I guess she had decided to use sex, drugs, and rock and roll as an antidote to the blues because she’d do a double shift waiting tables and then go party. It was the heyday of partying, in the midseventies, when we hadn’t yet recovered from the fact that we, or our brothers or lovers, might have to go die in Vietnam. She met Silver at one of those parties. He was tall and well built, hair curly and long. He had come into the city to do the sound for Iggy Pop or Bob Seger, one of them or both.

Now, Silver was in a bad marriage, too, but no one had officially ended it. I don’t even think they had acknowledged it. His wife lived in one of those little towns in north Michigan that survive on tourists and sports. Motorcross racing, hiking, boating, camping in the summer, hunting in the fall, snowmobiles, cross-country skiing, ice fishing in winter, the year-round inhabitants nourished by the natural beauty of the area in spite of the perennial hard economics and winters. Silver stayed on the road more and more and, at that moment in time, hadn’t seen his wife for several months, giving her the excuse of work, but she didn’t complain. She enjoyed the money he sent.

Then came a party at the remnants of a commune about a half hour from the city. It was late summer, early fall, daylight was still long and the commune’s gardens were heavy with produce. Eggplants. Brussels sprouts. Cauliflower. An entire field of tomatoes, some still green, and bending down in spite of the branches tied to stakes. Oregano and thyme tangled as I walked between the rows. And at the edge the unmistakable scent of pot trained to grow on the ground like an out-of-control tomato plant. The scent was almost hidden in the licorice aroma of basil.

Silver arrived, roaring in on his motorcycle. His helmet flattened his long hair until he shook it out. Tracy tilted her chin and straightened her shoulders as soon as she saw him, flicked her fingers through her long blond hair, licked her mouth and fastened him with her eyes.

He felt her staring at him, standing there with her lips in between a pout and a grin.

“He’s so hot, he needs some ice,” I said.

She laughed.

He turned toward her chuckle, and that laugh of hers, so merry but with a guttural hint of much more, snared him. The keg of beer and the bowls of homemade pretzels the commune made seemed endless. As darkness fell, a bonfire was lit. Sparklers and pot were passed around. Silver and Tracy danced to Earth, Wind & Fire, fastened together as they swayed, staring into each other’s eyes.

Uh-oh, I thought and shook my head.