He was strumming his guitar and looking at me impatiently. He wanted me to make up my mind already about what to sing. "I've been waiting a while. Come on, Rebecca, it's not that hard of a decision to make," he said. Peter had beautiful golden blond hair that always hung in his eyes. He stopped strumming and pushed his hair out of his face. He looked at me again with his thoughtful brown eyes.

"I'm not sure. How about a folk song? This Land Is Your Land?" I asked.

"I like that song. I used to play it in the Village," he remembered with a smile, a sweet smile that could radiate a whole room. He was the most sincere and honest person I knew.

He began the song, and I sang out with force. I sang so often with him that I never felt awkward or embarrassed, as I sometimes did with my older brother, Michael. Peter never criticized nor judged; he always had something kind to say. But my brother was always so judgmental of my abilities. He would always try to correct me. I'm sure he was only trying to help, but his methods usually just hurt my feelings.

Peter and I were killing time, waiting for the director to need him again. I had become bored just sitting around waiting with the only entertainment being the other guys. Not to mention that Michael was getting on my nerves. Michael was either telling me what to do or shooting me dirty looks for talking with Peter. When I couldn't take it anymore, I had persuaded Peter to duck out back for a quick smoke and a song.

Peter was my best friend. I tried to spend as much time with him as possible, even if he was a head and I was somewhat straight. Our personalities had just meshed. My brother was none too thrilled that I had picked him as my best friend over other people we knew. He was afraid his sweet, little sister would be corrupted, but Peter and I had an understanding. He did whatever he wanted, and he never asked me to join him ö that included drugs, alcohol, or sex. Lord knows, I must have seemed the straightest hippie he ever met, but I loved being around the people and the music. But I hated not being in control. Sometimes Peter was not in control. I worried about him all the time, but Peter, usually in a stupor from one chemical or another, would only kiss me and say, "No worries, Beck." No worries...

"What's going on tonight?" he asked me after the song. We were leaning against a wall sharing a cigarette, the last one either of us had. We couldn't find anyone from which to bum another one.

"I'm singing at a small club," I said. I tried to sing whenever and wherever I could, but I refused to let my brother help me. As a result, my gigs were usually small and not glamorous, but I was developing a following. "Come by and see me?"

"Sure. When?" he asked and took a drag from the cigarette before handing it to me.

"I start at eight, but I'm leaving here at six. You can come with me," I said taking the cigarette, letting my hand linger a few seconds on his.

"Sure. We should be finished by then. I was already told I wasn't working tonight." They had worked either filming or recording every night until 11 p.m. for over two weeks after having usually started at 7 a.m.

"Is everyone getting the night off?" I asked and took a puff. "Michael didn't say anything to me."

He placed his guitar against the wall, and he took the cigarette. "I guess." He then leaned over and kissed me. It wasn't the first time it had happened. We were not a couple, but we went out all the time. He was actually dating several girls at once, and I was dating a man I met at a club that I had been playing. I really liked kissing Peter, but we had decided a long time ago not to date. Peter working relationship with my brother made him off-limits to me. Peter though loved to kiss me in front of Michael to get a rise of anger from him.

During the kiss, I wrapped my arms around him. His kisses always affected me in a way that they shouldn't. After he pulled away from me, I held onto him. He finished our cigarette with his arm around me.

I took a step away from him after a few moments. I pulled my hair behind my ears. It was a nervous habit that I was continually doing. So much so that Peter commented on it. "It won't help, you know? Your hair will fall back into your face, and it will frustrate you. Why not just get a crewcut and be done with it?" he said with a smile.

"Wouldn't matter. I'd still try to pull my hair behind my ears," I said, and Peter laughed. I picked up his guitar. I pulled the strap over my head and strummed it a few times to check if it was still in tune. "I want you to hear my new song I wrote. Michael helped with some of the chords."

"It's not that country flavored rock shit that he does, is it?" he asked with disgust. Peter came out of the Greenwich Village and was a true folk singer at heart. That was one of our common interests--folk music. I loved folk music! We both listened to it endlessly. I was always trying to get him to form a folk duo to no avail. He was under contract.

"Hell, no. I said I wrote it, not him. It's folksy," I said then smiled. "Wanna hear it?"

"Yes, of course. What's it called?"

"The Flight of the Sun's Moon," I said. I paused and looked at him self-consciously. "My guitar playing isn't the greatest, you know? I wish Mike was here so he could play for me." Peter was the best musician I knew. Although I never felt uncomfortable singing with him, playing for him was another matter. Peter was amazing, and I was only average on my best days.

"Why do you always run yourself down? Mike plays better than you, but you're not that bad. Have some confidence," he said and ran his hand down the side of my face. "Besides you are much better singer than both Mike or I. Okay?"

I began the opening chord and began singing. With Peter's confidence in me, I had never sounded so good. I closed my eyes and the let the song flow through me. I slowly opened my eyes when I finished. "Well?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Definitely not the work of Michael. I like the lyrics. Sounds like an acid trip. Were you tripping?" he asked with a sardonic smile.

I gave him an incredulous look. "Honestly, what do you think?"

"No, you were not tripping. The song sounds pretty good. You performing it tonight?"

I nodded my head affirmatively. "I knew you'd like it. Mike said it sounded like that hippie crap that he hates." I paused. "We've been fighting a lot lately."

"He can be an overbearing ass sometimes. What was it this time?" he asked sincerely. He always listened to my problems and tried to help.

I handed Peter back his guitar. "He thinks you're a bad influence. That you're turning me into a freaked out, drug using hippie." I flashed him a peace sign. He laughed and returned it. He held me in one arm and his guitar in the other.

"You? A freaked out, drug using hippie?" He laughed again. "Come on, my virtuous little friend. I'm sure they have all wondered to where we've wandered." With his arm around me, we walked back onto the sound stage.