August 1969

Chapter 15

Elaine's head rests on my lap, and I gently run my fingers through her hair. It's something my mom does when we need comfort. My sister is running on fumes, and I'm sure she will sleep for a week when we get back home.

Whenever I think she has fallen asleep, I look over, and she's tapping her foot in time with Joe Cocker's drummer.

I place my head on Bobby's shoulder as Joe continues his soul-filled verses.

Mesmerizing is the only word I can think of to describe Joe Cocker's performance at Woodstock. His mix of power and harmony causes an out-of-body experience.

You can tell Joe gives every piece of his heart when performing, and I can't take my eyes off him.

Even when Bobby begins to rub delicate circles on my thigh, Joe Cocker still holds my undivided attention. He sings with such confidence, using his body to prove a point. To some, his quirky movements might look like he's having a fit, but to me, the music is just taking over his soul.

"He is very talented," Elaine says with her eyes closed. When I look down at her, she has her fingers drumming along with the song. Her eyes remain closed, but she's wearing a beautiful smile.

"You should see the way he imitates playing the guitar and drums. The dude is a legend." Rose pulls her sunglasses down her nose and squints. "Also, he has killer sideburns."

We all laugh at Rose's comment, but she's not wrong. Joe Croker does have a magical ability to make his air guitar skills look like he is genuinely making sounds with his pretend rifts.

Bobby shifts and reaches into his pocket only to pull out a doobie and his lighter. After it's lit, he takes a hit. There is something about the way his cheeks are hollow when he inhales that I find incredibly hot.

I remember the first time I smoked with Elaine, Rose, and Bobby. It was my freshman year of high school.

We just finished a family gathering celebrating Bobby and Rose's sixteenth birthday. Our parents were upstairs having after-dinner drinks, and the four of us went to the basement to hang out.

It burned so bad when I took my first hit. It was like my chest was on fire. I coughed for a solid minute, and Elaine and Rose could not stop laughing. Bobby was the only one to show concern. He got up from his chair and kneeled in front of me. He pulled me into a hug and began to rub my back as I hacked up a lung on his shirt.

My flashback ends when Bobby kisses my temple. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say with a nod. "Just thinking of a happy memory."

Cheers erupt around us as the band plays the final notes of Something to Say.

Joe leans in close to the microphone and says. "We're gonna leave ya with the usual thing, the only thing I can say, that I have said to many people. This title, uh, just about, uh, puts it all into focus. It's called A Little Help From My Friends. Remember it."

The song starts with an electric keyboard solo, and of course, Joe has his fingers banging in the air as if there was a piano in front of him. He bends down to grab a drink of water, no doubt preparing his pipes for a performance of a lifetime.

His voice is extraordinary, like nothing I have ever heard before. It's raspy but also somehow sweet and soothing. It's magnificent.

I have heard this song more times than I can count, and it still amazes me how Joe Cocker's rendition is so radically different from the original sung by the Beatles. Ringo Starr has his own original sound, but his version sounds cheerful and bright. On the other hand, Joe's feels like I'm at church, and his sermon is feeding my soul.