The Great Woodstock Story - Part 12

In this continuing series I detail my adventures at Woodstock ‘99.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, and Part 11 to catch up.

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In the dark of the car I was afraid. The cars and trucks whizzed by me, oblivious of my plight. Again, all I heard was my heartbeat.

My car was dead. I had nowhere to go. I was exactly halfway home. I had drove for seven hours. It took 14 to get to Woodstock, NY.

I was going to be here for a long time. With no cell phone. They were prevalent in ‘99, but I was also a year into my first real job. I wasn’t going to waste my money on something a stupid as a cell phone.

Nope, I spent my possible-cell-phone cash on tickets to Woodstock.

“This is great,” I told myself. “Great. You did great. Good job. Tear up the damn car.”

The sign I passed earlier said one mile to the exit. Up the long incline ahead of me I could see the outline of a bridge.

I took a look around the car. I had my stuff in the back. I didn’t want to take it with me. It was heavy. It was cool but the humid air wouldn’t stay that way. Besides, I wasn’t going to need socks to call home. I decided the best thing to do would be to just lock up the car, hoof it to the exit, and hope it had a payphone.

Of course it would have a phone. Why wouldn’t it have a phone?

I quieted my inner voice. Stupid inner voice.

The walk to the exit was long and a little frightening. It was not so much the traffic but the time of night and the lack of traffic. Each car represented a slow climb up the hill, each having their lights on me as they passed. Some slowed, but only one stopped. Of course by the time someone stopped I was already heading up the exit ramp.

The exit itself was almost barren. A few hundred yards from the ramp I saw a darkened Citgo neighbored by a dark Burger King. So much for 24 hour service. The highway that the ramp led onto was long and winding and the Virginia hills swallowed it up just across the overpass and past the gas station. On the other side of the overpass was nothing, bare ground leading to more hills, the highway snaking into the darkness.

The SUV behind me slowed and pulled over. It was a Chevy Blazer. I could see a guy driving. The window rolled down smoothly as I approached.

“Hey,” the guy said when I made it to his car. He was in his late 30’s, wearing a denim shirt, jeans and boots, sort of like a Mr. Mom cowboy get up. He looked about half drunk. His eyes were shiny in the dome light he had on.

“Hi,&r dquo; I said. “I’m just gonna walk over there to the gas station and use the phone.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at the Citgo and then back at me, nodding and with a furrowed brow, as if I had said something puzzling. “Gas station’s closed.”

“Well, if there’s a pay phone I should be able to use that. Thanks for stopping though.”

“No problem,” he said, eager to move on. “Let me drop you off.” He gestured for the door.

I had a hint of hesitation. A hint. But I opened the door and climbed inside.

A few seconds later and I was looking at the pay phone next to the gas station, near the rear of the store near the Super Air-Vac. I thanked him for his generosity and he wished me good luck. I was going to need it.

As he drove away in the night I began panicking that I couldn’t remember the number to my father’s house. I wanted to call him directly and not get my mother involved. She would be upset as you can imagine, and she would be finding out soon enough, but for some crazy reason that’s what I was focused on.

But first I tried to call David’s cell phone collect. Surely he would be near the area. I had memorized the exit number as I got closer. I repeated it to myself, over and over.

The operator came on the line as I tried the collect call. “May I help you?”

“I uh…I was trying to call my friend’s cell phone.”

“Sir, you cannot make collect phone calls to a cellular phone.”

“Oh, well, um okay.”

I looked behind the gas station and saw the power station there. It was dark and surrounded by fencing. Behind it the woods stretched off into forever.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the lady on the line said.

“I need to make a collect call.”

“What is the number.”

I gave her my father’s number. Er—wait, that wasn’t my—

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, the number was four three, not three seven. I’m…” I trailed off. No need rubbing it in…

“One moment,” she said quietly.

The phone rang and rang and rang.

In the darkness I began to hear crickets.

The phone just rang and rang.

“Sir?” The operator said over the ringing. It continued in the background. “Sir, I don’t believe anyone is answering.”

“Yes, I know, but it’s four in the morning. My dad is a heavy sleeper. I’m sure if you just—”

“Hello?” My father said, muffled in the background.

“Dad?” I said anxiously, as the operator took over and my father accepted the charges.

“Son?” My dad said, finally.

“Dad! I exclaimed. Oh boy. Oh shit…okay, um, you need to leave. You need to get your dolly on your truck and start driving. It will take you seven hours to get here.”

“Seven hours? What are you talking about?”

“Dad,” I said, “I’m in the middle of Virginia and it’s the middle of the night and Mom’s car broke down on the interstate.” That was about as plain as I could make it.

I could hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. There was no way he was going to get out of this.

“Son, do you…what’s wrong with the car?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s the transmission or something. I hit the gas and it doesn’t accelerate.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself, “sounds like the transmission. I…” he seemed to remember what I was asking of him as his tone changed, “you can’t get it fixed there?”

“Fixed here? You’re joking right?”

He started laughing. I could hear him rubbing his face and waking up. I gave him the exit number and the phone number. I told him I would stay by the phone and if he needed anything to call me. He said he would get started. I told him to hurry.

When I finally hung up the phone, I remembered immediately that I was alone, at a closed gas station in the middle of Virginia at 4AM. There was a chilly breeze blowing and I shivered out of nervousness and cold.

Four AM. Middle of the night. I was kinda freaked out and still a little buzzed. There was nothing I could do now but wait. there was of course nothing for me to actually do, walk around the gas station a few times, think about what may be living in the woods…

I sat down in the front of the gas station on the cold concrete. It was then I heard the truck coming—a big rumbling V8, but not a big rig. Around the corner came a late 80’s F150, beat and battered and the color of rust. It was filled in the back with something…and it was coming this way.

The vehicle came to a noisy stop in front of me, next to the gas pumps. The pumps were the old rotary kind, the kind whose amounts for gas and price still rotated on a wheel. The left-to-right lever you pushed to turn the pump on. They couldn’t buy gas here if they wanted.

Inside I could see two people. A man and a woman. Both of them got out of the car.

Who were these people? And what were all of those blankets in the back of their truck for?

Thursday: The finale.

Read the Finale

I will be with you when you lose your breath
Chasing the only meaningful memory you thought you had left