We arrived at the Coliseum in fifteen minutes and easily found parking. Now we had to wait to get into the arena. We nabbed our spot in line, downing beers and smoking weed just in case security confiscated it at the gate. People came and went from our home base, walking up and down the long line looking for friends. Two hours later, the arena opened and the line started moving. We finally reached the front of the line, where a couple of unsmiling men with ponytails searched us and granted access to the promised land.
We ran to claim our spot of “green,” a patch of lawn in the center of the gigantic field used for athletic events, and set up camp with our blankets and backpacks. The arena was half-full, with most groups staking their claim on the grass and others choosing to sit in the surrounding stadium seats. Rock music blared from massive speakers, interrupted by roadies performing the occasional sound check. The excitement and energy in the arena was palpable even though the show wouldn’t start for another hour.
Pete and I shared a blanket. He fetched his smuggled reefer and papers out of his bag and rolled a joint. I reclined, watching him expertly turn the loose leaves into a cigarette. Since getting back together with Pete, weed and alcohol had become a regular part of our social life. I’d come to enjoy the no-worries-in-the-world, blissed-out highs, but I monitored the situation. I didn’t want to develop a habit. I intended to continue controlling it, not the other way around.
Pete asked if I wanted a superhit, and I nodded. He inhaled deeply and leaned over until his lips nearly touched mine. As he exhaled, I sucked the smoke in and held it before slowly blowing it out.
From behind us, Reese let out a suggestive whoop. I smiled his direction, took another hit off the joint and lay back down on the blanket. Pete took a few more tokes and handed it to Reese, who quickly inhaled the remainder.
“The weather is perfect for a Day on the Green. Look at that blue sky!” I said.
“That cloud looks like a giant ant,” Pete said.
“It totally does!” I turned around to the others. “You guys, check it out. See the ant? Isn’t that hella trippy?”
“You’re on drugs. I don’t see anything,” Jaime said.
We were on drugs.
“Hey assholes!” yelled a familiar voice.
We turned to see Tez and Jim walking toward us, zigzagging around all the blankets blocking their path.
“What’s up, Paisano?” Jim said.
“The sky.”
“Girl, you are tripping. Look at your eyes.”
I flicked my thumb in Pete’s direction. “He’s responsible.”
“Break it out, brother,” Tez said. “And loan me five bucks for some chow.” We laughed. Tez was notoriously broke.
Pete rolled another joint, which the boys inhaled in two minutes. With a pleasant buzz going, I didn’t smoke anymore. I kicked back, enjoying the sights and smells. I closed my eyes, bathing in the sun’s warmth until jarred from my stupor by the arrival of popular cuties Jake Miller and Manny Rodriguez. Jake winked at me then sat down next to Mary. I guess they were friends, or whatever they were, again.
The microphone screeched, and the announcer introduced the starter band running onstage. I got to my feet, joining the thousands filling the stadium. I could only see a portion from the throngs blocking my view.
“Are you ready to get this party started, Oakland?” The lead singer yelled into the mic.
The crowd roared its response, and the band launched into its first song. I moved to the music as it echoed from the sound system.
The line-up of bands continued, and I enjoyed each one, even when unfamiliar with the music. I loved the whole vibe of Day on the Green. We could kick back, stand, dance, eat and get high at our leisure all day long.
As each band cranked out its songs, we yelled and whistled our approval. We clapped when the lead singer incited us to. We sang along when we knew the words. We pounded our fists into the air or pointed number one.
Near the end of Sammy Hagar’s performance, the sun faded and the sky turned from blue to black. I expected the cool air and bright lights to energize me, but my buzz had long worn off, leaving me tired and depleted. Pete stood behind me, arms circled around my waist. I was grateful for his sturdy frame to lean against.
Boston took the stage and played their asses off, their harmonies sounding epic live. Thousands of voices throughout the stadium sang along. Incredible to experience. My friends and I cheered and fist-pumped our approval.
The band exited, and we screamed for them to return. Pete—along with thousands of others—held his flicked lighter up to the sky in salute, a breathless moment as I absorbed the magnitude of lights flickering throughout the Coliseum. Boston returned for two encores. Toward the end of their final song, fireworks launched into the sky and the crowd went nuts.
The house lights signaled the conclusion, and I was overcome that summer was also nearing its blissful, perfect end.
23
Last Hurrah
I took a hit off the joint wedged between my thumb and forefinger and handed it to Mary. Leaning back into the pillows on Jim’s floor, I slowly exhaled. The now-familiar sensation of getting high spread throughout my body. My eyelids grew heavy, begging to close. I took a long swig of beer to wet my parched mouth.
