Her parents seemed to forget that the trip to Wisconsin was a ploy to remove Leigh from harmful influences. It was a special vacation for her. She would love it—the woods and lake, the swimming and boating and fishing. They wished they could go with her, but of course Dad’s job made that impossible. On second thought, maybe they could arrange to come up for a week later on. It would be terrific.
Mom took Leigh shopping the next day. At Macy’s on Union Square, they bought a conservative dress and shoes for the flight, two sundresses, an orange blouse, white shorts, a modest one-piece bathing suit, and an assortment of undergarments. Leigh went along with her mother’s suggestions, though she fully intended to spend most of her time in T-shirts and cutoffs.
At Dunhill’s, they bought a soft leather tobacco pouch and a tin of Royal Yachtsman tobacco for Uncle Mike, a pipe smoker. At Blum’s, they bought a box of candy for Aunt Jenny. They ate lunch there and finished with a dessert of Blum’s fabulous lemon crunch cake.
Leigh expected to be taken home when they returned to the car after lunch. Instead, Mom drove her to North Beach. “You’ll need some reading material, I think.” They went to the City Lights, then to a secondhand bookstore across the alley. Mom waited while Leigh loaded up with paperback editions of
Leigh woke up on Tuesday morning feeling excited. The trip, to be sure, was a form of banishment. But she found herself looking forward to it anyway. The trip would be an adventure. She’d be on her own during the flight and, if her aunt and uncle would stay out of her hair enough during the visit, she might even be able to enjoy herself. At least they weren’t her parents—maybe they wouldn’t try to control her life while she was there.
At the boarding gate, Mom wept. Dad gave her a fierce hug.
“Be on your best behavior,” Mom said.
“Save some fish for us, honey,” Dad told her.
“You’re definitely coming out, then?”
“We wouldn’t miss it.”
Leaving them, she hurried along the boarding ramp with light, quick steps. She almost started skipping. She felt free and wonderful.
When she reached her seat, she opened her purse and took out her peace button. She pinned it to the top of her crisp, proper, Macy’s dress. Then she tied the rawhide behind her neck, opened her top button, and slipped the sea-thing in. It was smooth and cool on the skin between her breasts.
The pin and necklace let Leigh feel more like herself.
They can change where I go and who I see, she thought, but they can’t change who I am.
ELEVEN
Leigh hadn’t seen her aunt and uncle since their trip to California when she was twelve, but she recognized them immediately when she stepped through the gate.
Uncle Mike looked a lot like Dad, especially his eyes. He was bigger, though—built like a football player. And, unlike Dad, he sported sideburns and a bushy mustache. His hair was considerably longer, too. Dad wouldn’t have approved of his brother’s appearance. Leigh felt relieved. She gave him a hug. His corduroy jacket smelled of pipe smoke.
She kissed Aunt Jenny on the cheek. The woman was surprisingly short. She used to be the same height as Leigh. Now the top of her head came only to Leigh’s chin. She was still as slim, however, and she still had a humongous bosom. She no longer wore the weird, harlequin glasses she’d had six years ago. Now she wore round lenses with wire rims. Granny glasses. A very good sign.
“You sure have sprouted up,” Aunt Jenny told her. “I considered it, myself, but chose not to. I enjoy conversing with belly buttons.”
Uncle Mike reached for Leigh’s carry-on. “Let me take that for you.” They started walking. “So how was your flight?”
“Just fine.”
“They feed you?” Jenny asked. “We’ve got a pretty long haul ahead of us.”
“We’ve got snacks. Or we can stop along the way.” Mike smiled around at Leigh. “Are you still crazy about McDonald’s?”
“Not quite like I used to be.”
“God, I remembered you hogged my fries.”
This might not be so bad, Leigh thought as she walked with them toward the baggage-claim area. Then she thought, Don’t kid yourself. Maybe they’re not as uptight as Mom and Dad, but they’re the same generation. They’ll have a lot of the same hang-ups, even if they do seem pretty cool for people their age. So you’d better watch out.
Their car was an old, battered station wagon. Mike loaded Leigh’s luggage into the rear, tossed in his corduroy jacket, which must have been smothering him in this hot, muggy weather, and came around to the passenger side. “Don’t see why we can’t all pile into the front,” he said.
Leigh sat between them.
“So,” Mike said as he started to drive, “we hear you’ve been dabbling in hippiedom.”
Here we go. “A bit,” she admitted.
“I don’t see that the movement’s produced any worthwhile literature.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jenny told him. “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
“Ah, but where are the Ginsbergs, the Ferlinghettis, the Kerouacs, the Gary Sniders?”
“Mike misses the Beatniks,” Jenny explained.
“I was in Ferlinghetti’s bookstore just yesterday,” Leigh said.
“The City Lights? No kidding. We stopped in there when we were out visiting you folks. We sandwiched it in between the McDonald’s, so to speak. Do you remember that?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was the high point of the trip for Mike,” Jenny said.
“Who’ve the hippies got? Kesey? He’s all right.
“Ginsberg’s still writing,” Leigh said. “Yeah, but he’s not a true hippie. He’s an over-the-hill Beatnik. There’s a difference.”
“Not a whole lot,” Jenny said. “Do hippies wear berets? Do hippies play bongos? Do hippies recite poetry in coffeehouses?”
“Mike’s a closet Beatnik.”
He started to declaim “Howl” in a deep, thundering voice.
“Oh, geez, spare us.”
Leigh started to laugh.
After a few stanzas, Mike quit his recitation. He and Jenny started asking the questions Leigh expected from relatives she hadn’t seen in years. How were her parents? How was school? Did she have a boyfriend? What did she like to do in her spare time? What did she plan to major in at the university? Did she have a career in mind?
They talked about themselves: the high school where Mike taught English and Jenny taught music; their cabin on Lake Wahconda; the new Cris Craft they’d bought two weeks ago; a drowning the previous summer when a fisherman’s boat capsized in a sudden storm; a legendary muskie named Old Duke that was said to inhabit the lake.
By the time they’d been on the road for an hour, Leigh felt completely at ease. Her aunt and uncle seemed easygoing and good-humored. They didn’t talk down to her. They treated her like an adult, a friend.
“Are you getting hungry?” Mike asked.
“I’m okay,” Leigh said.
