And now for the final chapter of K. C. Wilson’s novella Doing the Dead – 1983, presented by Faraway!

Click here to purchase a copy of Doing the Dead – 1983, or click here for complete coverage of the publication of this new novella.

            Kate came by early in the Cougar. Ingrid got up to see me off. Lyle was leaving to go to work. Susan slept. Russell sat on his couch on the porch, drinking beer and watching early morning TV on the portable black and white. The house was peaceful, calm. Ingrid waved a tender goodbye from the door­way. All I had to do was get in the car and go.

            The moment of going provided a focus on the receding house. Inside the Cougar, reality and time were linked to no houses. The moment of go­ing extended outward into a prolonged transition, like one of those endlessly changing Dead jams that segue in a hundred different directions before the full surging power of the band converges on a single resonating chord that an­nounces the end of the song they were playing as it fades into the beginning of the next song, the next new song in the sequence. The music never stops.

Click here to download the sixth chapter of K. C. Wilson’s novella Doing the Dead – 1983, presented by Faraway!

Click here to purchase a copy of Doing the Dead – 1983, or click here for complete coverage of the publication of this new novella.

            My younger sister, Kate, often came by the house and parked in front when she went to the beach. She was dating a doctor who was also a Grateful Deadhead with an extensive library of live recordings, which I had been bor­rowing a few at a time for several months. Kate was excited about the upcom­ing tour. Through her doctor friend, Doc, she was connected to a vast network of other Deadheads. She herself was “a Dead virgin,” and looking forward with great anticipation to her first Dead concert.

            She had extra tickets for me if I wanted to go. Two shows, at Hamp­ton, Virginia and Morgantown, West Virginia.

            “It’s pretty much worked out,” she said. “We get to Charlotte and park the car. Pick up another ride there.”

            “That’s it?”

            “That’s it,” she said. “How do you feel about driving Gloria to Char­lotte? Think she’ll make it?”

            “If it doesn’t rain,” I said.

            “My car’s too small. So is Doc’s.”

            “It would be better if we had windshield wipers,” I said.