“So, what do you think of our songs?” Angus asked as Bea squeezed through the door of the abandoned Party Barn.

“Angus, I’ve heard most of them before. Don’t you remember? I sequenced the drum parts when Casey was in jail.”

“Oh yeah. Well… what do you think of them anyway?”

“They suck. But I’m not really into the genre so what do I know. Where is Casey anyway?”

Gregg looked up from tuning his guitar. “Oh, he said he’d be a little late. Some chore he had to do.”

The door squeaked and Germ walked in.

“Hi Germ,” all three said.

“Hi guys. Hi Bea. Are you playing with the band tonight?”

“Well… sorta. I programmed some bass lines to take Mae’s place.”

“So, are you part of the band now?”

“Well…” she started, but Gregg interrupted.

“She is! We’re a foursome again! Woohoo!”

“I guess so,” she concluded. “Say Germ, why aren’t you in the band?”

“I am. I’m the 5th member. The audience!”

“Say, that’s kinda deep.”

“I could be your roadie if you ever played anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Gregg said, strumming a chord. “That’s better. You’re our roadie.”

“Cool,” Germ said with enthusiasm.

The door squeaked again and Casey came in, skateboard in hand.

“Sorry guys. Had to clean up my room.”

“No problem Case. We’re all set up.”

“Hi Bea. You ready?”

“Sure. What song do you wanna start with?”

“PUMPKIN HEAD GUY!” shouted Gregg.

“We always start with Pumpkin Head Guy Bea,” Angus added more soberly. Did you do that one?”

“Yup. Pulling it up now… Why do you always do that one first?”

Gregg waved his hands excitedly, “Because I made it up!”

“I couldn’t have guessed,” Bea said, trying to not overdo the sarcasm.

“Yeah. Casey writes most of the songs, but we each have one of our own too. We’re a democracy!”

“Really! Casey writes most of them? I thought you didn’t know notes.”

“Don’t,” Casey said as he sat behind his drum kit and did a few drum rolls. “But I can hum a melody.”

“He’s like that famous guy - didn’t go to school, but he knows music naturally,” Angus said proudly.

“Oh, I just make stuff up sometimes. Come on, let’s do this… 1. 2. 3. 4!”

The other three started off but Bea just shook her head. The noise stopped after a little bit.

“What’s wrong Bea?”

“I have to start the songs off. Otherwise the bass won’t be on-beat. I put a click track in though.”

“Oh. Well. Okay. But you have to say ‘1 2 3 4’. It’s tradition,” Gregg pointed out.

“Gonna be weird not counting stuff out,” Casey protested, “But let’s try it.”

Bea pressed a key and shouted “One. Two. Three. FOUR!” along with the clicks.

And the melodious lines of Pumpkin Head Guy began to flow. Even Angus seemed to be into it, holding the mic rather than just standing behind it. Not exactly the World’s Greatest Frontman, but his voice wasn’t all that bad. Bea even found herself tapping her foot a little.

When it was over, Germ clapped.

“Sounded good guys!”

“It did! Good bass Bea!” Gregg nodded to her enthusiastically.

“Could use a little tweaking. But… what should I do while the song is playing? I don’t really have anything to do once the song starts.”

“Tambourine?”

Bea shrugged, “Okay. Got one?”

“No,” Angus stated flatly.

“You could dance or something. You know, be our Hot Chick,” Casey suggested.

“I would rather die.”

“Okay, maybe not.”

“Well, you’ll think of something,” Angus assured her. “Let’s move on. What’s next?”

Of course, it didn’t take long before they’d exhausted all six songs that Bea had programmed, so she sat with Germ and her laptop while the band did the other songs they had. She’d gotten one more programmed before the practice was officially declared over and the band started to break up.

“Until next week?” Bea asked.

“Um… We usually practice Wednesdays too.”

“Sorry. Gotta work Wednesday nights.”

“Well, I can get the files from you,” Angus offered, “and play em on my laptop.”

Bea shrugged. “Okay. I’ll drop em by tomorrow at lunch.”

The night had come on in full when she had packed up her laptop bag and started back to her place. It was, she decided, actually pretty fun.

“Hey, wait Bea,” she heard a voice call behind her.

Casey. She was afraid this might happen. Chasin’ that horny gator tail.

“Hey Casey,” she said without emotion.

“Hey Bea. Look, I don’t wanna go home yet. If I wait till after midnight, the parental units will be asleep. You wanna stay out with me?”

“Casey…” Bea started.

“Not like a date or anything. Just to hang out.”

Bea thought about it. It would be a very bad idea to start up some relationship with this probable meth-head. The last thing she needed right now was to have to worry about that. But he seemed to have held his tongue about what happened earlier. Still, he was probably thinking she was some sort of nymphomaniac now. He probably had delusions of getting in her pants. Definitely best to nip that right in the bud.

“Okay,” she said, completely disregarding everything that had just gone through her mind.

“I’ve got a half bottle of whiskey hidden down by the bridge. Wanna share it with me?”

“Casey. Don’t push it.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you really write those songs?”

“Mostly. Did you like em?”

“Some had potential anyway. Some, not so much. Space Dragon?”

“Mae wrote most of that.”

“Sounds like Mae.”

She pulled a cigarette out, then offered one to Casey.

“Na. They make me kinda nauseous really. Besides, I already had my loaner for today.”

She shrugged and put it back in the pack, then lit hers.

“Where’d you get the whiskey?” she asked on the exhale.

“You really want to know?”

“Kinda. Bought, Borrowed or Stolen?”

“Stolen.”

“Figured. From your parents?”

Casey shook his head. “Liquor store. I got some juice for my dad and pocketed the bottle while I was in there.”

“Casey. I’m not into that sort of thing. You know that, right?”

“I guess. Beatrice the Pure.”

They walked on in silence for a while, passing her apartment. She realized they were heading to the bridge.

“Lemme try some of your stolen whiskey, Casey.”

He smiled, and they turned off the road, climbing down underneath.

“This is stupid,” she thought to herself. “And a mistake.” But Casey did try to help her down. She scowled at him and refused the help, but really she did appreciate the thought anyway - even if she wouldn’t show it.

A half-hour later found Bea and Casey slightly intoxicated, listening to the cars go by above them.

“Pickup truck,” Casey said.

“Casey, half the vehicles in Possum Springs are pickup trucks. This is a stupid game. We can’t even see if we’re right or not.”

“White pickup truck. Going out of town. Probably heading east, to the next state.”

“That’s a lot of guessing based on the sound of wheels on pavement,” Bea said, but she accepted the bottle.”

“It’s not guessing. It’s something else. Wish fulfillment.”

Bea turned to look at Casey’s silhouette in the dark. “Projection. What’s so bad about Possum Springs anyway?”

“Jeeze Bea. You don’t feel the same? It’s a dead end. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. You know those old guys that hang out at Miller’s?”

“Sure. Tom and Pat. Tom buys gardening supplies from me. What about em?”

“Bea, they were us thirty years ago.”

“They weren’t me.”

“Might as well have been. Bea, if I don’t get the hell out of here, I’m going to end up with a pot belly and talking about the goddamned Smelters too! I don’t want that future!”

Bea “Mmmm”ed in agreement.

“It’s like my worst nightmare, Bea.”

“You’ll end up in prison before that.”

“Probably. Would you believe me if I told you I’d prefer that?”

“Yeah,” Bea said, drawing on her cigarette. The glow lit Casey’s face and hers, but he was staring at the black underside of the bridge above them. He seemed to be looking at something far away.

“What would you rather do?”

“Anything. I’d rather do absolutely anything than grow old here.”

There was silence for a while, but it was no longer uncomfortable. Bea was bothered by how much she could sympathize with the meth-head.

“Do you want to live your life in Possum Springs Bea?”

“I don’t mind living here. I just don’t want to die here. I can’t even get buried beside my mom.”

“Your mom’s dead?”

“Yeah. Cancer.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you really?” she said, a hardness in her voice now. She heard it coming out of her own mouth, but couldn’t stop if if she’d wanted to.

“Well. I mean…”

“I know what you meant. But that sort of platitude just irks me. You didn’t know her. Everybody says they’re sorry. What does that even mean when you don’t even know the person?”

“Jeeze, Bea. You’re an angry drunk.”

“Not drunk,” Bea said, but took another swig anyway. “...yet. Sorry Casey, I’m a bitch. I know it. Everyone knows it. I can’t help it. I get pissed off too easy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, I won’t. Now give me that bottle back before you drink it all, bitch!”

Bea smiled and handed the bottle back. “That’s better.”

She heard Casey take another long pull on the bottle, while she thought of an empty grave beside her mother’s. That was for dad. He’d bought it at the same time he’d bought his wife’s grave. There was no third plot. The graves beside her mom’s and her dad’s future plot were already occupied. There was no place for her.

“I don’t even care where,” Casey said, shaking Bea out of her morbid thoughts. “I just want to go anywhere else.”

“I just want to die anywhere else.”

Casey turned to look at her. She drew a big drag on her cigarette and saw his eyes looking directly at her. It bothered her. She dashed the cigarette out on the concrete.

“I just want to die anywhere else too,” he said.

Bea was suddenly uncomfortable here. Casey wasn’t so bad, but suddenly she was keenly aware of his nearness. It hadn’t bothered her before. At least he hadn’t tried to hold her hand or anything.

“I think it’s time to go home, Casey,” she said abruptly.

“You go ahead. I’m going to hang out here for a while.”

“You gonna try and skate here in the dark? Nobody will hear you scream if you break your ankle down here.”

“Maybe. Or work on something in my head. See you later Bea.”

“Later basket-Case.”