The Forgotten Flower Child

The Forgotten Flower Child

The 1960s. The decade of hippies, of flower power, of free love and rock n’ roll. Of cult leaders and serial killers. Of conflicts in far off countries and student protests on college campuses. The decade of the most-remember presidential assassination, and the cover-up that followed it. An era of turning on, tuning in, and dropping out, as spouted by Timothy Leary, great advocate for LSD. The time of the Civil Rights Movement, the ‘I Have a Dream’ speech of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the ratification of Title VII. An era in time where some want to return to and some want to forget. And then, there are those who can only wished they had been alive at the time of this decade but can only know about it through books, websites, and from those who were there.

Teresa McKenna was one such person who dreamed of what her life would’ve been like had she been born a flower child. Unfortunately, as she’d think of it, she’d been born almost four decades too late. Brought into the world in the late 20^th century, Teresa had become fascinated with the ‘Hippie Generation’ ever since her grandmother had told her stories of Woodstock, Dead Tour, the Vietnam protests, and the psychotic Manson Family and the socialist People’s Temple. As a young child, she would sit with wide brown eyes as Grandma Moonie told countless tales of how she participated in sit-ins where activists preached civil rights for everyone, regardless of color or gender. Of how she was at one of the greatest musical festivals where Carlos Santana had taken so much acid, he’d thought his guitar was a snake. Of how the entire country stopped to mourn the loss of President Kennedy and the tragic, stoic figure of Jackie O.

As Teresa grew older, Grandma Moonie passed down her tie-dye blouses, dresses, skirts, beaded headbands and bracelets, belts, bell bottoms, and anything else that didn’t have moth holes in it. The teenager wore at least one item from the 60s every day. She kept her red hair long, bought a pair of rose-tinted sunglasses, and even researched the lingo that was used at the time. Most of her classmates thought she was strange but this didn’t bother Terry, as she took to calling herself, because she embraced the flower child ideal of peace and love. She had a few friends who didn’t mind the ‘hippie-dom’ and even joined in on her 60s obsession. Every weekend when they’d go out to the Echo Club that hosted DJs and live bands, the six teenagers would dress as if they’d come from Woodstock; bell bottoms, tie-dyed shirts, and beads galore. It was one weekend at the venue that Terry’s 60s immersion took a deeper dive.

She stood outside the Echo Club, waiting for her friends to arrive. Normally, they’d all show up together but Mikey, Mortis, Matt, Julie, and Becky were running late for some reason. Terry was dressed in a pink-and-purple tie-dyed shirt she’d made the day before, black bell bottoms, and her rose-tinted glasses, with a rainbow-beaded headband holding her hair at bay. A cool wind picked up, forcing her to step into the building’s doorway.

“Bloody hell, you guys. Where are you?” She said to herself, not expecting an answer. As soon as the words came out, her mobile sounded with a text. ‘Look to your right.’ Glancing up, she saw her friends coming her way, all dressed like they were ready for a Grateful Dead show. ‘Damn,’ she thought as they got closer. ‘I wish I could’ve been around to go on Tour.’ “About time you tossers showed up.”

Becky rolled her hazel eyes. “Mellow out, Terry. We got here as fast as we could.”

“Would’ve been faster if Mort hadn’t misplaced his auto keys.” Mikey said while glaring at his twin brother.

“Sounds like you need to mellow out, bro.” Mortis shot back. His brown eyes looked at Terry. “Far out tie-dye. You make it?”

“Sure did. First one that came out like I wanted it to.”

“Goes wicked with your hair.” Julie said. “I did this shirt two days ago. Not sure if I’m digging the blue.”

“It’s trippy, Julie. Like I told you, I’d trip something crazy looking at that.” Mikey said.

“Enough yakking about our threads. Let’s head inside and see who’s on tonight.” The six neo-hippies entered the well-lit club to see one of the bands setting up. What caught Terry’s attention as her group found a table was all the band members were dressed like they’d also stepped out of the 60s. Her gaze was drawn to the tall guy tuning a black bass guitar, who shook his head every other minute, his blue-tinted glasses hiding his eye color. He was wearing a red tunic shirt, blue jean bell bottoms, and black boots, and he had brown hair in a long Beatle-type cut.

“… told me there’s gonna be some fly acts tonight but I’ll wait to see for myself,” Becky was saying, bringing Terry back to the conversation. She turned to see Julie grinning at her.

‘Oh crap. She saw me looking at the bassist.’ Her friend winked but didn’t say anything and Terry was grateful for her not drawing attention to the situation. The club quickly filled with patrons, ranging from sixteen to twenty-three, and almost all were either drinking or smoking. The smells of beer, spirits, weed, and cigarettes filled the expansive room, making Terry imagine she were at a Pink Floyd show or The Who. ‘Two more bands I never got to see with the original members.’ She had seen Nick Mason’s band, Saucerful of Secrets last year, and they had performed Pink Floyd selections from before The Dark Side of the Moon. She had freaked out when they’d played Vegetable Man from the early Syd Barrett days, which Nick did as a tribute to the original guitarist.

She still had yet to see David Gilmour and Roger Waters, although the latter was rumored to be going on the road again soon, but no word yet on tickets.

As she thought about the members of Pink Floyd, she turned back to the band on stage and blinked a few times. ‘Hold the phone. Am I seeing things?’ Not even paying attention to her friends anymore, Terry maneuvered through the thickening crowd closer to the stage but hopefully far enough away to not be obvious. When she felt like she was close enough, she studied the four young men better, and was blown away by what could’ve only happened in her wildest dreams. As if time had been wound back, she would’ve sworn on her mother’s grave that Syd Barrett, Nick Mason, Roger Waters, and Rick Wright were all on stage right now as they would’ve been at the UFO Club in 1967.

‘Whoa, and I haven’t even dropped yet!’ She stood in awe for a few moments until she felt a hand on her shoulder and quickly turned to see Matt behind her.

“Hell, Terry. We were wondering where you wandered off to. What’s the low-down? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He said, blue eyes noticing his friend’s stunned face.

She shook her head. “It feels like it. Look who’s on stage.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, and Matt looked up. It didn’t take long for him to wear the same expression she had a moment ago.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s…”

“Yeah, I know. Think they’re related to them?”

“It’d explain the resemblance. Maybe we can find out after the show?”

“I’d freak out if we could. Probably wouldn’t know what to say either.”

“Worry about what to say if we even meet them. Let’s get back to the others so we can drop.” Terry followed Matt to the table where everyone had taken their tabs out.

“Hope this is as good as last time. The laser lights made me trip so hard.” Mortis said, placing the LSD on his tongue. The rest followed suit, except for Terry. She was more interested with the possibility of meeting a descendant of Roger Waters.

“Think I’ll opt out tonight, guys. Someone can have mine.” She tossed it on the table and Becky scooped it up before anyone could respond.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Heavy. Now, you’re gonna be a terror later.” His girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him then grinned knowingly. The lights went down to be replaced by a laser show firing in a random sequence until the first chord was struck. The lasers kept rhythm with the guitar riffs as the crowd became immersed in the psychedelic-blues sound of a band Terry had yet to learn the name of. No point in asking any of the other attendees. Most were already drunk and/or high and most likely wouldn’t provide the necessary info. Regardless, their sound was amazing, their playing was tight, and the bassist was extremely hot.

The late flower child decided to stand closer to the stage while her friends indulged in their trips and was careful to avoid the constantly moving guitarist. She did her best to blend in with the moving crowd but it was hard not to stand and stare at the stationary man on stage. A few times, she thought she saw him looking at her but it could’ve been a trick of the laser light show. ‘Only in your wildest dreams, ya hippie.’ Her mind chastised her. ‘Big bummer. He really is hot too.’

Terry spent the rest of the band’s set near the stage and when the last song finished with a drum solo, she decided to go to the bar instead of back to her table. Sitting down heavily on a flower print stool, the newly turned eighteen-year-old ordered a Newcastle and took a few sips before sighing. ‘Who am I fooling? Why would a cat who looks like him even give me the time of day?’ She looked over her shoulder to see the next group setting up. The previous band was nowhere to be seen. ‘Figures. I knew I wouldn’t get to meet them.’ She went back to her beer. ‘Sometimes believing in peace and love can be a downer if no one looks at you.’ Finishing off the first Newcastle, she asked for a second while deciding to head back to see if at least Julie had sobered up yet. She usually was the first one to come down from a trip.

“Cheers.” She said to the bartender, who waved politely. The redhead hippie turned to leave the bar when she stopped short. Standing in front of her, maybe six inches away, was the bass player for the first band. He stood about a foot taller than her and was looking at her over his blue-tinted glasses with liquid green eyes, which showed more than a bit of interest. At first, Terry didn’t know what to do. ‘Is this really happening? Is he actually looking at me? Say something, you flake! Right!’

“Hi, hi, hi there!” He spoke first. “Was wondering where you slipped off to after the set.”

‘A Clockwork Orange fan. Nice.’ She was glad she didn’t have to talk first. “You were wondering where I went? Didn’t think you noticed me.” ‘Smooth, real smooth.’

He took a step closer. “I notice when someone’s trying not to stare at me. Distracted me a few times to where I about missed a beat or two.” He sat on the stool she’d been previously occupying. “You gonna sit down and talk to me or what?”

‘Direct, this one. Take the chance, flower girl.’ Terry sat next to him and sipped her beer while he ordered one. “I’m Teresa but everyone calls me Terry.” She said, holding out her hand.

He took her hand and lightly kissed it, making her face match her hair. “Terry. Terry what?”

“McKenna.” She let him hold her hand a bit longer until he gently let go. “And your name?”

“Roger. Roger Waters, and bassist for the Silver Coffin Sound. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Forgive me but did you say your last name was Waters?” He nodded, smiling as if he knew what she was going to ask. “Are you related to…”

“Oh yeah. I get just about everything from Grandfather, save for his real first name. Most have said I look just like him.”

“You could be mistaken for his twin brother if this were the 60s.” She shook her head. “Never thought I’d meet a descendant from one of my favorite musicians., much less, be talking to him.”

Roger laughed and took a sip of his Guinness. “Maybe one day you’ll get to meet my grandfather.” He looked her over and winked. “If you’re lucky, that is.”

“That’d be a dream come true for a forgotten flower child.”

“A what flower child?”

“Forgotten flower child. I love everything about the 1960s but I was born about four decades too late to live through it.”

Roger leaned a bit closer. “Not too late to meet me.”

Terry felt a slight shiver down her spine. “Point taken.” She finished her drink but didn’t order another. “So, are you as into the 60s as I am?”

“I’d say we’re more than compatible in that era.” He said.

“And I’d say you made me love the decade even more.”