This is the prologue to my new story, "Orange Sunshine." Enjoy!
1968
A gust of wind blows against her knee-length, wavy brown hair, and loose fitting clothes, making them billow slightly. She shifts her weight from one, heelless earth sandal to the other. She opens her Nehru jacket, giving the breeze an open invitation on this muggy summer day. She is clad in a fringed Grateful Dead concert T-shirt and a light, flowing, tie-dyed skirt. Her face is devoid of all traces of Avon or Maybelline; she is making a statement against animal cruelty by refusing to use or wear products tested on poor, defenseless animals, locked in cramped, dirty cages, in labs scattered throughout the country. Instead, brightly colored peace signs, doves, and hearts, in Day-Glo—of course—made from all-natural products, adorn her face.
She raises her head, peering into the throng of protesters amassed around her, through rose-tinted granny glasses that are very Janis-esque. Strands of love beads and peace medallions clatter against each other as she cranes her neck. Waiting for the rally to begin, she hums some of the songs from her favorite artists, whose albums cover every available surface in her dorm: Janis, Jimi, Credence, Arlo, and, of course, The Dead.
She goes by the name ‘Sunshine’, for she has no other. Her birth name has been erased from her memory by a combination of LSD and repression. Her parents had been strict, immaculate, and—the atrocity of their most major infraction to being considered ‘hip’ made it almost too horrible to think of, let alone say—they were Republicans. Sunshine, only seventeen, had been oh, so happy to get accepted early—very early—to Columbia, making college her ticket out of a life filled with suburbs, housewives, Dr. Spock, and complete subservience. She did not need her Mrs., she was happy to be a Ms.
Sunshine hates the establishment and ‘The Man.’ She believes in equality, ecology, and enjoyment of life (which is often achieved through achieving a chemically-induced euphoria). As the rally begins, she holds her sign aloft and chants.
“Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids did ya’ kill today?”
She grins as she sees all of those around her taking up the cry.
The police force is out in full swing, looking quite edgy. Some are on horses, some hold tightly onto the leashes of snarling police dogs. Tear gas and rifles are at the ready, no matter that those assembled are mostly unarmed college students.
Abbie Hoffman steps up to the podium, brazenly draped in the American flag. He begins his tirade, peppering his speech with his usual four-letter expletives. Sunshine listens eagerly, punctuating his speech at all the right places, with cheers and applause. As he speaks, Sunshine lets her mind drift to her past.