99.5 Summer Rockout, Maryland, 1980
Peter pushed his way through the sweaty, writhing throng feeling as out of place as chocolate syrup on a tossed salad. All around him people roughly his age were rocking out to the beat of the band on stage, but he didn’t want to dance. The beat wasn’t something that made sense to him, and the decibel level was beyond the comfort level for his enhanced hearing.
Attending this rock festival had seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago when he’d read about it in the newspaper. He’d fought with his parents and his commanding officer to be allowed to attend. Now that he’d won that battle, he was feeling like he’d lost the war. Alone and uncomfortable in the crowd, he was beginning to see his mother’s point. Turns out, there wasn’t much worth seeing on the outside of The Program campus, and he didn’t belong with these people. He was too different.
“Hey, soldier, wanna hit?”
It took Peter a moment to realize the question had been directed at him. He turned to the two girls who had called to him and tried to translate their question. “No, thank you, I’d rather not be punched.”
The two girls, one short with long straight brown hair, the other tall with bleached blonde hair, gawked at him. He swallowed, knowing he’d said something wrong.
“Notbehit.Takea hit,” the blonde girl said. She held out a tiny piece of graying white paper that faintly resembled the cigarettes many of the officers on campus smoked.
“Is that cannabis?” he asked, trying to catalog the item in his impressive mental database.Thiswas why he’d argued to be let off campus: for moments like this where he could learn about the culture of the country he’d been bred to defend. He also wanted to prolong the conversation with her. Something about her husky voice had him paying attention.
Again his question caused raised eyebrows and smothered giggles. “Are you a narc?” the brunette asked.
That word he recognized. “No, I am not a narcotics officer, nor am I a soldier as you called me before.” Of course he had to lie about who he actually was, but he’d decided to create a cover story for himself. On his first adventure off his secret military base, he’d created the fictional character of Peter Smith, son of farmers in rural Virginia. That way, his innocence could be explained away by his small-town childhood.
“We didn’t think you were actually a soldier,” the blonde girl said. “I called you that because of your haircut.”
His hand rose to run over the short bristles of his dark hair. If he’d known his hair would give him away, he would’ve grown it out or worn a hat as so many of the men here wore.
“And yep, this is cannabis. Reefer. Pot. The old Mary J. Have a toke; it won’t hurt you, and maybe you’ll loosen up and enjoy yourself.”
He moved closer to the blonde. “I am enjoying myself.”
She laughed, and it was a throaty noise he felt in every inch of his skin. “Dude, you’re a terrible liar. If you were any stiffer, you could double as one of the beams holding up the stage.”
“This is my first concert,” he confessed, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to get closer to someone who so obviously was enjoying herself.
Her eyes widened. “For real? No way?” She shook the shoulder of her friend who’d melded in a bit more with the crowd. “Beth, get this. It’s his first concert ever. He’s a virgin.”
Peter felt his cheeks heat as she boldly and unintentionally stated two truths about him. He’d never been to a concert, nor had sex.
She glanced at him and started laughing harder. “Dude, relax. You’re blushing as if I announced you’re actually a virgin.”
He had no response. If she were male and had made a physical threat, he’d know how to react. He’d eliminate the threat in seconds without breaking a sweat. As she was a beautiful girl and only a threat to his emotional equilibrium, he went for the fight or flight response, and chose flight.
He was five feet away when she caught up and grabbed his shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever been touched by a woman who wasn’t his mother, and his whole body stiffened.
“Wait!” The blonde had come running after him. She was breathing a little hard from her sprint, and he was tempted to tell her she should stop the illegal drugs if she wanted to be in better shape, but he kept his mouth closed and watched her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. You’ve got to chill out.”
She wasn’t talking about lowering his body temperature, was she? Something made him blurt the words, “Will you teach me?”
A wide smile spread her lips that were pink and glossy. He wanted to kiss those lips, even knowing the makeup would rub off on his own skin.
“I can do that.” She held out a hand. “I’m Allison.”
He grasped her smaller soft hand in his larger callused one. “Peter.” He didn’t want to release her hand. It was as if the skin of his palm had finally found its missing puzzle piece.
“Nice to meet you, Pete.”
No one called him Pete, but on her lips, he’d take it.
“Wanna go sit?” she asked. “I brought a blanket.” She swiveled slightly to show him the woven backpack hanging over her shoulder.
“Okay,” he agreed. He would’ve followed her anywhere she’d led.