Dancing on a Razor. Kevin John White

way to get to know a guy is to either get drunk with him or get into a good scrap with him. With my best friends, it’s almost always been both. (Most of ’em are almost as crazy as I am.) My advice on women? Don’t fight; run!

      As things turned out, I was seated with the “Wild Witch of Pinaus Lake,” the one with the radio show, and her cohort and aspiring pupil, a Jehovah’s Witness I shall call Lee.

      We talked and played a few more games, and as we did I told them a little about myself, where I’d been, where I was going—stuff like that. After we talked a bit more they invited me to stay the night at their house instead of out in the woods, as I had grown accustomed to. I think they could see that I was pretty road weary. I hadn’t slept indoors for months that year, and a hot shower sounded real good to me after jumping into lakes and rivers first thing in the morning (if there were any nearby). Besides, any place with beer and good company was better than sitting alone in the woods at night. I gratefully accepted the invitation.

      This was not an unusual happening. I’ve received many such invitations over the years. People, I think, could sense that although I was quite capable of creating serious trouble, I was honest and had a good heart. I also think they felt they were in some way becoming a part of something—some story yet to be told; they were right. Plus, almost everyone enjoys a for-real wandering minstrel.

      Tales of the road were just as big a part of what I did as music and song were, so I played and sang and told my tales as we chatted and drank a few more beers at their place. Late into the night, right out of the blue, the witch asked me if I would consider being the male counterpoint for her female coven. I found that quite disturbing. I declined her offer, politely but firmly. I also began to suspect that God was up to something. Trust me on this: God is a very busy person. He is literally always up to something. I’d seen him work in unusual ways many times by then, and I was seeing his fingerprints beginning to materialize in this situation.

      It seemed I had always been running into witches of some sort or another my entire life, and this was not the first time this kind of offer had been made. I used to be puzzled as to why this was so. (I’ve learned an awful lot since then, and I now understand why.)

      As things would have it, Lee had her own place, and she said she really didn’t mind if I stayed on with her for a bit. Well, seeing as how we got along real well, I accepted her offer. I think I was simply lonely. You must understand I had no real friends, no wife or girlfriend, no home, and had been travelling hard and alone on the highway for years by then. This was long before I met Bruce or Norma. We both knew I wasn’t going to stick around for long, but it seems that emptiness echoes to emptiness a curious call.

      Besides, it was beautiful up there in the mountains, and with such sweet company and plenty of beer, what tired and lonely hiker wouldn’t want to linger awhile? I had spent so many years on the road going from province to province, never really staying anywhere very long, swapping music and tales for company and beer and then just moving on. I’d pretty much done that my entire life up to that point.