Once a week, we dodged deer and possum, Bloomington to Nashville, left road kill on the shoulder driving home. Between the dodging and the killing we drank beer, listened to a bluegrass band, and mingled with the locals.
The girl I lived with, Suze, held tight to an admin job at Healthcare Services, saving up for grad school. My friend Marty cut lawns and dodged the draft. I wrote stories on yellow legal pads, thinking I had a line on something no one else could see. The locals cut stone in quarries, built elevators at the Cummins plant in Columbus, or brewed shine back in the hills between Bean Blossom and Gnaw Bone.
The band played the standards, “Foggy Mountain Breakdown,” “Footprints in the Snow,” and “Man of Constant Sorrow.” After the band's first break, after the first few rounds put wind in their sails, folks took to the dance floor. They clogged and shuffled, the men straight-backed and stiff, the women loose and laughing. Marty and I took turns with Suze, spinning her out then reeling her in.
Along about closing time, the band in its final throes, the dance floor mostly cleared and the bar emptied of those who had to work for a living. Remaining were the shiners and the geezers. No women left to dance with, but with dancing left in their hearts, some swayed with a mop or a broom. Others danced with chairs, pushing them across the floor, eyes closed, elbows knocking.
Now and then, late at night, I think of Suze, a Facebook mother of three, Marty dead in a rice paddy at twenty-one. If no one else is around, I listen to bluegrass, drink a beer or two, and push a chair across the room.
24
favs |
1755 views
28 comments |
302 words
All rights reserved. |
Originally appeared in Prime Number.
This story has no tags.
A good, direct piece, Gary. Especially like the closing - " Now and then, late at night, I think of Suze, a Facebook mother of three, Marty dead in a rice paddy at twenty-one."
*
Makes me want to slow dance with a chair. Magnificent.
Beautifully done. I think that the short sentence structure adds the emotion to the memory in a very clever way.
"thinking I had a line on something no one else could see."
Writers must always be optimistic in their rituals of suspended disbelief.
Beautiful piece, Gary.
Reality, with a touch of magic. What could be better?
Enjoyed this very much indeed.
That's a beautiful part of the world, innit?
(one-time Bloomington resident)
Fave, Gary. Many of us sometimes "soak" in the reveries of our pasts. I'm certain though that very few can tell of it as well as you've done here. And yes, I know it is Columbus, Indiana, not Ohio.
Beautiful story, Gary. Great sense of place and the story builds on itself perfectly. I like this one a lot.*
This is wonderful, Gary.
*
Lxx
Love it. Especially the last paragraph. Fave*
Really fine writing, Gary.
Thanks for the kind comments. I've had that image of the men dancing with chairs for a long time. Not sure anymore if it really happened or is the product of beer and nostalgia. I guess it doesn't matter.
We used to hang out in a bluegrass bar in Iowa City. Some kids would venture in but I think it was far more locals. Our Banjo guy ended up with Bill Monroe for a time. Nicely rendered.
Great story, beautifully written, compact yet expansive with implicative details. *
Nice stuff, Gary. Enjoyed it. *
nice work.*
Goose bump stuff, Gary. *
No women left to dance with, but with dancing left in their hearts, some swayed with a mop or a broom. Others danced with chairs, pushing them across the floor, eyes closed, elbows knocking.
I love the visual, Gary.
Beautiful rhythm. I love the series of threes. A stark country waltz.*
The close is the clincher. Well done.*
Oh wow. This hits me. *
Thanks so much. Ya'll honor me.
Elegantly concise with a real kicker for a final paragraph.
I'll dance with you anytime. Cheers, Nonnie
"I wrote stories on yellow legal pads, thinking I had a line on something no one else could see."
A whole world in that one sentence. A tear and a smile at the end of this story.*
Thanks for your comment on "Years After."
"I wrote stories on yellow legal pads, thinking I had a line on something no one else could see." Great line. Loved the sad reminiscence. Fine work. *
*