After
dinner tonight, we were sitting around watching TV, all with our respective
laptops of course, and an infomercial came on. I'm not quite sure why we left
it on and didn't change the channel but we watched the entire thing. It was an
informercial for a collection of classic country music. You know people like
Buck Owens, Johnny Cash, Tammy Wynette, and Jim Reeves. Of course Patsy Cline
was featured prominently. Seeing and hearing her reminded me of when I thought
I was a writer. You see, I joined this website called StoryWrite. It's a site
for writers. My friend Germie is a member and he actually deserves to be there. I've only posted two stories and they
were ok. I needed prompting. This site provides that. They had a prompt where
they had four lists and you had to pick one word off of each list and include
those words in your story. The four words I chose were clock, snow, Ellen,
Cuyahoga. Oh, and there was also a length limit. I can't remember exactly what
it was but it had to be really short. So for your entertainment, I hope, I
present to you my short story:
FOR THE
LOVE OF PATSY CLINE
by Denise Deaton Smith
Somehow I
didn't think I would end up in a holding cell while the county figured out
where to put me. The lady sitting next to me has an unpleasant aroma about her
and it made it increasingly hard to breathe as I sat on that bench.
Maybe I
should start at the beginning.
Being
born in Cleveland, Ohio gives a music lover plenty of opportunity to wallow in
their obsession. Unless their obsession is Patsy Cline.
I guess
my obsession with Patsy Cline began when I was a baby. My mom would rock me to
sleep singing, "Walking After Midnight." When I got older, she would
sing "Crazy" as I came home from school because she was lonely all
day without me.
I asked
her once why she loved Patsy. She hugged me close and said, "Well, Ellen
honey, no other singer was able to portray an emotion quite as smoothly and as
clearly as she did. This woman knew what pain was and you feel what she felt
when you listen to her."
One
afternoon when I was 8 years old, my mom and I were walking down Ninth Ave when
I saw a building I had never seen before. "Mom, what is that?"
"That's
the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, sweetie. The greatest people in music are
honored there."
I
remembered all of this the day of her funeral. I was 10 when she died of a
massive stroke. I guess I became obsessed with Patsy Cline as a remembrance of
my mother.
As I grew
older, the first day the new list came out I read who was inducted into the
Hall of Fame. Patsy was never on the list. Each year it seemed that my anger
grew. It was a slow burn that built each time I read that dang list.
On the
day of my 27th birthday, I could contain it no longer. The argument was that
she was a country singer, not Rock and Roll. Well, Hank Williams was in the
Hall of Fame. Johnny Cash was inducted too. They weren't rock and roll! Who was
making these decisions?!
I made my
plan. I needed to tell someone what a mistake they were making. Someone needed
to know.
That
night, I was ready. I looked at the clock and knew it was time. I pulled on my
boots and my parka and trudged my way through the snow and stood before the
massive Hall of Fame.
I snuck
around to the employee parking lot and waited. Finally someone came out in a
suit and I followed him to his car. I stuck my finger in his back and said,
"Do what I say and no one will get hurt. Get in your car, we're going for
a ride."
We got
into his car and he asked where my gun went. "Listen, Mac, it's in my
pocket and don't think I won't hesitate to take it out and use it. I want to
talk to you about a terrible mistake and injustice this Hall of Fame is
making."
The look
of shock on his face was almost charming. "Listen, I'm just an accountant."
"Whatever!
I know you can do something! Pasty Cline deserves to be in the Hall of Fame!
Why won't you let her in?!"
"Seriously,
I'm just an accountant."
"LIAR!"
I felt my left eye twitch a little.
"YOU...ARE...KEEPING...HER...OUT...ON...PURPOSE!!!"
Suddenly
his elbow came flying for my face. It made contact. My nose immediately started
bleeding and my eyes started watering.
Did I
mention that I faint at the sight of blood?
I took a
ride that night. But instead of fulfilling my obligation to Patsy, Daniel, as I
later learned his name, decided to drive me to the Cuyahoga County jail to
press charges.
Sharon,
the odiferous one next to me turns and asks, "I'm here for shoplifting.
What you in for?"
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