Night Ride

Night Ride


By
P.J.Lawton





It was just about sunset on a sultry summer evening as I
slowly walked along US Highway 79 in Southwest Arkansas. I was hot,
tired, and pretty much depressed. I really wasn't looking forward to a
long night on a dark deserted highway. A sudden whisper of tires on
pavement came up from behind and a big mysterious antique looking
Cadillac slowed to a crawl then stopped beside me. A darkly tinted
window slowly lowered with the soft whir of its electric motor. As I
bent to look inside a hushed voice with a soft southern drawl said,
"Where you headed son?


I couldn't see the driver very well but I could tell it was a
man. "Well Mister, right now I'm headed for Memphis."


I heard the click of the door locks and the voice continued.
"I'm headed in that direction myself. Stow your gear in the back seat
and hop in. It's a pretty long drive and I could use some company.



I placed my backpack and guitar case in the back and eased
into the front passenger seat. Without another word, the driver put the
car into gear and drove on.


We rode in silence for a while. The driver was quietly
humming a familiar song. After about ten minutes he turned to me. "Been
walking long? Don't see to many folks out walking on such a lonely
stretch of highway. It's not always safe to be out alone you know.
There's been talk of some strange happenings around here."



The lights from the dash provided me my first good look at
him. His look could only be described as haunted. His long gray hair
was swept back in a retro 50's ducktail. His cheeks were sunken and his
flesh sort of hung loose, like someone who had been sick for a long
time. His eyes were bright and shiny like coals of fire they danced in
slightly sunken eye sockets. There was something familiar about him. I
thought about it for a second then mentally shook my head. No, it
couldn't be. I simply stared at him.


I guess he sensed my unease and spoke again in that soothing
soft drawl. "Relax son, everything is okay. I just thought you might
like to tell your story."


"Sorry Mister, guess I'm a little tired. I've been on the
road most of the day. It's not much of a story really. It started with
a call yesterday afternoon."


For the next few minutes I told my tale. I had been down in
Bossier City, Louisiana working as a freelance guitar player and singer
at some River Boat Casinos. Yesterday I had received a call from an old
friend whose band was playing at a club on Beal Street in Memphis. He
needed some temporary help. That was Thursday, this was Friday, and I
had to be there tomorrow, Saturday. I told him I would be there, packed
my bag and hit the road.


My old car had been pretty much done in. Two hundred seventy
thousand miles will do that. It had finally taken its last breath about
five miles up the road from where I had been walking. I had simply
pushed it off the road and left it.


The driver made a sidewise shift of his eyes. "So, are you
just about helping out a friend or is it something more?"



"Yeah well, I am going to help him out for a while but I do
have bigger dreams."


"Yes, well most do son, most do." With a slight pause he
turned slightly toward me. "Look, I know you must be tired. Just relax
there and rest awhile. We'll talk more later."


I was suddenly very tired. Even though I fought it, I
couldn't keep my eyes open. As I settled a little deeper into the seat
the last thing I heard was the driver humming that song again.



I awoke with a start. We had stopped. A quick glance around
showed that we were parked at a roadside store. Looking down the
highway I could read a sign that said Memphis 110 miles. I glanced at
the old Cadillac's dashboard clock, 2:17 A.M. I couldn't believe that I
had slept so long. But, more importantly how had we come so far so
fast.


A few minutes later we were back on the road. The driver gave
me an intense studying look then asked, "Son, are you planning on the
music business as a career."


"Mister, I've been playing since I was five years old. I
really don't know anything else. In my backpack are about 40 songs that
I have written. After Memphis my plan is to go Nashville. With a little
luck I will be a star someday."


Abruptly his tone chilled. I felt a thousand goose bumps form
as he spoke. "Well, I can see you have yet to learn that the music
business is a long hard road, a really hard road. I know. I started out
pretty much like you. In fact you remind me of my young self. Sometimes
though, you just have to make your own luck."


"You are in the music business? Would I know any of your
music? You do look sort of familiar."


His tone was now a little sadder. "Well, let's just say that
I was doing pretty well until I made a few bad decisions. Anyway, that
was a long time ago. Son, the music business can be like a giant leech.
If you are not careful it will suck the lifeblood right out of you. You
look like a bright young man. I will give you two little pieces of
advice. Well, not exactly advise, more like warnings. Believe me, it
comes from first hand experience."


He stopped talking and a sudden stillness came over him like
he was reaching for far dark memories. A few seconds later a shiver ran
over his body and he continued. "First of all, choose your friends
wisely. Many will pretend to be friendly but will take everything they
can. Just bleed you till there is nothing left. The second is probably
the most important warning I can give. Stay away from booze and drugs."



"Mister, I don't use drugs or booze. I haven't had a drink in
over a year."


"That is fine for now. As you get more established in the
business, more famous as you say, the pressures will increase daily.
Two to three hundred days each year on the road will do that to you.
Sometimes it gets so bad that you can't even remember what city you're
performing. You can't let that happen. Using the booze and drugs won't
help. You just have to do whatever it takes to get by, shorter concert
tours, frequent trips home, whatever."


Bitterly, as though talking to himself he continued, "Once
the booze and drugs take over, you're finished."


He stopped talking again then after a few seconds his mood
lightened and he started humming. I knew that song, I couldn't remember
the name but it was right on the tip of my tongue. I started to ask him
the name but was too embarrassed.


Ninety minutes later we were approaching the lights of a big
city. The driver pulled over where the road forked. One fork was to the
brightly lit city, the other into the darkness of the country night.



He slowly turned to me and in a quiet sad voice said. "Son,
this is far as I go. Those lights up ahead, that's Memphis. Oh, one
thing to remember, the music business can be a wonderful career. Just
be sure that you can control it, if not, it will surely control you.
Goodbye son, remember my warnings and good luck to you."



I retrieved my gear, stood by the roadside and said. "Thank
you so much mister, I surely do appreciate the ride, and the advice. By
the way, will you tell me your name?"


"No son, I believe you already know."


With a wave of his hand the driver turned and slowly drove
off down the dark country road. In less than a second he and the big
dark car vanished. I stared for a few minutes trying to make sense of
what had just happened and what I had experienced this night.



Finally I turned and began a slow walk toward the bright city
lights. Thoughts of the driver's words kept moving through my mind.
After a short distance I turned for one last look down the darkened
road. Floating through the air on a soft summer breeze I could hear
singing in a voice I instantly recognized. It was the song the driver
had been humming all night. "Since my baby left me, I've found a new
place to dwell. Its down at the end of lonely street, its . . ."



End