There were only a couple weeks left before classes resumed at the area colleges and Petro’s cousin Curtis was throwing one of his notorious house parties.
I’d driven down with Petro, who knew more people from that area than I did. The party seemed to already be in full swing when we arrived. I casually hung out beside Petro, listening to his conversations and nursing a keg beer until some time later someone noticed me.
“Hey!” they yelled at me from off to one side. As I turned, I beheld Gabby standing a short distance away. Doing a double take, I faced her with the rest of my body and we hugged.
“Is WIDD playing?” I looked around.
“So we can only run into each other at WIDD shows?” she asked.
“I just thought that was kind of our thing,” I shrugged my shoulders.
“We have things?” Her face lit up.
“If we don’t we should,” I replied.
“What are they?” she continued.
“Our things?” I asked. Gabby nodded emphatically. “Hmmm,” I pondered, “Well, the ritual for one, I guess. We’re trying to win it as a team, right?”
“We are now!” she exclaimed.
“So then we need to practice,” I stated.
“We do?” she gave me a funny look.
“If we want to win,” I insisted.
“Have you ever seen the people that get picked,” she asked, “I definitely don’t think they practice.”
“How will we stand out then,” I queried. Gabby thought about it for a moment.
“How about interpretative dancing!” she suggested.
“What are we interpreting?” I retrieved a cigarette from my pocket.
“WIDD songs!” she answered.
“So one of us just picks a random WIDD song each time and then we act it out during the ritual?” I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Yes!” she nodded, “We can take turns picking the song. Oh! And we can alternate lines. Like you act out the first one and then I act out the next one and back and forth!”
I considered her proposal as I took another drag.
“We can’t not win,” I said.
“Who picks first?” I asked.
“You can,” she offered, “Which song are we going with?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” I replied after several seconds, “I want it to be perfect.”
“Hey!” Petro stepped up into the space between us.
“Well hey!” she replied, reaching out and giving him a hug.
“I know,” she smiled, “I’ve been here before, remember?”
“That’s right!” Petro exclaimed, “The night Aaron wigged out.”
“Aaron? Who’s Aaron? I remember Guy having a bad trip,” Gabby glanced over at me. Petro stared at her blankly.
“Me,” I interjected, “Remember? I’m Guy.”
“Oh. Right,” he said, “Guy.” Gabby gave him a satisfactory nod. “You want to play a game of euchre?” Petro faced me.
“Ya. I’m down. How many do you need?” I turned to Gabby and then back to him.
“I don’t know. I’ll ask Jimmy. He’s the one that asked me. Do you want in if we need a fourth?” he asked her.
“What are you playing?” she sought clarification.
“I have no idea how to play that,” she informed him.
“What?” he acted surprised, “You must not be from around here.” Gabby smirked and shrugged her shoulders.
“Is euchre some sort of rite of passage in this area?” she inquired.
“Huh. I guess I better learn,” she mused, “But not tonight. You boys go have fun. I’m going to go find my friend.”
“It was good to see you,” Petro smiled.
“Catch you later,” I said.
Gabby returned the sentiment and walked off.
A couple hours passed and Petro and I had played multiple games of cards with long pauses in between. We had just found our way back outside when I caught a glimpse of Gabby standing near a group of people.
“You wanna grab a bite to eat at The Loop?” Petro asked, referring to a nearby truck stop that sat along a major highway.
“Ya,” I said, “Sounds good.”
“I’ve got some bud at home,” he added, “We can swing by and grab it.”
“Hey! Where are you guys going?” Gabby called after us just as we’d turned around and started to walk away.
“To grab something to eat,” I replied.
“Where?” she approached us.
“Up the road,” Petro answered, “A gas station off the highway.”
“The one by that big ice cream cone?” she asked, referencing a large structure on the top of a seasonal ice cream shop.
“Ya,” Petro nodded, “That one. Everyone calls it The Loop.”
“Are you coming back?” she immediately followed up. Petro and I looked at each other. I shrugged my shoulders at him, not knowing what the plan was.
“Ya,” he answered after a moment of silence.
“Can I tag along?” she requested. Again Petro and I glanced at each other.
“Sure,” he stuck his lower lip out, “We might stop by my house. I live like 5 minutes from there.”
“That’s fine,” she nodded, “If you don’t mind. If you do, that’s cool. My friend disappeared with someone, probably into a room, so I’m kind of stuck out here by myself. I don’t really know anyone besides you guys.”
“Me and Guy over here?” Petro joked.
“Ya,” she smiled, “Guy and Friend.” Petro chuckled and the three of us headed toward his car.
After stopping at The Loop and grabbing something to eat, we headed on to Petro’s parents where he lived when he wasn’t away at college.
Petro’s dad was a successful salesman and frequently away on business. When he was home, he was known to indulge in his vast collection of expensive alcohol that was housed in their fully furnished basement. His name was Mike, and once he’d gotten good and liquored up, he loved to tell fantastical stories. Everything from the names of famous people he’d rubbed elbows with to tall tales from his time in the military.
Petro didn’t say it, but as we entered the house, I could tell by his body language and demeanor that he was hoping to avoid him. It didn’t happen. His dad was in the process of shutting the refrigerator as we walked in the front door .
“Well good evening!” Mike said.
“Mr. Petropoulus,” I replied.
“Hello,” he greeted Gabby after inspecting her for a few moments. It became immediately apparent that he was well on his way to inebriation.
“Good evening!” she smiled and waved.
“We’re just stopping in so I can use the bathroom,” Petro said before heading in the direction of a hallway.
“Come down for a drink,” his Dad insisted as he moved toward a set of stairs on the far side of the room.
“We gotta get back to Curtis’s,” Petro called over his shoulder.
“Just a drink,” Mike dismissed his son as he disappeared into the basement.
“He seems nice,” Gabby whispered.
“He’s alright,” I replied, “He’s usually pretty drunk by now.”
“What’s he do?” she asked.
“Salesman,” I answered, “Makes a lot of money. You should see their basement. It has a really fancy fully stocked bar and pool table. Seating area. All kinds of elaborate decorations. Statues, paintings. Stuff like that.”
“Cool!” she exclaimed, “Can I see it? He did invite us down for a drink.”
“That’s up to Petro,” I deferred, “Just depends on if he feels like hanging out with his dad. Mike gets going on these really crazy stories. I think I’ve heard all of them at least two or three times by now.”
“Like what?” Gabby became engaged. I ran through a couple of his more outrageous ones in my head, trying to decide which one gave the best overall feel for a typical Mike story.
“When he was in the army he got busted smuggling heroin back into the states using hollowed out televisions,” I said, “And he claims he once went out of body and walked around town one night after doing a bunch of drugs.”
“Really?” her voice revealed intrigue.
“According to Mike,” I shrugged my shoulders.
“You guys ready?” Petro emerged from the hallway.
“Can I see your basement?” Gabby asked. Petro stared at her for a moment, then at me, and then back at her. “Your dad invited us,” she added, “It would be rude not to.” He continued gawking at her before making a face like he knew we were in for something and then brushed past us on his way toward the basement. Gabby followed excitedly.
The stairs ended at one corner of the basement and the bar was located on the far opposite one. Mike sat behind it with a bottle of hard liquor and glass in front of him. On an entertainment center against the wall across from him was a television.
“Have a drink!” he called out as soon as he saw us.
“We’re just passing through,” Petro informed him as we walked over.
“What’ll you have?” Mike continued.
“I’m good,” I shook my head. Petro shook his as well.
“What’re you drinking?” Gabby hopped up on a stool across from him. Mike turned the bottle to face her and then reached for a nearby ashtray where his lit cigarette was burning. “Looks nice,” she said after inspecting the label. Mike took a drag and then reached under the bar for a glass. Once he retrieved one, he began pouring into it from the bottle. Gabby smelled it, and after making a face like it was strong, took a sip. Immediately she recoiled. Mike made a soundless jolt as if he found it amusing and then exhaled a cloud of smoke he’d been holding in. Gabby slid the drink in front of me like she wanted help finishing it. After a brief hesitation I took a drink, and upon coughing at its potency, tried to hand it over my shoulder to Petro. He refused.
“No thanks,” he shook his head. I set it back down on the bar hoping Mike wouldn’t push us to finish it.
“I love your basement Mr. Petropoulus,” Gabby scanned the room.
“Good stuff, huh?” Mike said, still thinking about the liquor he poured for her.
“Ya,” Gabby replied, trying to be polite, “A little strong. Is it on the higher end?”
“I wish I had some of the stuff old man Newburn buried,” he looked down at the glass and then up at Gabby who wasn’t sure what to say. “You know?” he asked.
“You don’t know about old man Newburn?” he blinked slowly. Knowing what was about to happen, I glanced over my shoulder at Petro who looked at me with an annoyed expression. Gabby shook her head.
“There was a big train wreck on the west side of Crosby,” Mike hunched over the bar as he began telling the story, “In the 60’s. On the Newburn property. It was heading toward Cochran. Went off the rails and killed a woman. True story. She was driving on the road that runs alongside it.”
“27 train cars,” Mike’s eyes opened a little wider, “All over the place. Scattered across the property and road. Debris everywhere”
“What caused it?” Gabby asked. Mike once again retrieved his cigarette and took a deep drag before shrugging his shoulders.
“It had a bunch of whiskey barrels on it,” he continued, “Old man Newburn hid some of them before the feds showed up. Somewhere on his property. In a barn or in the woods. Aged whiskey. Expensive stuff.”
“Did anyone ever find it?” Gabby inquired, visibly intrigued.
“Old man Newburn died a couple weeks later,” Mike glossed over her question, “Probably from over exerting himself trying to hide the barrels.”
“Oh my gosh,” Gabby uttered.
“Years later his widow disappeared,” Mike sat up a little straighter, “Mailman noticed she wasn’t getting her mail. Cops came and she was nowhere to be found. Several weeks later a farmer went to get some water out of a well on his property and noticed an odor. After inspecting it, he realized there was a body in it. Come to find out it was old man Newburn’s widow. Bound and decomposing.”
“What!” Gabby exclaimed. Mike squinted his eyes and nodded. “Why?” she asked, “What happened?” Mike put the cigarette to his lips, maintaining the introspective face he had made.
“They think someone tried to get the location of the whiskey barrels out of her,” Petro spoke up.
“They don’t know who did it?” Gabby spun around. Petro shook his head.
“It’s a true story,” Petro added, “At least the train wreck and murder are. Who knows about the whiskey barrels. That’s a rumor.”
“Somewhere on the Newburn’s property are whiskey barrels worth a fortune,” Mike reached for his glass, “Unless the old man drank em. Which is unlikely. He wasn’t known to drink and he was notorious for pinching pennies. Those old depression era people, ya know?”
“Wow…,” Gabby whispered, “Is it close to here?”
“Other side of Crosby,” I answered, “Yes but no. Borders my grandparent’s farm. They say the widow’s ghost roams the area looking for the barrels. Legend is she doesn’t know she’s dead. She’s trying to find them because she thinks it’ll stop them from murdering her if she tells them where they are.”
“You guys ready?” Petro spoke up before his dad could say anything else. I nodded and took a step back. Gabby gazed off into the wall behind Mike as she continued to process the story. After a few moments she scooted her stool back and slid out of it.
“Nice to meet you,” she held her hand out to shake Mikes, “Thank you for the drink. And the story.” Mike smiled and shook her hand. The three of us left and headed back for Curtis’s.
We didn’t stick around the party much longer. Gabby located her friend pretty quickly upon returning, and after assessing that things were winding down, Petro and I decided to leave again. Petro sought out a few people to let them know he was leaving for good, and I did the same with Gabby.
“Are you going to the show on the 17th?” I inquired.
“Where is it?” Gabby asked.
“Basom,” I replied, “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love WIDD, but I’m not one of those people that sets my calendar around them,” she clarified, “I’ll attend as many shows as I can, but I don’t memorize them.”
“I don’t either,” I said, “You just usually seem to know when they’re playing.”
“I’m friends with several die-hards,” she chuckled, “But I definitely go every chance I get. Are you going?”
“Ya,” I nodded, “It’ll probably be their last show of the year. And my older brother lives in Basom. I might crash there afterwards.”
“Cool,” she smiled, “I’ll see you there.”
“Promise?” I asked, “Petro will be at school so if you don’t come I’ll be stuck there alone.”
“Promise!” she stuck her pinky out and I understood she was offering up the childhood gesture known as a pinky swear. I wrapped my own around hers and we made a shaking motion. Gabby laughed and we hugged. She had just started to walk away when she came to an abrupt stop. “What song are we dancing to?” she asked.
“It’s Easier To Be Nice At Night,” I said after thinking about it for a few moments.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, “Perfect! I’ll work on it. You take the first line and we’ll alternate.”
“Deal,” I nodded. Gabby smiled one last big smile and began walking away again.
As I turned around I spotted Petro waiting for me a short distance away.
“What’s going on with you guys?” he asked as I got near.
“We were just discussing the ritual,” I replied, “I figured you’ll probably be in Montagrier or I’d have mentioned going.”
“I will be but that’s not what I meant,” he said. I peered over at him as we headed toward his car.
“What did you mean?” I asked. Petro made a face like it was a ridiculous question. “Just friends,” I placed my vision back on the darkness in front of us, “She’s super cool.”
“Ya, she’s awesome,” he agreed, “But there’s obviously something going on.” I turned back to face him with the intent of protesting, but as soon as I did, my strength escaped.
“I don’t even know how to approach it with her,” I seized the opportunity to vent, “She maintains this secret thing where she doesn’t want us to know about each other. Plus I’m still with Rachel.”
“Maybe it’s just a game to her,” he suggested, “I’ll bet if you ask her what her name is and for her number she’d give it to you.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” I asked.
“Then she doesn’t and you just keep playing the game,” he shrugged his shoulders, “but I’ll bet she would.”
I thought about Petro’s words in silence for the rest of the way to his car, and for a while after we were in it. Perhaps he was right, and it was as simple as asking her. If all she was willing to do was give me her phone number, at least I’d have someone to go to WIDD shows with. Especially considering that Rachel had no interest in them.
As we drove toward Crosby I resolved to ask her for more information the next time I saw her.
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