On Wednesday, I tiptoed into my calc class ten minutes late. The biology lecture had run overtime, then I had needed to talk to the professor for a few minutes. I was probably lucky that he'd talk to me there, instead of telling me to come to his office hours, which happened to be right around the time I was usually getting off the 405 on my way to work. That had gone well, of course, but now my calculus professor glowered a little at me as I took a seat as silently as possible.
Glancing over to the side, I saw Cara sitting there and breathed a sigh of relief that she was there. She seemed to be paying attention to the lecture, so I figured she must be bored. I opened my notebook, looked intently at what the professor was writing on the board for a moment, then picked up my pencil to write.
Good morning -- what did I miss? My eyes on the professor still, I calmly laid the paper on Cara's desk.
A few moments later, it was back. Absolutely nothing. If you were still gone, I'd still say you were missing nothing, wouldn't you?
Definitely. The professor lectured straight from the book. The people who had tried to ask him questions when they didn't understand how the book had explained the material had found that he only said what was in the book. I only came to class regularly to make a good impression. And on the off chance of a surprise quiz. I scratched another note to her. I won't be here on Friday. Cover for me?
If there's anything to cover. Not as though you can't get the lecture notes straight out of the book.
You never know, he might throw a curve ball... but thank you.
No problem.
I calmly slipped the note into a pile of papers in my folder as I noticed the professor walking between our desks as he continued talking. I did my best to pay attention from there.
I took a few minutes afterwards to seek out my British Literature professor to tell her that I had a doctor's appointment the next day and I didn't think I'd be able to make it to class. I hated to fabricate anything to her, since she was such a great teacher, but it didn't seem like skipping class to go to a concert would fall under the "excused" category. So she told me what she was planning on assigning, and I promised to have it in on Tuesday.
"Sarah!" I cried when I opened the door.
She bounced in and gave me a hug. "It's so good to see you!"
I grabbed my duffel and sleeping bag. "C'mon, let's get started! I can't wait!" She led me to the car and introduced me to Lindsay, a tallish girl whose dark brown hair and blue eyes bespoke some Irish blood, and whose Volkswagen van was to take us a few hundred miles up the coast.
"Don't worry!" she said as soon as she saw me eyeing the vehicle. "It's in better shape than you'd think! My brothers and my boyfriend just rebuilt the motor about six weeks ago!"
"Peachy," I mumbled, hoping for the best. We settled in and relaxed as we made our way through Los Angeles. We weren't going very fast, but at least we were getting through long before rush hour. I dug through my bag and pulled out a book.
"What're you reading?" Sarah asked when she noticed.
"Othello," I answered absently.
"Any good?"
I nodded enthusiastically. "Very! I love it... of course, Desdemona isn't the brightest crayon in the box, but Iago is the coolest character... wonderfully evil! I'd say he's a criminal genius, but he does make a very serious mistake."
"What's that?"
"He gets caught."
"You're reading that for a class?"
"Yeah... re-reading it, actually. I've got a test on it coming up, and I want to make sure I've got everything straight."
"When did you become an overacheiver?"
"When I started enjoying this class! This'll probably be my only good grade."
"Are you planning on finishing college?"
I shrugged. "I wasn't... and I guess I'm still not. We'll see what happens, though, I guess."
"You want to go back to England, don't you?"
"Yes, and no... I can't really explain it. I loved being in England. I had the time of my life. There were definitely a few rough spots there, but life here hasn't been so great, either. But there's something about here... not so much that I was raised here, though I guess that could be part of it. I guess there's just something about sitting on the sand and watching the water light up as the sun rises behind you. Or it could be standing on a mountain on a summer night, looking at the stars. I'm not sure what yet."
After a pause, Sarah said, "It's just something that gets into your blood."
After stopping for dinner somewhere North of Santa Barbara, we got some coffee to take with us and piled back into Lindsay's van. We took our time, stopping frequently, and arrived in Big Sur around five on Friday morning. And there was already a sizeable crowd gathered! We drove around the area of the concert for a little while before we finally just pulled off into the dirt and hoped that no one parked and blocked us off.
"Well, it's no Woodstock," Lindsay said as we walked around and looked out over a fair amount of people already there, "but it's not bad."
"Were you at Woodstock?" I asked.
"Sure was. It was an experience, I'll say that. The facilities were awful, the sound quality stunk, there wasn't enough food, there were huge time spans in between acts, and the rainstorm put everything behind schedule... but in a way, that all sort of added to the experience."
"I've heard people complain about that rainstorm," I said. "It sounds as if most people made the best of it, though."
Lindsay grinned in reply. "I think that sliding through the mud might actually have been the highlight of the festival!"
"Well, no rain is predicted for this weekend," Sarah said, sounding just the slightest bit disappointed. "And this is not nearly as big as Woodstock,"
"Maybe no, but we can still have as much fun!" I answered.
Chapter 14 - - - - Chapter 16