabbed a melon from the refrigerator while Colin tossed bread in the toaster and grabbed the jar of peanut butter.

“So.... I think last night worked out for the band.” I fished.

He nodded. Then grinned. “Yeah. I think it turned out OK.”

I nodded back trying not to betray any feelings or opinions on the matter.

“I had my doubts at the start.... Man, that guy was SO stoned....” Colin shook his head in disbelief and grinned. “But it turned out OK.”

“I think we salvaged it.” I nodded in agreement.

“No. YOU salvaged it. I can't believe you just jumped in and acted like you'd been doing it all your life.”

“I don't know what I was thinking.... But I know you and the band. You're sharp, funny guys. You just needed a chance to show it. It was YOU guys who made it work. I just asked lame questions. You had the great answers. YOU saved it. I was just a witness. …..and the people listening....”

“Do you think anyone was listening? And if so, were they all as stoned as Toby Reece?” Colin wondered aloud.

“We may never know.” I shrugged.

We would find out soon enough.

Silva's Stereo was a hi-fi & record store close to our house. It was also one of Doug Cohn's jingle clients. Doug had leaned on Ernesto Silva to stock the Shotgun Surprise album. He didn't have to lean too hard. He and Ernesto had worked together for years, and Doug let him have the album shipment with 90 day credit and agreed to buy back all the unsold copies. All Ernesto was really committing to was the shelf space.... Doug was taking all the risk and making it an offer too good to refuse. It was pocket change to Doug and he really wanted to start carving out his rep as a music mogul, so he gave lots of old advertising acquaintances sweetheart deals to get a foothold in the Phil Spector, Ahmet Ertegun, Don Kirshner music mogul game. I don't know if he really believed in Shotgun Surprise or just that Colin and his mates were the only 'talent pool' he had, but Doug took most of the financial risk to get his product into the market and carve out his toehold in his quest to be the next Phil Spector.

It turned out to be a good gamble.

Colin was walking me to work at the lightbox and we had time, so we wandered into Silvas. I think he was kind of psyched to see his album actually for sale in the bin of a record store.

We looked around. Checked out the “New & Hot” display.

Not there.

OK. Shotgun Surprise was new... but HOT was for Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, George Harrison, Deep Purple ….hell even Carole King! After her years toiling behind the scenes in the Brill building, she earned it. I felt badly for Colin that Shotgun Surprise wasn't on the New & Hot display. Still, most of the bands that were on that display, had years of paying their dues and multiple albums behind them to reach the 'hot' point.

We wandered over to the 'New' bin and rummaged through. Nothing. Colin then went to the alphabetical stacks. Still nothing. I could see the disappointment ...and annoyance... building on his face.

Finally, he built up the temerity ….or bile... to go up to the guy at the front counter and ask him where the Shotgun Surprise album was.

The guy just shrugged. “Sorry.”

I saw Colin tense.

“Sold out” the guy said. ...then smirked. “You're like the gazillionth person to ask today..... what's with that?”

Colin and I shared a glance. As it sunk in, a grin broke out on his face.

The counter guy was oblivious. “Come back next Wednesday. We restock Tuesday nights. Wanna reserve a copy?”

Colin grinned to me. “Nah. I'll chance it.” He smiled and headed for the door.

We walked in silence for a few blocks. I could see him churning his mind over our record store encounter and waited to see where he ended up.

“Sold out.” He muttered.

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Wanna try somewhere else? I'm sure someone has a copy you can buy.” I teased.

Colin shoulder bumped me.

“He said 'the gazillionth today....” Colin grinned.

“Does that make you a gazillionaire?” I teased.

Colin smirked. “Maybe someone was listening last night.”

I shrugged ….and grinned... happy for his success.