Roadwork

Author’s Note

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Many of the musicians, authors, events, and locations in this novel were actual people, places, and events in the past. Those works mentioned throughout the novel are listed as credits at the end. However, those characters who are portrayed in these pages in the story-line sense are entirely fictional and any resemblance they may bear to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

John Alvah Barnes, Jr.

Naomi Lynn Barnes

Hays, North Carolina

June 2020

Preface

This, my fourth novel, ROADWORK, is my love letter to Lynn, my wife of forty-four years as of this writing. Those of you who have read my first book, KIRKWOOD, will recognize the first date scene that I have resurrected in this book. My reason for doing so is that this is where it belongs, for although this, like all my books, is a work of autobiographical fiction, I will tell you that the scene is an accurate description of our first date. One of the great mysteries of my life is why did she go out with me again?

I wrote the first few chapters and then handed them to Lynn for her perusal as I always do. It wasn’t long before I started hearing ‘Valerie wouldn’t say that’, and ‘Valerie wouldn’t act that way’, and ‘Valerie wouldn’t feel that way’. At that point I asked her, how are your typing skills these days, Dear? You can tell from the cover what her answer was.

So, here’s our story, such as it is. But of course, it’s all fiction...

JAB

I watched with a sort of detached amazement as the band’s six-foot, Cerwin-Vega speaker stacks began to sway back and forth on either side of the stage. I made a leap for the one on the right to try to keep it from toppling over. I wasn’t sure that I’d be successful in this endeavor―it weighed at least as much as I did―but I had to try. Looking across to the other side of the stage, I could see that Junior was struggling to do the same thing over there.

Bob had thrown a tarp over his Hammond B-3 organ to keep free-flowing beer from seeping into the keyboard. Q was making a desperate attempt to move his drum set out of harm’s way, which wasn’t easy because it was an extensive set, and he could only move a piece or two at a time. He was scurrying back and forth like a chipmunk feverishly hiding nuts for the coming winter.

Rat had grabbed several guitars and spirited them to an undisclosed location; I last saw him with a Gibson Les Paul in one hand and a Fender Stratocaster in the other. Our bass player, Cliff, had taken his Fender Jazz bass and disappeared.

Pandemonium had broken out all over the place in the middle of our third set; it seemed to be every man for himself. As for the women, I saw one robust bleached blonde of indeterminate age break a beer stein over some hapless guy’s head when he appeared to take the opportunity to get grabby with her. Another man tried to hold her from behind, but she lifted and bent one leg, striking him hard in the crotch so that he released her and bent over double, at which point she kneed him in the face.

Over in one corner I saw a huge bouncer known as Tiny. Tiny had once told me that his given name was Irving, but when people began calling him Tiny, he decided it was an improvement. Tiny had a folding chair in each of his enormous hands, and he was using them to subdue unruly patrons by bashing them in the head. Unfortunately, he seemed to be greatly outnumbered, but he kept the chairs in motion like a kind of windmill from hell, and no one seemed to want to risk getting close to him.

I couldn’t hold the speaker stack upright any longer, and I watched in horror as it toppled into the crowd with a sound like a tree falling. I hoped that no one had been directly under it, they would surely be crushed, but there was nothing I could do.

I looked around to see if there was any of our equipment that I could rescue. I was reaching for microphones and cords when someone collided with me from behind, and I went sprawling, managing to crack my head on the side of the organ. I saw stars as I tried to wedge myself under the keyboard while using the overturned bench seat as a shield to protect me from flying beer and whatever else might be sailing through the air.

I peeked over the top of the seat and watched as someone tried to swing from one of the ceiling fixtures until a whole section of suspended ceiling gave way and came crashing down. A great plume of dust rose from the rubble that now lay strewn about tables and overturned chairs.

––––––––

Our band, Dorian Gray, had played gigs at The Bastille on Route 40 outside of Elkton, Maryland many times. Bob, the keyboard player, booked all our gigs; it was the main reason he was with the band. Truth be told, it was the only reason he was with the band because he couldn’t play keyboards to save his life. I controlled the soundboard and always kept his amplification turned off, but he looked great because he moved around at his organ and looked like he was playing his heart out, no small feat for a guy that weighed nearly four hundred pounds.

It was a hassle moving his Hammond B-3 organ around, but we were working, even if the Bastille was known as a biker hangout. I was going to be a father soon and I needed to work when I could; I had a family to support.

The Bastille was a large club that paid well, and we’d never had any trouble there before though I was hoping we’d be able to book ourselves at better places in the future. It was all about developing a following. I wasn’t worried about developing a following with bikers, I had nothing against them, but they comprised only a small percentage of the patrons.

This was the first time that the management had tried their new promotional gimmick for Thursday nights. All-The-Beer-You-Can-Drink-For-Five-Dollars-Thursday had seemed like a rousing success at first. Servers had walked around with trays full of red plastic cups of beer and there was much merriment and camaraderie, but by the end of our second set it was obvious that things were getting rowdy.

We were well into our third set when a fistfight broke out and the music stopped. I dropped my microphone, leapt off the stage, and rushed for the control board at the back of the room while pushing people out of my way. It was obvious things were getting out of control, and I was terrified about what could happen.

My wife, Valerie, who was eight months pregnant with our first child, had been running the board while I sang lead. She was ashen faced with worry when I grabbed her hand and led her to the back shoving her as gently as I could out the back door. Get in the step-van and lock the doors! I told her. I headed back inside to see what equipment I might save; I didn’t want to think about how much this was going to set us back.

When I stepped back into the main room, I was greeted by yet another odd sight. I had taken to playing old black and white movies behind the band as a backdrop, and Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Godzilla’ was coming up on our playlist. Godzilla was wrecking Tokyo on the wall behind the stage, while in the foreground, people were screaming and cursing as red plastic cups of beer soared through the air.

I saw one guy rip a framed poster off the wall and bean another guy with it. Next to them, a greasy-haired guy in bib overalls had jumped onto the back of a guy in western wear and was gleefully riding him like a bucking bronco while issuing a string of rebel yells.

I made my way carefully toward the stage, keeping an eye out for misaimed punches and unidentified flying objects until I saw the speaker stacks rocking and made a dive for them.

Someone crashed into the control board, and Godzilla had suddenly turned sideways for a few moments before the projector had winked out. At the same time, they had managed to flip the switch for the spotlights that were aimed at our mirror-ball, and the whole chaotic free-for-all was awash in little sparkly diamonds of light. ‘I don’t remember this scene in Saturday Night Fever’, I thought vaguely to myself.

Given that the whole scene looked like something out of a bizarre disco western, I wondered when the sheriff might make an appearance. It couldn’t be soon enough; this crowd didn’t seem like they’d be winding things down anytime soon.

As if to answer my thought, revolving red and blue lights suddenly reflected off the walls along with the sparkly ones. ‘The cavalry’s here’, I surmised.

The appearance of the police lights quickly changed the situation. Most of the people who had been whaling on each other stopped and headed quickly for the exits; the ones who continued were either too drunk to be aware of the new reality or were passed-out cold on the linoleum floor.

There were suddenly more police in one place than I had ever seen; they must have called in every reserve they had. Batons and handcuffs were suddenly in plentiful evidence, and I determined that it would be wise to stay in my present location until things settled down.

The police spent quite a while subduing and herding drunks to whatever fate awaited them, while emergency medical personnel were busy loading the unconscious onto stretchers for transport to medical attention. I wondered if they had enough ambulances or if they’d have to move people in shifts.

When a cop finally got to my spot under the keyboard, he looked down at me and asked, Who are you?

I’m Kyle Sands, officer. I’m with what’s left of the band.

––––––––

The interior of the Bastille looked like it had been struck by a tornado. When the overhead lights came on—the ones that were still functioning—the extent of the carnage came into clear view. More of the ceiling had come down than I realized, and dust covered a large portion of the club. The mirror behind the bar had been shattered, and a few broken bottles of booze lay on the top of the bar. The ones that had been on display behind the bar had been spirited away, so to speak.

My band and I scoured the area of the stage looking for equipment that we could salvage. Miraculously, the speaker stack that I had been trying to guard had not been seriously damaged. I vowed to send a letter of appreciation to the Cerwin-Vega company for a product well made. The amplifiers had become somewhat soaked with beer, but I wouldn’t know the true verdict until I got them home for a closer look. We had lost a couple of hundred-dollar microphones, but all-in-all, we seemed to have fared better than I had feared. Maybe 1978 would not be our last year after all. We had been working steadily of late, and I hoped that we would continue in that vein following the massacre at the Bastille. I made a vow to myself that I’d push Bob to book us into some better places even if he had to expand his horizons and travel more.

The guys had a few cuts and bumps and scrapes, mostly due to running into things during the mad dash to save their instruments, but they were mainly unharmed. I had a lump forming on the side of my head where I had contacted the organ, but I figured I’d live. I wasn’t sure what this situation would do for the morale of the band, but we had been through a lot together. I supposed we’d take this in stride.

At present we were wrapping microphone and amplifier cords. This was something we did at the end of every gig, and it felt good to be doing something normal after the trauma had ended, even if it felt like we were doing it in a disaster zone.

I looked at Valerie wrapping a cord and said a little silent prayer of thanks. She had emerged from the truck concerned for us but was otherwise unscathed. I had knocked on the door assuring her that the coast was clear, and she had opened it and practically leapt into my arms, wrapping hers around my neck.

Are you okay? she asked, taking a step back to look at me.

I’m fine as long as the baby’s okay, I assured her.

The baby’s fine; he’s been kicking like a soccer player. I think he’s mad; the music stopped. She reached a hand up to gently caress the lump forming on my temple and I reveled in her touch as always. What happened here?

I had a disagreement with Bob’s organ. As I looked at her, I thought for at least the millionth time how beautiful she was, and what a lucky bastard I was. I wrapped my arms around her again and we held each other for a few moments.

I thought back to how we got together and realized that it seemed like several lifetimes ago, even though it had been less than three years. Our relationship had not been supposed to happen, and it seemed that most people who knew us thought we’d never last, including our families.

She was going to give birth to our child in about a month. Birth to our child. It seemed unreal and wonderful and mysterious. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the thought, but it was going to happen regardless. I couldn’t help but to think back to just how we had come to this point. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, it almost felt as if time had become compressed...

I got my driver’s license in August 1973. I had my learner’s permit the minute I was eligible, and I got my license two weeks early. I don’t know why; it came in the mail and I wasn’t about to send it back. My stepfather, Ron, was the sales manager at a car dealership who had made me a deal that he would provide a car at half his cost. He would loan me the other half until I got a job, and then I could pay him back in installments. He didn’t have to offer the deal twice; I jumped on it.

Our family had moved to the Esbenshade, Pennsylvania area two years earlier. Two of my best friends were Herbie Coe, who lived on the next street over in our development, and Bruce Morgan, who lived two doors down. Bruce was into woodworking, and we attended vo-tech together half of each school day. Each day we spent mornings in high school and afternoons at trade school.

I was into electronics because my mother had insisted that I have something to fall back on besides music, which was my main passion. I had always been interested in machines and how things worked: I was one of those kids who was always taking things apart to see what made them tick. Eventually, I had gotten good at putting them back together as well, so electronics seemed a logical choice, and my school counselor agreed.

Herbie was naturally good with cars—he was convinced that he was going to be the first black NASCAR champion—and he was helping Bruce get his black 1963 Ford Fairlane up and running when I pulled into Bruce’s driveway in my metallic blue 1968 Pontiac Tempest. My Tempest had a 350 cubic-inch V-8, and I revved the engine as I came to a stop.

Oh, man, look at you, showing off, Bruce called, as I climbed from the driver’s seat.

What do you think, guys? I asked.

I think it pays to have a step-father who’s a car dealer, Bruce said, then he smiled. Kyle, it’s very cool.

Don’t just stand there, Herbie said, Pop the hood!

I did, and the three of us spent a few minutes admiring my engine.

It’s got a Holley four barrel and a dual-point distributor! Herbie said after removing the air cleaner and distributor cap.

It runs good. I had a choice between this and a 1964 Chevelle.

I think you made the right choice, said Bruce. It’s what I would have picked.

It sure sounded good when you pulled up. Herbie said. How does it ride?

If you’ll be so kind as to put my engine back together, I’ll show you.

You’ve got it, said Herbie, and I’m calling shotgun!

My car was soon running again, and my friends climbed aboard.

Oh, man, you’ve even got an eight track! Bruce said, admiring my stereo from the back seat.

Have you got any decent tapes, or is it all just white-boy shit? Herbie asked.

How about Johnnie Mathis? He’s black, I offered.

Oh, you’re hilarious, Herbie said.

How about Bachman-Turner Overdrive? I asked.

Those Canadian white boys?

Okay, Herbie. Bruce, hand him the tape case next to you and let him pick something out.

Herbie took the case from Bruce, opened it and looked over my collection. Here we go, Billy Preston!

Why Preston and not Stevie Wonder? Bruce asked.

Stevie’s cool, but Billy Preston was known as the fifth Beatle.

You prefer Preston because he hung out with a bunch of white, English dudes? I asked.

Man, the Beatles transcended race; they were legends, and Preston fit right in with them, Herbie informed us.

That’s deep, Bruce said.

Totally cosmic, man, I said in my best hippie impression.

I don’t know why I try to impart wisdom on you two. I don’t really think you get it.

I get it, I said.

I got it last week, Bruce said.

You two should be on television so I can turn you off, Herbie said.

I started driving while Herbie put the tape in, and soon all three of us were cruising the countryside, singing along to ‘Will It Go Round in Circles’.

My mother had worked at Acme Markets for years, and she helped me secure a job in the produce department of the store in Fairfax, Delaware.

I didn’t know what came next, but things seemed to be looking up for me. I had Stevie Wonder blaring on the eight-track singing about the good old days when he was a boy, though I didn’t know how having your mother light into your behind with a switch constituted fond memories.

I pulled into the lot and parked behind the store. I walked up to the office and greeted Bob the manager, who I’d known for several years through my mother.

Hey, Kyle. Are you ready to go to work? Bob asked me.

Sure am, Bob. You are paying me money and not plums, right? I was referring to several years before when I had accompanied my mother to work. To give me something to do they had me bagging produce in the back room. As payment they had allowed me all the plums I could eat. I’m pretty sure I shit purple for a week.

He laughed. Yes, real money, though you can eat a few plums if you want to.

I’ll pass. What do you want me to do?

C’mon. I’ll introduce you to Wally, the produce manager.

I followed Bob across the front of the store and into the back room of the produce section. There we came upon a young man bagging lemons. He was about my age, maybe a little older, and a couple of inches shorter than my six feet. He had frizzy, brown hair that was parted in the middle and worn just past his shoulders. He had a small goatee and on his nose were perched round glasses ala John Lennon.

Kyle Sands, this is Wally Zeilhaus, our produce manager.

Wally smiled warmly as he shook my hand. Nice to meet you, Kyle. I hear we’re going to be working together.

Yes, Wally, it’s good to meet you too.

Well, I’ve got to get back up front, Bob said. Wally can get you up to speed, Kyle.

Thanks, Bob.

Bob left, and Wally looked at me. Well, Kyle, I guess we should get started. How do you feel about bagging lemons?

I put the back of my hand to my forehead. Angry, confused, despondent... I realized immediately that I’d gone too far too fast. I’d just met this guy and he knew nothing about my sometimes-weird sense of humor.

He laughed and clapped me on the back. I had a feeling I was going to like you.

That was it. From that moment on we were fast friends. Wally introduced me to a whole new circle of friends including his brother, Daniel, who was, and is, the best keyboard player I’ve ever heard. He also introduced me to pot...

––––––––

Kyle, I’ve got a favor to ask. Wally had walked up to me in the back room the following Friday.

What’s up, Wally?

I’m supposed to meet some friends at a campground where my parents go called Pine Gulch; they’ve been taking my brother, Daniel, and me there since we were kids. There’s a group of kids there that we grew up with and we’ll be partying all weekend.

Sounds like fun. What do you need?

My car decided to go on the fritz. I was wondering if you’d like to come along.

And provide the transportation?

Well, yeah, but I guarantee you’ll have a good time. Me and three friends are going in on an O.Z., if you’d like to join in, we’ll split it four ways.

I had been around people who smoked pot and knew that O.Z. was jargon for an ounce. I wasn’t afraid of it; I just hadn’t tried it before. What do you do there besides party?

My parents go for the square dancing.

Square dancing?

Yeah, they’ve been doing it for years. It’s good exercise and they camp at this place with a bunch of people that share their interest. It’s a big social event. They get all dressed up in costumes and they let loose and enjoy themselves.

I guess it kind of sounds like fun, if that’s what they’re into.

His voice took on a softer tone, The thing is, while they’re doing that, all of these people that we grew up with are there. Since the adults all know each other, they trust us to just roam around the place and occupy ourselves. Daniel and I have had some great times there.

Sounds intriguing. I wouldn’t mind getting out and doing something different. You’ll have to tell me what all I’d need to bring.

Mainly just bring yourself, though I suppose a change of clothes might not be a bad idea.

What do you do about sleep arrangements?

You crash wherever you want; it’s a big place.

Would I need to bring a tent?

You can if you want, otherwise there are plenty of places to crash. There’s a picnic pavilion if you need to get out of the rain and lots of other places if it’s dry. You’ll want to bring a sleeping bag.

That’s no problem. I’d have to stop home for some clothes anyway.

Wally lowered his voice conspiratorially. If you’re lucky, you might not have to crash alone, he said with a wink.

I didn’t have to think long for my answer. I don’t have anything else going on. Sure, I’ll take you. Where is the place by the way?

Ever been to Amish country?

Pine Gulch was in the middle of nowhere. Wally had his stuff with him, so we rode back to my place to get what I needed. I was happy to find that the campground was more or less in the same direction as my parents’ place, otherwise I’d have had to backtrack.

From home it had taken more than an hour to get there, though the drive had been pretty. We drove past acres and acres of Amish farmland, through rolling hills and green forest.

We had agreed on ‘Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’ on the stereo. When ‘Woodstock’ came on, we sang along.

As soon as we had gotten in my car, Wally had pulled out four plastic sandwich bags. Check this out. Primo Colombian, a whole damn ounce.

Looks good, I said, though I had no idea if it was good or not.

It’s gonna be a great weekend, he said as I handed him a ten-dollar bill, and he handed me a baggie.

Wally?

Yeah, my Dude?

Excuse me for pointing this out, but didn’t you say the pot was twenty-five bucks?

Yeah, it was a great deal.

Ten bucks times four is forty bucks.

Yeah?

What’s the other fifteen for?

Beer, of course.

Of course.

We had driven along a country road that was barely two lanes wide for a while when we came to a rustic-looking wooden sign with a half-wagon wheel to either side that read, Pine Gulch.

This must be the place, I said.

Yep. Home, sweet home.

I turned in and we started driving downhill on a steep, graveled drive that looked like it hadn’t been graded since the Eisenhower administration. We passed a small sign that read ‘speed limit 10 mph’.

If I did 10 mph on this, I’d tear the bottom out of my car, I said.

You’re in the country now, Bro.

Don’t they have asphalt in the country? I asked, as we lumbered over yet another large pothole."

It’s part of the charm, Man.

Eventually the entrance drive leveled out, we rounded a bend and came upon a large barn with a grass area in front where we could park. The barn looked old but immaculately maintained.

This is ‘The Barn’, Wally said.

I can see it’s a barn, Wally.

No, I mean that’s what it’s called. That’s all anyone has ever heard it called. It’s where they have the square dancing.

Of course, where else would you have a square dance but in a barn?

You can leave your car here. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to my parents.

Wally, you do remember that my guitar and amp are in the trunk?

Kyle, trust me. No one is going to bother it here. Daniel will have his organ and amplifier in his car.

We got out and walked around the barn, and I saw dozens of campers parked in spots around a large lake. There was a beach at one end, and young children swam and played while their parents sat in lawn chairs talking nearby. There were trees everywhere, some in copses and some standing alone and, even though the bright sunshine made it warm, shade was easy to come by. It was peaceful and picturesque, and I immediately liked the place.

Wally, this is beautiful. I can see why you like it here.

You ain’t seen nothing yet, my Man. The pond is only one area, the whole place comprises more than a hundred acres.

We walked to the right around the pond until we came to a tiny camper parked next to a brown and tan 1970 Oldsmobile, Vista Cruiser. There was a small sign stuck in the ground by the camper that read ‘Hi. We’re the Zeilhauses’.

A petite woman with her auburn hair done in a perm opened the camper door and stepped out as we approached and smiled at us. Hi boys, you’re just in time for lunch.

Great, Mom, I’m starving, Wally said. Mom, I want you to meet my friend, Kyle Sands.

She offered her hand which I took. It’s nice to meet you, Kyle.

It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Zeilhaus.

I forgot to tell you, Kyle, Wally said. My friends call my parents Mr. and Mrs. Z.

Mrs. Z? I asked her.

That’s fine, she said with a laugh. I’m sure it could be worse. Do you like tuna salad, Kyle?

Love it, I said.

That’s good, since that’s what we’re having. Dad’s been at the barn getting the sound system ready for the dance tonight, she said to Wally. He should be back any time. Would you two like some iced tea?

––––––––

Wally’s Dad turned out to be a funny guy with a wry sense of humor, and I hit it off with him almost immediately. He was an electrical engineer, and with my interest and schooling in electronics, we found we had a bit in common. Wally’s brother Daniel hadn’t arrived yet so the four of us spent a very pleasant lunch sitting at a picnic table under a tree by the lake...excuse me, pond.

After lunch, Wally said that he had something to show me and we excused ourselves.

We walked through woods for a few minutes until we came to a small clearing. There were large logs obviously used as benches situated around a campfire pit.

I get the feeling you’ve been here before, I said.

Wally grinned at me. We have party spots all over the place. This is where I told them I’d meet them.

I was just about to ask who them was, when two guys walked into the clearing carrying a large cooler between them. One of them looked like he’d just stepped out of a preppy fashion magazine, and the other was tall and gangly, almost the opposite. Beer’s here, the preppy one called.

Hey guys, just in time! Wally greeted them. Kyle, this is Ritchie (preppy) and George (gangly). Guys, this is Kyle Sands. They greeted me as if they had known me for years and George shoved a beer into my hand.

Sarah and Melinda are on their way, Ritchie said.

Alita should be floating in off her cosmic cloud sometime in the near future, George added. Becky was with her. I guess she’s coming too.

Did you see Tommy or Daniel? Wally asked.

I saw Daniel’s car pull in just as we were going to get the beer, Ritchie said.

Mom will be feeding him, Wally said, He should be along soon.

I had been wanting to meet Daniel since Wally had begun telling me he was a keyboard player who also played several other instruments. I didn’t have long to wait before we were joined by yet another young man. Hey, Bro, did Mom give you something to eat? Wally asked him.

Does a bear defecate in a wilderness setting? he replied. He was slightly taller and thinner than his brother, with lighter brown hair that hung in his eyes. He wore glasses, but they were more conservative than Wally’s with plain steel rims. He sat down next to me and extended his hand. You must be Kyle. I’m Daniel. I’ve heard a lot about you.

Hi, Daniel, I said, taking his hand. I’ve heard a lot about you too. I hear you play keyboards among other things.

I do. I brought my organ. We’ll have to jam later when I can find a place to plug it in.

Daniel’s always looking for a place to plug his organ in, Wally said. It’s his favorite past time. Where are the girls anyway?

Are you dreaming again, Wally? A young woman joined the circle. She was medium height with bleached-blonde hair and big boobs that were barely contained in her halter top. A pair of very short shorts completed her ensemble.

Melinda. It’s about time you got here, said Ritchie.

She smiled at him. I’m worth waiting for, Cuteness.

Don’t I know it, Ritchie said.

Melinda was followed by a girl who seemed smaller and plainer. It wasn’t that she was of lesser stature so much as she seemed self-conscious and carried herself as if she were folding in on herself.

Hi, Sarah, George said to her brightly.

Hi, she said and sat down.

Have you two seen Alita? Wally asked.

She’s on her way; Becky’s with her, Melinda said. Alita’s bringing a surprise.

A surprise? Wally asked. What is it?

If I told you then it wouldn’t be a surprise, she scolded him. Besides, she wouldn’t tell me what it was.

We sat, sipping beer and getting to know each other. It was easy to see that my new friends had known each other for a long time; they had a familiarity with each other that made for a very relaxed atmosphere, and I felt at home with them. Even Sarah had opened up a little after a while, and she and George seemed to have a chemistry going on between them. They sat next to each other, thighs touching, and every so often they’d share a look.

Melinda and Ritchie flirted with each other a lot, and I got the impression that there was something between them as well.

Who’s ready for a surprise? called a female voice from the woods.

I turned at the sound to see two young women appearing from between the trees; they hadn’t taken the path. The one who had spoken was dressed like a flower child straight from Woodstock. She wore a long peasant dress with sandals on her feet and a band in her long chestnut hair.

The other girl was a pretty brunette. She was wearing jean-shorts and a red-checked shirt that was knotted between her breasts. As soon as I saw her, I thought of Mary Ann from the Sixties TV show ‘Gilligan’s Island’. My impression was a wholesome girl-next-door look, whatever that means. 

Flower girl was carrying a somewhat large cardboard box that she placed on the ground before the fire pit.

Hey, Alita, said Wally. What’s in the box and why did you two come through the woods?

"The contents of the box explain why we came through the woods, she said, mysteriously. It wouldn’t do to have it discovered by the wrong people, so we took the long way here."

So, what’s in the box? said several people at the same time.

Is everyone here? she asked. No, Tommy’s not here. We can’t open it yet.

Aw, c’mon, Wally complained.

No! Not until Tommy gets here, Alita was adamant.

Are you people arguing about me already?

Another young man, obviously Tommy, was making his way into the circle. He was of average height, with fiery red hair, and a big grin on his face. He walked straight to me with his hand extended. You must be Kyle. Welcome. I’m Tommy Gilford.

Good to meet you, Tommy. Your presence has been enthusiastically anticipated.

He looked around the group briefly. That’s because they love me.

No, said Wally. It’s because Alita wouldn’t share her surprise until you got here.

Alita has a surprise? he asked.

It’s in the box, she told him.

Well, by all means, let’s see it, he encouraged her.

Get a beer and sit down first.

Mysterious, he said as he took a seat and George handed him a beer.

Alita stood and moved to stand next to the box. Fellow children of the gulch, she began, theatrically, meet the newest member of our family, Bessie. She reached into the box and removed a large hookah. I knew it was a hookah because it looked very similar to a Jefferson Airplane poster of the hookah-smoking caterpillar from ‘White Rabbit’. It was at least two feet tall with fancy multi-colored beadwork on the body of the pipe and a single long draw tube. The bowl was several inches in diameter. I did the artwork myself, she informed us.

There were murmurs of appreciation from her audience and calls to press Bessie into immediate service.

Well, I’ve got the necessary ingredients, said Wally, as he handed baggies to Daniel and Tommy.

We’ll need to move over into the grass to get closer, said Tommy. We’re too spread out here. It’s not like you’re going to be able to pass that pipe.

We moved into the grass under a large oak tree and sat in a circle while Alita placed her hookah in the center.

Once everyone was settled Tommy stood next to the hookah. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare this party started! and with that he upended the contents of his baggie into the bowl.

Tommy! said Wally in surprise. That’s your whole stash, Man!

And what better place to use it than here, now, with you guys?

He lit the pipe and we started passing the draw tube around the circle. It made several rounds before it was agreed that we’d stop and let it sink in. We’d share the rest throughout the afternoon.

Becky was sitting to my right and I struck up a conversation with her. After about ten minutes of small talk, I looked up and began to marvel at the brilliant greens of the leaves over my head. I could feel the gentlest of breezes on my face. A wave of peace and contentment washed over me. I felt wonderful!

Becky saw me looking up. What do you see? she asked.

About a million different colors. And listen to the birds!

She laughed. You’re stoned. Good stuff, isn’t it?

It’s fantastic!

She leaned over and kissed me lightly. You’re cute.

I looked at her and smiled. So are you.

I don’t remember laughing more than I did that day. I wasn’t the only one who was feeling good, the entire group was in a jovial celebrating mood. Several hours passed in what seemed like a short period of time.

We’d gone back to worship at the feet of the god hookah when Daniel came over and sat down beside me. What do you say after this we get your guitar and jam?

I finished my toke and passed the tube to him. Here? I asked after exhaling.

He toked and passed it on. Why not?

Where are you going to plug your organ in?

I have my flute. It sounds good with acoustic guitar. You do have an acoustic guitar, don’t you?

A Gibson three-quarter body twelve string.

Sweet. That should sound great.

I suddenly realized that I had never wanted to play music more than I did right now. Daniel, I think that’s a hell of an idea. After we’d finished refortifying, we walked back to our cars and retrieved our instruments.

As we cleared the woods, I realized that the sun was low in the sky; it was becoming late afternoon. Do you know what time it is? I asked.

I have no idea, he said. Does anybody really know what time it is?

I laughed. A Chicago fan!

Of course. We’ll have to do ‘Colour My World later’.

Right, ‘Colour My World’ is perfect for your flute, but what are we going to do for a high-hat cymbal?

We’ll improvise.

––––––––

We spent several hours jamming. Daniel was great on the flute; I couldn’t wait to hear him play keyboards. We had agreed we would get together at the barn tomorrow where there was electricity. We joined the others and moved back to the grass circle for one more round.

After we’d finished with the hookah it was getting dark, so we moved back around the fire pit. The other guys had spent some time gathering wood and they soon had a nice blaze going. It was very cozy sitting by the campfire.

Becky came and sat next to me.  You’re really good, she said, slightly slurring her words.

Thanks. This is a really neat place to play.

It sure is, she said with what seemed a slightly naughty smile.

I won’t say alarm bells went off in my head. I’m pretty sure I heard bells, but I wasn’t alarmed. I was, however, quite interested. Becky’s skin glowed in the firelight, and I was fascinated by the gentle curve of her neck. I leaned down and kissed the soft skin of that neck and I felt a small shudder go through her.

She turned to me, and we were soon locked in a very deep, passionate kiss. I couldn’t say how long it went on, but my head was spinning, and God I was turned on! She smelled of vanilla and something lightly floral, and she was so soft.

I vaguely wondered what the rest of the group thought of what we were doing, but when we took a breath, I looked around and saw we were not the only ones. Ritchie and Melinda were making out on the other side of the fire, as were George and Sarah and Wally and Alita in different spots around the circle. Daniel looked to be asleep, and Tommy had gone somewhere.

Becky and I had just started in on another round when through the woods came fiddle and banjo music. Soon we could hear the patter of a caller begin as the square dancing commenced for the evening. It was an interesting backdrop to our current activity, not that I cared. They could have been playing a calliope and I’d have been fine with it.

I’ve gotta dance! called Alita from my right.

I looked up as she jumped up and started removing her clothes as she headed for the grass. Wally waited for a second with a surprised look on his face, and then he jumped up and followed her trying not to trip as he tried to get his pants off.

With a laugh, Melinda rose and began disrobing as Ritchie struggled to keep up with her. Becky looked at me and started giggling, and then she jumped up. What the hell? I thought, just before I joined her.

Never in a million years would I have conjured up such a thought as naked square dancing but that’s what we did. No one had any idea what the steps were, but it really didn’t matter as we linked arms with our partners swinging them around like lunatics and laughing our heads off.

Wally hadn’t been kidding about it being good exercise; it didn’t take long before we were all winded. We returned to the circle and resumed activities by the dying fire.

It had never occurred to me to bring a condom, though I did have a box in my car. It wasn’t that I was some big swinger, truth be told I was still a virgin, but I had found that most teenage boys were afraid to buy them. I had no such qualms. I found that if I bought a case, I could sell the individuals at school for a dollar a pop. I did enough business that it usually kept me in gas money.

Things were getting hot and heavy, and I was wondering just how the hell I was going to get to my car. Could I just interrupt and say excuse me I need to go get a rubber, I’ll be right back? Should I ask her to save my place?

Suddenly Becky stopped kissing me. I waited a few seconds. Becky, are you okay? I asked, softly. What’s wrong? Her answer was a gentle snore. Becky? Another snore. I tried gently shaking her, but she was down for the count.

The fire was almost out, it was dark, and I had no idea how I was going to find her clothes or get them on her, so I got my sleeping bag and managed to get her into it. I put my own clothes back on and went to sleep in my car.

––––––––

That night Valerie Willard stood at the living room window of the apartment she shared with her husband, Frank. Husband was a misnomer; roommate would be more accurate. They had been married for four years, but it seemed like a lot longer.

Frank hadn’t come home yet and a substantial part of her wished that he wouldn’t. She knew that he’d been having an affair for some time, and she thought how nice it would be if they just ran away together and they could end this sham of a marriage. She wasn’t sure how to end it herself.

She wondered for the thousandth time why she had married him. She realized that she had never loved him or even liked him, especially after the way he had hooked her into it. But even more, she wondered why he had married her, as he had never really seemed that interested in her.

Maybe he’ll have an accident, she thought. A fatal one would be best. But she shouldn’t wish that on him; he didn’t deserve to die. She just wished that he would disappear from her life.

She saw headlights pull into the parking lot in the growing darkness, and then she saw that it was his car as it passed by a streetlamp. With a sigh she turned and began putting dinner on the table.

––––––––

Daniel knew a local guy who played drums. Keith lived right down the road, so at about two in the afternoon we got in my car and went to see if he’d be interested in playing some music with us.

We pulled into a dirt drive that led us to a wooden house sorely in need of paint that looked like it was beginning to sink into the ground. It had a front porch that seemed to be slightly askew to the left. There was a rocking chair on the porch and in the chair was a young man with shoulder length brown hair parted in the middle. He had a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, and he just sat watching us as we parked and got out of the car.

Hey, Keith, Daniel called.

Hey, Daniel. What brings you out this way?

We approached the porch. Keith, this is my friend, Kyle. Kyle’s a damn good guitarist and singer, and we wondered if you’d be up for a Jam.

Sure. But here? I don’t have a hell of a lot of room.

No, we were going to set up in the barn at the gulch.

Sounds good, but my truck is broken down. How are we going to get my set there?

We have my car, I offered.

He sat a moment looking at my Tempest. You think it’s gonna fit?

It’s not far, we can always make more than one trip, I told him.

Okay by me. Let’s do it.

As it turned out, by leaving the trunk and the windows open we were able to get the three of us and Keith’s drums in one trip. The bass drum went in the back seat with Keith, the rest of the drums fit in the trunk, and the cymbal stands stuck out of the windows.

If we pass a cop, we’re dead, I mused, as we stood admiring our packing job.

The last time I saw a cop around here was about three years ago when the Mooneys down the road got into a fight and old man Mooney loosed off a couple of shots, Keith said.

Wonderful, I said, looking around. Any chance of that happening again?

Naw. Old man Mooney’s dead.

Gunshot?

Heart attack.

Too bad.

Not really.

We managed to get our impromptu clown car back to the gulch without mishap and with all Keith’s equipment intact. We unloaded and set the drums up on the stage in the barn along with Daniel’s red Vox organ and amp and my guitar and amp. There was a built-in sound system, and a microphone was ready to go.

We spent a few minutes tuning up, and then I looked at Daniel. What would you like to start with? I asked.

Know any Doors?

Does a bear defecate in a wilderness setting?

Now you’re stealing my lines?

I just grinned at him, and then I launched into the unmistakable two chord intro to ‘Light My Fire’. He started playing along, and when we got to the organ solo Daniel sounded just like Ray Manzarek. Keith played his drums with a surprising sensitivity, anticipating my rhythms and playing with depth.

We hadn’t been playing long before the rest of the gang from the night before started showing up. When Becky came in, I wondered what kind of reception I was going to get from her. I hadn’t seen her since I’d seen her the night before, and I wondered how awkward it was going to be. She didn’t even look at me as she sat at a table with Melinda and Alita.

After we’d been playing for about an hour, we decided it was time to take a break. I decided it was time to get it over with and I walked over to Becky. She looked up as I approached her. Melinda and Alita seemed to be avoiding looking at me. Hi, I said.

Hi, she said, flatly.

How are you doing?

She looked at me in silence for a long moment wearing an unreadable expression. Kyle, we need to talk.

Okay, I said, and sat down beside her.

No, not here.

Okay. She got up and I followed her out the door. Once we were outside, we stood looking at each other for a few seconds. Are you alright? I asked.

I don’t know. Am I?

What do you mean? I asked, a bit bewildered.

I woke up naked this morning in, what I was told, was your sleeping bag.

I’ll bet you looked lovely.

What?

I’m sorry, Becky, I don’t know what you want me to say.

Melinda and Alita had to bring me my clothes.

I’m sorry, Becky. It was dark and I didn’t know where your clothes were. After you passed out, I put you in my sleeping bag because I knew where it was.

Where were you? she asked, Where did you go?

I slept in my car.

Why?

My sleeping bag was occupied.

She took a couple of deep breaths as if to compose herself. It was humiliating this morning.

I’m sorry, I said again, not knowing what else to say.

So am I. We stood in silence looking at each other. I could tell from her questioning expression that she wasn’t finished. Kyle?

What?

Did anything happen?

What do you mean?

After I passed out. Did anything happen?

Did anything hap... It suddenly hit me what she was asking. Good lord, no, nothing happened!

You’re sure?

Of course, I’m sure. Look, Becky, I don’t know what kind of guys you’ve been out with but that’s not me.

Her expression turned indignant in an instant. You don’t know what kind of guys I’ve been out with?! What?!

I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. That’s not what I meant.

Kyle?

What?

You’re an asshole! With that she stormed into the woods, and I stood there watching her go, wondering what the hell had just happened.

You okay, Kyle? Daniel had come up behind me.

Daniel? Why are women so damned complicated?

You’re asking me?

There’s something else I’ll ask you.

Sure.

Can you show me how to roll a joint?

Does a bear...

Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s take a walk.

Ella Robbins and I had met when we shared a biology class together. We’d been assigned as lab partners for an experiment and found that we got along well; we’d been friends ever since. After talking for a while, she’d asked me if I would mind delivering a note to a friend of hers, a student at the vo-tech, a budding beautician. I said sure, and the next thing I knew it had become a regular routine.

I found out Ella played several instruments and sang, her favorite instrument being the mandolin, and we arranged to get together and jam. She was good, and our music blended together nicely. It came out as a blend of folk, blues and country, and I thought we had potential together.

We started rehearsing on a regular basis to the point where we were good enough to book a gig at ‘The Wild Goose Inn’, a local restaurant and bar. We’d been quite nervous when we played that first time, but it had gone well―several patrons had recommended us to the manager―and it had turned into a semi-regular thing for us.

I liked her a lot and it felt like we really seemed to click, so after playing together for a few weeks I was comfortable around her and felt that she was someone I could really talk to. I really needed someone like that right now. I asked her out for a date, and she got a surprised look on her face like it was nothing that she had considered.

Then she looked at me with a sad smile. Kyle, I like you, and I like playing music with you.

It sounds like there’s a but in there, I said.

You know my friend, Paula, that you’ve been delivering notes to.

Of course.

She’s more than just a friend.

Oh.

––––––––

It was Tuesday and we were currently rehearsing in one of the individual practice rooms that were part of the school band suite. This is something we had begun doing frequently; it was a convenient place for us to work. An added bonus was there were always people interested in music hanging around, and we often wound up jamming with people who played various instruments. It was great for coming up with new ideas because the atmosphere seemed rich with creativity.

I’m not sure that phrase works, Kyle, why don’t we try switching it with the previous one? Ella didn't sound sure about it, which was unusual for her. She was usually enthusiastic about what we were doing, but today she seemed distracted.

I’m not sure, but I can try, I said. I noodled around with the phrase a little. I’m sorry, Ella, I can’t make it work like that.

Shit! I thought it was a good idea. Dammit, I don’t know!

It wasn’t a huge outburst, but it was the first time I’d ever heard her be anything but positive, and it took me by surprise. Are you okay?

Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get back to work. She sounded downright grumpy.

Ella?

What?

What’s wrong?

Nothing’s wrong.

I put my guitar down and reached for her hand, which she pulled back. This both surprised and alarmed me. We had gotten to be close friends and touching each other occasionally was something that we were both comfortable with, at least until now.

I looked into her eyes. Ella, this is me. What’s wrong?

She looked at me in silence for a moment and then she sighed. It’s Paula.

Did you have a fight? I gave her your note yesterday.

I know, that’s what the fight was about.

You fought because I gave her your note?

No.

I’m confused. So, what was the fight about?

You.

You had a fight about me? I couldn’t keep the incredulity from my voice.

Yes, we had a fight about you.

What about me?

Paula is jealous of you.

I was speechless a beat as that sunk in. Why would Paula be jealous of me?

She’s jealous of the time we spend together. She’s gotten suspicious there's something going on between us.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.