The Boy from the Band

By the Time I Get to Woodstock

"I want you to move to New York." Oh how I would have wanted to hear those words when I was twenty-three, but I'm not, I'm twenty-nine and although I am a little star-struck over him, I've grown up and gained a little wisdom.

Still, my head is spinning and I'm having trouble getting my breath. Although I want to get off his lap I'm not sure I could stay steady on my feet if I did. Instead, I bury my head in his chest and hold on tight.

When I finally catch my breath I ask, "Do you want me to move to New York for you or because you think it will be good for me?"

"I want you to move for me, you knucklehead, and because it would be good for you to get away from here. When's the last time you actually breathed clean air? You were coughing last night."

My heart has finally stopped pounding and I'm breathing normally. I gently disentangle myself from him and stand up. "Rick, I can't, you know I can't. My friends are here and my job is here. The area around Woodstock is all little towns, no good prospects for employment there. I'm not going to waitress, clean rooms, wash dishes, or be a store clerk. And what about school? I'm excited about starting classes, it's been over ten years since I was in college. When I dropped out I promised myself that someday I would go back."

"There's a good liberal arts college in Woodstock, you could get a teaching degree—I think you'd be a good teacher. How long would it take to get your Ph.D. in archaeology, ten years? More, maybe? And tell me, didn't you get an offer for a promotion at work?"

I held up two fingers, "Two offers, I turned them both down. I want to be down in the trenches where I won't have to kiss up to management."

"So how long are you going to do the same thing? Until you retire? Come on, Dacy, you're wasting your talents just to collect a paycheck. I know some smart people and you're one of the smartest. You've gotten lazy and could do a lot more with your life."

"And how am I going to support myself? I'm not going to run through my money waiting to find a job—and isn't Bard private? And expensive? I need a way to support myself."

"I can help, I know a lot of people. You might have more options than you think—you're only looking at the downside, not the fact there might be something out there that would suit you. Anyone who knows you knows you won't wash dishes and you probably couldn't get hired as a waitress—maybe a barmaid though, I bet you'd get a lot of tips."

I raised my fist to hit him and he caught my arm, laughing. "Calm down there girl. Look, why don't you get a three day weekend and fly to New York and check it out? How do you know you won't fall in love with Woodstock? Fall is coming and the colors are amazing. You'll have to get used to snow but you could trade surfing for skiing. You can hike, you can ride your bike..."

"But I can't surf and I won't be near the beach.

"No, there's no surfing, but there are lots of things to do. Please, just think about it, that's all I'm asking. What time do you have to be at work?"

He's changing the subject and I suspect why. "The same time as always—if you've forgotten you've been away too long."

He says nothing but takes my hand and pulls me back to the bedroom. I'm going to be so sore I won't be able to walk normally for days. I wonder for the millionth time why I can never tell him "no".

I left Rick with a promise to think about what he told me. "You're not being fair, you can't just drop this like a bombshell on me. You're asking a lot, don't you know that? I haven't seen or heard from you in six months and now this? Please, give me some time, all right?"

I don't think I've had a weekend like this in my life. Sex, a lot of sex, with two men in three days is a little out of my experience. It was a lot of fun but it was exhausting.