#widd

I was asleep on the living room couch when the incessant ringing of the phone woke me up. I still lived with my Dad, and as per usual, he was at his girlfriend’s house for the weekend in nearby Stahlburg. By the time I was fully lucid, the answering machine had kicked on. The caller didn’t leave a message, but the phone immediately began ringing again. I forced myself off the couch and hustled to the next room to have a look at the caller ID. It was Petro and I scurried back to the living room where the phone was located.

“Hey, you wanna run back down to Curtis’s with me?” he asked.

“How soon?” I rubbed my left eye and squinted up at the clock on the wall. It was after 1pm. 

“I was getting ready to head into town now,” he answered, “I can get gas or something first if you need a few.”

“Ya, that’s fine,” I replied. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. It took me a few moments to remember the events of the night before.

“I think so,” I paused to consider my present condition, “Just sore.”

“Cool,” Petro said, “I’ll head that way and grab some gas at Elmer’s first.”

We hung up and I began searching my dresser for some clothes. 

As I pulled a shirt down over my head, I could smell the sticky residue of the previous night's sweat escaping through the neck. It was unpleasant, but I didn’t feel like I had enough time to address it. Petro lived outside of town, but it only took him a couple minutes to reach Crosby.

When I finished getting dressed, I grabbed a can of pop out of the refrigerator and sat down on the back step to wait. A short while later Petro pulled down the alley and I hopped in.

Petro was short for Petropolis which was his last name. His first name was Carter. Carter and I were different in most ways, but what we had in common provided a strong bond. Primarily a love for music that fell outside what most would consider the realm of mainstream or popular. At least to our generation.

“What do you have to go back to Curtis’s for?” I asked as he pulled out the other end of the alley that cut through the middle of my block.

“He’s got a tape for me from last night,” Petro replied. 

“A tape?” I glanced over at him. Petro nodded.

“Of WIDD,” he clarified, “Their show.”

“From last night? Someone recorded it?” I asked. Petro again nodded.

“Someone always records it,” he explained, “I’ve never played you one of their tapes?” I shook my head. Petro gazed at me for several seconds before reaching toward the glove compartment. Popping it open, he reached in and began fishing around the messy contents. Eventually he pulled out a cassette tape and inserted it into his car stereo. It was in the middle of a song that sounded like pure noise, and Petro began rewinding it. The speed of the car slowed down considerably, but as a rule there was very little traffic on the side roads of Crosby. Especially on a Sunday.

Eventually he found the song he wanted and let it play. The quality wasn’t great, but what I could make out was catchy. Peculiar, but with an appealing hook.

We arrived at Curtis’s after several songs had played and Petro pulled over near the front of the lane. Stopping the tape, he began messing with the stereo again. Petro was the only person I knew that had a multi disc changer, which was located in his trunk. Most were lucky to have a single CD player in the dash of their car, including me. I hadn’t replaced the tape deck in my compact station wagon.

After finding the disc he was searching for, he skipped to the song he wanted. It was the same one that had just finished playing on the cassette, but this time it was polished sounding rather than live. Presumably a studio version as opposed to a bootleg. And it was good. Really good. 

“That’s WIDD?” I looked at Petro who’s face showed he already knew what my reaction was going to be. He nodded and smiled. “Wow,” I said, “I don’t remember hearing anything like that last night.”

“They sound a little different live,” he replied, “I think it’s on purpose. Plus you weren’t really in the proper frame of mind.”

“Pshhht, ain’t that the truth,” I agreed.

“This song’s about something that happened to a guy Curtis knows. It’s called Three Blocks Later,” Petro began explaining to me, “He was smoking creeper weed one night with some guy from the city. They didn’t think they were going to get high and started bitching to each other about getting ripped off. All of sudden a possum ran out in front of the car. The guy from the city had never seen one and started freaking out.” 

“And WIDD wrote a song about it?” I asked. Petro nodded emphatically and smiled like it was the coolest thing in the world. “Were they friends with him?” I queried. Petro shook his head.

“He got picked during the ritual,” Petro answered, “He told the band the story when he was hanging out with them after the show. They turned it into a song.”

“Wow. That’s cool,” I uttered. Petro nodded again.

“The guy was at another one of their shows some time after and heard them playing this song. The same show that’s on that cassette I played, actually,” Petro nodded toward his car stereo, “Then when their next album dropped that song was on it.” 

“Did he ask them about it?” I inquired.

“I don’t know, but that’s not the only time they’ve done it,” he put the car back in drive and continued inching down the long driveway, “They do it a lot. That’s why people get so crazy during the ritual. So they can hang with the band and maybe they’ll write a song about it.”

“Is that why people record their shows?” I glanced in the direction of the cassette in his tape deck. He smiled and nodded. 

“Curtis asked me to make him a few copies,” Petro explained, “Said he’d pay me like $20.”

He parked in front of the garage and we got out. As we walked around the side of the house and onto a concrete patio, we beheld Curtis picking up trash and straightening outdoor furniture.

“Hey gents,” he said through a cigarette in his mouth once he saw us approaching.

“Was it bad?” Petro asked. Curtis paused, stood up straight and squinted at him. 

“Was what bad?” Curtis asked before taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

“The mess,” Petro clarified. Curtis forcefully blew smoke through his nose and began nodding.

“Ya,” he reached down to retrieve a pair of empty cups from beneath a table, “but worth it.”

“Do you need help?” Petro asked.

“Nah,” Curtis shook his head, “I about got it. Plus I’m having some people over later. I got the house again tonight. You guys are welcome to come by.”

“I’m supposed to watch a movie with Brooke, but I might stop by after,” Petro replied. 

“What about you Aaron?” Curtis asked without facing me, “What are you up to tonight?” 

I’d hung out with Curtis several times, but not without Petro. We were friendly and I liked him. We'd just never developed a friendship outside of him being Petro’s cousin. 

“Ya man, I might stop by,” I said.

“We’ll be here,” Curtis quipped, trying to take another drag off his cigarette without using his fingers. Petro stood there waiting for him to finish what he was doing so that he could ask him for the cassette. “You guys have a good time last night?” Curtis arched his back like it hurt and then removed the cigarette from his mouth, “I don’t remember seeing much of either one of ya.” Petro turned to face me with a smirk. Curtis took notice and waited for me to say something.

“I had a bad trip man,” I said.

“Aw no shit?” Curtis relaxed his shoulders, “What happened? Bad batch?”

“I don’t know,” I shook my head, “I was okay for a bit, but once it hit, shit got weird. WIDD started playing that tribal drum arrangement and it just kicked my trip up to a whole nother level.”

“Really,” Curtis jerked his head back, “That’s the best way to experience the ritual. Sure it wasn’t something else? You didn’t eat too much?”

“Petro ate the same amount I did,” I relayed, “Two hits and he was fine.”

“I walked away for a couple minutes, and when I came back he was gone. When I finally found him he was in the basement with his head on some random chick’s lap and she was stroking his hair,” Petro added before bursting out into laughter.

“Dude, I was losing it,” my voice grew more serious, “I don't know what would’ve happened if she wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Who was it?” Curtis asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders, “Once Petro found me we took off so I could get my shit together.”

“What’d she look like?” he pressed.

“I have no idea,” I shook my head, “My visuals were so strong at that point nothing looked right. I just remember she had some earrings on that were doing some crazy shit. Greens and purples. Do you remember what she looked like?” I turned to Petro who immediately started shaking his head.

“I might if I saw her,” he said, “but I was trippin balls too. Faces were starting to do some weird shit so I wasn’t trying to stare at anyone.”

“Huh,” Curtis said as we all became silent.

“Hey, you got that recording?” Petro finally spoke up. Curtis processed the question for a moment before the words finally caught up to him. With a single nod he slid a nearby glass door open and entered the house. Within seconds he remerged and handed a cassette to his cousin.

“You guys missed it,” Curtis said.

“WIDD? I heard up until the ritual, then I had to go look for this one,” Petro gestured toward me using the side of his head.

“No man. I won the ritual!” he replied.

“Really?” Petro asked excitedly. Curtis smiled and nodded. “How was it?” Petro pressed, “Were they cool? I was just telling Aaron about Three Blocks Later.”

“Ya,” Curtis answered, “We just had a few beers and smoked a bowl. Shot the shit. Played a little guitar.” 

“You had your guitar with you?” Petro sought clarification.

“I asked their manager if I could grab it,” he replied.

“That’s awesome,” Petro said, “Maybe you’ll be on the next one of these.” He held the cassette up in the air.

“Maybe. I told them that story your dad tells about the guy burying whiskey and the chick that got murdered. They thought that shit was crazy as fuck. Maybe they’ll write a song about that,” Curtis took a drag off his cigarette, “I think they just picked me cause I was the one paying them. They have a show at the Braddock County fair next week. I’m going. You guys should too.”

“Ya,” Petro replied, “We’ll see what’s up.”

“Cool,” Curtis said before looking around, “Well, I better get back to this shit. I’m tired of messing with it.”