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Farewell - 2006-03-15 |
2002-10-20 - 4:06 p.m. Here is a fictionalized version of what happened to me this weekend. The parts that are not true are as follows: only one picnic table was burned (as far as I saw), they made me go back to Hollins for my banjo because I didn't intially bring it, and I never actually got better. Enjoy the story... How I Became a Hick (Temporarily) �Where in the world are we?� Christina exclaimed as the car bumped along. �I�m guessing the answer �on a dirt road in the middle of no where� would not be satisfactory,� I said. �Deer,� I noted easing my foot on to the break. The mother and fawn skipped happily in front of the car�s path. �Look! Look! A sign! Is this it? I can�t read it.� Christina squinted and read aloud, �Private Property. Trespassers will be shot.� I coughed. �Oh� on we go then.� Christina moaned a complaint as we headed further up the road. �I think this is it.� �Yeah, it is,� said Christina. �Hmm� not quite what I was expecting.� I pulled the car on to the lawn of a rundown wooden cabin. Old Christmas lights twinkled on the front porch illuminating a man in jeans and a red plaid shirt playing �Alice�s Restaurant� on his guitar. To the side of the house a small mob of hicks pushed a picnic table into a bon fire. �It�s not too late to turn back,� Christina urged. �You must be Sarah,� said an elderly man. He held out his left hand so he could use his right one to support himself on his cane. I shrugged at Christina, took the man�s hand and shook it. �Yeah, that�s me.� �Come on! Come on! Bring your friend there. Name�s . I�m Betty�s husband.� I�d tell you his name but I�ve forgotten. We�ll get to that part in a minute. �Who�s Betty?� Christina whispered to me. �The lady who gave me directions.� �Oh.� �She�s sittin� over there in the truck,� he said. �You brought your banjo?� My face reflected my shock as I wondered how in the hell he knew I played. �Yeah�� �Swell! You�re the only banjo player coming tonight.� �Well, uh, I wasn�t exactly planning on playing.� �Sure you were! Betty! Betty, this is Sarah.� �Hi Sarah! Pleased to meet you.� �Good to meet you, too. This is my friend, Christina.� �Hi Christina! You play an instrument?� �I uh� no. No, I don�t.� �Oh� well, that�s too bad. But Sarah�s going to play the banjo for us. Aren�t ya, Sarah!� �Well, actually I-� �Sarah! Name�s Rusty. You play banjo, eh?� another elderly man said. �Not really.� �Not really?� �Well, I pretend to. I�m not that good.� �That�s alright,� Rusty said �cause we all just pretend to listen.� Everyone chuckled. �You don�t have to worry about nothin�� said Betty�s husband. This is the point when I forgot his name. �Now if Samantha was here, then you�d have to worry. But she�s on tour right now with her band so you�ll have to be the banjo player.� �I really would just rather listen and-� �Come one kids! Let�s get you some supper before it�s all gone,� said Betty. She led us into the cabin. On the counter in front of what I assumed was the kitchen, lay dishes of food: chicken casserole, baked beans, stewed greens, banana pudding, fresh deer meet (of course), chili, and a pan full of what I would later recall as the worst cornbread I�ve ever eaten. Christina and I were invited to eat as much as we wanted. I told them I wasn�t that hungry but they pushed me forward in the line and then had be sit across from Betty�s husband in an old 1960s diner booth that had been randomly placed in the makeshift dinning room across from the wood burning stove. Christina soon sat down next to me. �You want a beer?� asked Betty�s husband. Christina looked at me. �Unless, of course, you two are under-age,� he said. �I�m the ex-chief of police so I can�t have anyone breaking the law.� �We�re under-age,� Christina chirped. �Okay, well there are some soft drinks in the cooler over there. You want one? I�ll go get it for you.� �I�ll get one in a minute,� I said. �Alright.� �Man, you seriously going to eat all that?!� exclaimed Rusty as he scooted in beside the chief� er� ex-chief. �Yeah,� said the ex-chief. �I�m a growing boy!� �Growing! What? Growing east to west now! Not North to South.� I turned to Christina. �Come on. I have to tune my banjo.� We excused ourselves and let the ex-chief and Rusty to duke it out about who had gained less weight since they had met each other �close to 30 years ago!� I retrieved my banjo and hid in a corner of the front porch. �Why so secretive?� Christina asked as she sat down on a near by love seat. I pointed to a small black box that glowed red or green as I plucked a string. �If they knew I had an electric tuner I�d be shot for sure.� �Why�s that?� �Anybody who�s nobody can at least tune their own instrument by ear.� �Oh.� I finished and quickly hid the tuner in my banjo case as Rusty and the ex-chief came outside. �Let�s hear some tunes!� said Rusty. �I uh� need to warm up first,� I said taking a seat next to Christina. �Well, go on then. Nobody�s stoppin� ya.� I let out a sigh and watched my breath appear before me. Rusty lit up a cigarette, artificially creating the same effect. I tightened my picks around my fingers until the tips turned white. I clicked them together a few times and slowly began to play. The melody was sweet and slow and the strings twanged the notes out just right. I allowed my fingers to pick faster until I was up to speed. I changed songs. �Hey! Cripple Creek!� said a man with a well-trimmed beard. He came up on the front porch with his guitar, sat down in front of me and began to play. At this point, I had stopped picking all together and was instead grinning in wonder. �What�s the matter with you? Play.� I looked at him. I was puzzled and lost. The cabin door squeaked open and out came the guy in the red plaid shirt. �Cripple Creek?� he asked. The man nodded. Red plaid quickly tuned his guitar and started playing. Then a third guitar was heard. I peered around Red to see Rusty eased back in his chair, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and strumming along. �Come on kid,� the man said. Reluctantly I gave it a whirl. �That�s it,� he said. �Sort-of� said Red. �Ignore him. Keep going.� And I did. The song went on for a solid five minutes of which I couldn�t decide if I was being tortured or if I was actually having fun. I had almost concluded that it was a healthy mixture of both when Red asked me, �How the hell does this song end?� �I don�t know,� I said. Everyone laughed. The laughter was loud, too loud. I looked out beyond the man, Rusty and Red, and there sat 20 people or so. They were smiling and clapping along. I gulped and stopped playing. So did the others. �What do you know?� asked Red. �Not much,� I said. �I thought you said there was a real banjo player here,� Red said to the ex-chief. �Different girl,� Rusty replied. �What do you know?� the man asked me. �G, C, and D,� I told him. �That�s all you need,� he told me. He instructed me to watch his fingers and he demonstrated the three chords on guitar. �Now keep up and play loud,� he told me. Of which I did neither. After a couple more songs, Red got annoyed with me and tried to shut me out. The others wouldn�t let him though. �Give the kid a break,� they told him. �She�s doin� alright.� A rather sleazy looking guy appeared at the edge of the front porch holding a beer, cigarette and a guitar. He had dark greasy hair, glasses and a mustache that made him look permanently dirty. I later learned his name was Steve. Christina and I left the porch when the base player arrived. No one really noticed except Steve and his friend whose name I didn�t catch but who has the biggest feet I�ve ever seen. Christina and I walked off towards the fire pit to warm ourselves up and to talk with Betty and a couple of her friends as we watched the small mob of hicks throw another picnic table on to the fire. Betty told me that I was �doin� real well� and that I should ignore Red ��cause he�s an asshole.� I smiled and chatted and thought that I had finally escaped having to perform anymore when Steve and Bigfoot wandered over and said, �You want to be in a band?� �What,� I said. �You wanna be in our band?� �Christina,� I said still starring at the two of them in disbelief. �Are they talking to me?� �They appear to be,� she said. �Then they must be drunk.� �Not yet,� said Bigfoot. �How �bout it?� �Uh� why me?� �We like the way you play.� �You�ve gotta be kiddin� me.� �Well, sort of,� said Steve. �We like your uh� how you�re willing to try and� what�s the word?� �Enthusiasm,� Christina suggested. �Yeah! Enthusiasm!� �And we want to mold you,� said Bigfoot. �Excuse me?� I said. �You know� uh� what�s it called when you make another one of somebody?� �Cloning,� I offered. �Yeah! We want to make you a clone.� �Oh boy,� I said sitting down on a nearby pile of bricks. �No really! We�ll teach you,� said Steve sitting down beside me. He miraculously smelled better than he looked. Smelled kind of like Old Spice. He played a bit of a melody and then nudged me to try it. I attempted getting most of it. We continued until I got it. �See,� he said �not hard. Now when you�re playin� you just watch and strum along doin� that pick thing that you do. Okay?� �It would help if someone could tell me the chords,� I said. A hand was gently placed on my shoulder. It was Rusty no longer holding his guitar but with his cigarette still in place. �I�ll tell her the chords,� he said. Steve stood up. He and Bigfoot faced me and began to play. Rusty whispered in my ear as I kept playing right along. �Louder!� the ex-chief said to me as he joined. And soon the man wandered over with Red and the base player but this time I played loud and clear and received a lot of slaps on the back and head rubs for it. We played on until one in the morning when Christina pulled on my sleeve wanting to go home. �Don�t go, Rebecca� Steve said throwing an arm around her. �My name�s Christina.� �Oh,� he said. �Well, don�t go. You were doin� such a good job of keeping my beer warm.� He laughed. Christina looked at me pleadingly. I took out a slip of paper and wrote down my name and number. I handed it to Bigfoot. �Here,� I said. �You�re drunk so I don�t expect you to remember, but ask for Gibson.� �I�m not drunk,� he said. �You judge. I�ve had five beers.� �You�re drunk,� I said. �Oh,� he said slightly disappointed. �You�re serious about the band?� �Yeah.� �Then call me. See ya.� �Can I come with you?� he asked. �Umm � no.� �Oh,� he said looking disappointed again. �Bye! Drive safe!� He paused then shouted to Steve. �Look! I got her number!� I sighed. On the way to the car I was stopped by Rusty and the ex-chief who gave me a big hug, thanked me for coming and said that they�d be watching for me next fall. I climbed into the car. �That was interesting,� said Christina. �Nice people,� I said. �Drunk, but nice.� I pulled out on to the dirt road and glanced out the window. Steve and Bigfoot stood on top of a picnic table waving. They were then pushed off by the mob of hicks as they moved it towards the bon fire. I smiled. �Yup,� I said �damn nice people.�
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