by Margaux Sky

Created on: March 05, 2010

     The next stop on our journey was Fort Lauderdale, Florida. It happened to be March 21, 1968, the first day of spring. Look, we were two sixteen-year-old kids and headlong into the hippie scene. We were hippies experimenting not only with free love, but free travel, free food, free clothing, free money, anything that was free. Not having been raised in the environment of this kind of "freedom", I was a bit cautious about it, especially when we panhandled to get the money to finance our trip to Fort Lauderdale.

"Why are we hitch hiking if we panhandled to get our money to Fort Lauderdale. I thought you said we’d rent a car," I pointed out rather curtly. This semi we were piling into, me in the middle seat of course, wasn’t settling in as a comfortable fit for me, especially amid the cloud of cigar smoke and stinky smell of beer.

"Why pay money when we can ride for free," Bruce smiled like a sly cat. "It’s not that far a jaunt, love. Relax now, and enjoy the company." He winked at the driver who gave us the up and down, no smile or words, and threw his truck into gear.

"I’m beginning to think free means one thing to me and another to you," I suggested.

When we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, the last thing I’d expected was a love fest or being forced to listen to an absolutely atrocious song being sung "spring love spreads love, anyway you can get love" very badly by a young man sitting at the fire pit on the beach. Kids our age and older, some probably younger, too, were not being shy about showing their affection for one another amid the marijuana and booze floating graciously about, nor for anyone else who felt like joining in their circle of love.

     "I’m not up to this," I told Bruce. "This isn’t my thing."

   "Sure it is," he grinned.

     "No, it isn’t," I stated flatly.

     "Sure it is," he edged us toward the bloke sitting cross-legged strumming the guitar attempting singing with a really awful voice. His hair was long, greasy, and the bloke looked like he’d climbed out of the belly of the deepest, dirtiest part of the beach. Meanwhile, as Bruce was edging me onto this stranger, he had his eye on a long legged, tan, blonde, girl who looked like she hailed from San Francisco, California, love beads and all. She was certainly not shy about giving him a heavy dose of flirtation, even in my presence.

    

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