A Guitar and a Pen

by Robert Hicks

  “Lady, do you have any idea how fast you were doin’ back there?”

  “No, sir.” Ellie’s father had taught her always to be respectful when talking to officers of the law.

  “We’ve got you on the clock doin’ 103 mph.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You in some kind of a hurry?”

  “No, sir. I’m just real upset, sir.”

  “You ain’t been drinkin’ now, have you?”

  “No, sir, but I wish I had.”

  The patrolman ignored this last comment, asked to see her driver’s license, then walked around to the back of her car, where he wrote her out one ticket for speeding and then another one for reckless driving. Reckless driving? Ellie was incensed. Sure, she’d been driving fast, but she had not been driving bad. The nerve! Ellie kept these thoughts to herself as more patrol cars began arriving on the scene. The patrolman waved them on like he had everything under control. Then he instructed Ellie to follow him to the local courthouse located about five miles off the next exit. Once off the interstate, Ellie felt like she had crossed over into the twilight zone. Here she was, following a strange man down a dark and winding road going God knows where. She began to wonder if she’d ever see civilization again. Then she saw a house by the side of the road. Then another, and another, until there were houses everywhere. In some of them, people were watching television, totally oblivious to anything outside of their own little world. And that included Ellie Greenway as she passed by in her 1968 Pontiac Catalina on this dark moonless night.

  At the courthouse, Ellie learned that her bail had been set at two hundred and fifty dollars. She also learned that there would be no judge and therefore no hearing until nine o’clock the next morning. Damn these small towns! Where the hell am I, anyway? Why can’t I be in my own county where I know people? And how on God’s green earth did I ever get so far away from home in such a short period of time? Ellie entertained herself with these questions just to keep from thinking about anything else. But the time had come to make a decision. She could either call Bob to come bail her out or spend the rest of the night in jail. She had already bothered Bob once tonight and that was enough—but no, there was more to it than that. Ellie realized she wanted to go to jail. Jail would be an improvement over her life right now. She was tired of being responsible for herself and she was ready to let someone else have the job. Even if it was the Wilson County jail.“There’s no one for me to call,” she lied.“I’ll stay here tonight.” With that, she was led past a door with a sign on it that said NO GUNS BEYOND THIS POINT! Ellie read the sign and thought to herself, I’m already going to a better place.

  But Ellie had never been to jail before and now that she was there, she began to have second thoughts about it being a better place. First of all, she was not alone. There were three other women in there with her. She was careful not to look any of them in the eye for fear she would become one of them—become a prisoner. She was not about to let that happen. She was Ellie Greenway and she would remain Ellie Greenway no matter what. But still she saw them. One had her hair slicked back in a ducktail and was wearing a black leather jacket with her thumbs hitched down in her Levi’s just like Marlon Brando in The Wild One. On top of that, she was chain-smoking non-filter Camels, holding each one between her thumb and index finger while she huffed and puffed like she was about to blow somebody’s house down. And facial hair? Ellie had never seen so much facial hair on a woman.

  If that’s not a lesbian, then I’ve never seen one, Ellie thought.

  She also thought that this woman would have made a real sexy man, a man she might have been attracted to enough to start a conversation with. But no, she was a woman, and Ellie decided not to say anything to her just in case she really was a lesbian and hated her for not being one too. Another woman sat huddled up on a bench in the corner. She was young. No more than fourteen or fifteen. A steady stream of tears fell down her face as she cried silently to herself. The third woman’s name was Ruby Louise. At least that was the name in gold letters hanging at the end of a gold necklace around her neck. She was leaning up against the wall by the door and had a no-nonsense seen-it-all air about her that Ellie trusted. Her expression was one of boredom and amusement with just the slightest hint of disgust.

  “Damn, you’d think it was New Year’s Eve the way they’re bringin’ ’em in tonight.”

  Ellie ignored this comment as she made her way over to an empty cot in the far corner of the room. She wanted to get as far away from the others as she could. As she sat there with her head resting heavy in her hands, she began focusing all of her energy inward. Harder and harder she focused, hoping to make herself invisible, but it wasn’t working. Something wasn’t right. It was then that she noticed the toilet seat out in the middle of the room. There was nothing fancy about it, just your basic white porcelain bowl. But then there was nothing to lend privacy or hold back the stench that was now making Ellie want to gag. And in that moment, there came forth a horrible realization. Ellie was about to die to go to the bathroom. Only there was no bathroom. Just this porcelain reminder that death might not be such a bad deal after all. As she sat there unconsciously squirming she again heard the voice of Ruby Louise.

  “Honey, you want a bullet to bite on? Now why don’t you just go on over there and set your ass down where you can do yourself some good. Now git!”

  Ellie waited a bit before making a move. She didn’t want it to look like she had heard anything anybody had said. Oh God, this has got to be the pits! Life just can’t get any lower than this, Ellie thought as she painfully positioned herself over the toilet seat and then proceeded to release the pressure from her lower abdomen right there in front of God, Ruby Louise, and anybody else who cared to watch.’Course nobody was watching, or at least they pretended not to be watching, but Ellie knew God was watching and that was good enough for her. Ellie wondered if it hurt God’s feelings to see her like this. Who knows? Maybe He was having a big laugh at her expense. But there was one thing she knew for sure. She and God would be having a big talk before this night was through.

  When Ellie was safe back in her corner, she began to think about what-all had happened so far that night. Too much had happened too fast, and it was all swirling around in her head and making her dizzy. It was just too much to think about all at once, so the left side of her brain kicked in, trying to sort everything out and put it in some kind of order that made sense. But nothing made sense. Ellie felt like she was watching a rerun of somebody else’s bad movie. Driving 103 miles an hour? Chainsawing a mahogany bed? Not just any mahogany bed, but the very one her mother had been born in? Christ on a crutch! And then there was the fight with Alex. God, that seemed like so long ago that Ellie couldn’t even remember what they had been fighting about. And now here she was in jail! Hell, if they’d really known what all had happened that night, they’d have probably put her in some special jail for the dangerously insane!

  “Hey mama, you look like you need a smoke.”

  Without looking up, Ellie knew that Marlon Brando was standing there offering one of her non-filter Camel cigarettes. Ellie hated cigarettes. But more than that, she hated the idea of talking to anybody right now. She was in no mood for small talk.

  “I said, you look like you need a smoke.”

  “Aw, leave her alone, Darlene. She don’t want to mess with you,” chipped in Ruby Louise.

  “Bug off, Ruby.”

  Normally, Ellie would have been frightened by this show of aggressiveness, but not tonight. Not this night. This was no night for normal. Ellie felt strangely protected by something bigger than herself, bigger than this jail—hell, bigger than the whole damn world itself. Maybe the law of probability was starting to stack up in her favor. I mean she’d already been through all sorts of hell tonight. So what if some biker lesbian was coming on to her. Big deal! Besides, Ellie knew how to take care of herself. Why, about five years ago she was coming out of this all-night diner in Nashville when this Cuban-
looking guy came outa nowhere pointing a gun at her.

  “Okay, let’s have it,” he demanded quickly under his breath.

  “What do you mean, ‘Let’s have it’!” Ellie shrieked.“Let’s have it? Look, if you don’t stop fucking around with me, one of us is going to die and I don’t care if it’s me!” (Ellie had been real depressed that year.)

  The man’s eyes widened with disbelief as he backed away.“Okay, lady, take it easy.” He then turned and scurried off muttering “Jesus!” as he slipped back into nowhere. Later on, when Ellie was reflecting back on this incident, she came up with her “crazier-than-thou” theory of survival. It went like this: If somebody thinks you’re crazier than they are, chances are they won’t mess with you. And now as Darlene stood there polluting her space, Ellie could feel her own energy surge as she shifted into crazier-than-thou.

  “So you don’t smoke? Fine, that’s okay. I was just trying to be”—Darlene blew a big puff of smoke in Ellie’s face—“friendly, that’s all. So what are you in here for? I mean, you don’t look like the kind of girl who just woke up one morning and decided she’d spend the night in jail. So what gives?”

  There was a long silence as Ellie sat there motionless. She looked just like that statue by Rodin called The Thinker. Then, just as Darlene was beginning to think Ellie was deaf or even retarded, she heard a word that seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “Homicide.”

  “Huh?” Darlene spun around, not sure who or what had spoken.

  “I killed somebody.”

  The voice came from Ellie, who by now looked like she was in some kind of trance.

  “No shit!” Darlene was getting excited.“How’d it happen?”

  There was another long silence. Then . . .

  “A chainsaw—it happened with a chainsaw.”

  A deeper silence fell over the room. Darlene turned around and looked at Ruby Louise, who gave her a look that said, Better back off, honey. I believe we got us a live one. Darlene took this as a warning and went on back to her corner, where she sat down and began thumbing through a biker magazine. The teenaged girl was no longer crying.

  Ellie felt a lot better. She could breathe again. But this little victory brought only a moment’s peace. Then she started thinking about Alex. If he’d been here, none of this would’ve happened. That son of a bitch! Where was he when she needed him? Then she started thinking about all the good times, like that time they drove to Memphis for the weekend right after her father had died. Alex was sweet! They’d checked into the Peabody Hotel and spent most of the weekend ordering up room service and making love. Their only outing was to the Rendezvous across the street and down an alley where they’d eaten enough ribs to sink a battleship. What a weekend. They never even made it out to Graceland. Ellie started thinking about the way Alex made love. God, he was good. He knew exactly how to touch her. It was a gift. Most men you had to tell them or show them and then there’d be a lot of fumbling around before it ever got any good. But not Alex. He knew from the very beginning. He just knew. It was too bad they couldn’t spend the rest of their lives making love, ’cause everything else about their life was pure-T-hell. When they weren’t fighting, Alex was storming off somewhere and Ellie would spend the next couple of days worrying herself sick. By the time he’d come back home she’d be so glad to see him that she wouldn’t even ask where he’d been or who he’d been with. Besides, if she said anything there’d just be another fight and he’d be gone again. What a bind! Ellie was sick of the whole damn thing. At least this time she was the one doing the leaving. But she couldn’t even do that right! Ellie felt sure that when Alex would storm off, he invariably ended up in the arms of another woman, maybe one of her best girlfriends or even her sister. She wouldn’t put it past him. Now here she storms out on him for a change and where does she end up? In jail. Sometimes life just didn’t seem fair. Wait a minute! Ellie almost said it out loud. How can I wish Alex was here? Hell, he’s the reason I’m here! Ellie seriously began to consider that she might be losing her mind. Then her memory started coming back. She started remembering their fight. Ah, yes . . . drinking. That was it! That was always it. Alex had come home drunk. Drunk and still drinking. Now the irony of it all: He’s out there free as a bird and drunk out of his mind and I’m locked up in here stone-cold sober. Ellie wanted to scream out loud, but she didn’t say anything. Then finally, she began to cry. It was a good thing too, because her head really was about to explode. Maybe that’s why we cry . . . to keep our heads from exploding. People who never cry must not let their feelings ever get to their heads. There’s just not enough room in one human head for reason and emotion too, so something has to give.

  As her tears subsided, Ellie’s thoughts began to turn toward God or whoever it was out there in control of everything. She was ready to bargain. She promised God that she would not have any more boyfriends unless He personally instructed her to do so.

  “You’re gonna have to give me some sort of sign,” she said.“And I don’t mean the wind blowing in the trees. I can see that any old day. It’s got to be something obvious. Something that’ll really get my attention. Like a burning bush. Yeah, that’s it. A burning bush right there in the middle of my living room. Oh God, if I came home and saw that I would know that you meant business. I’ll be looking out for you, okay?”

  In the silence that followed, Ellie became aware of little things . . . her breathing, the ticking of her wristwatch, even her own heartbeat. And as she curled up on her side, drawing her knees up to her chest, a heaviness settled down over her like a blanket.

  Later on, as the first light of dawn began to soften that darkest of nights, Ellie could have sworn she heard the ocean out there somewhere.

  “But the ocean is six hundred miles away,” said a tired voice of reason.

  “No,” answered a strange and wonderful voice.“It’s just out there beyond the sand dunes.”

  Ellie smiled in her sleep.

  Marshall Chapman

  Marshall Chapman was the first woman to front a rock-and- roll band, back when women weren’t yet picking up electric guitars. She rose from her conservative South Carolina background to become a versatile, acclaimed, and playfully irreverent songwriter and pioneer performer. To date she has released ten critically acclaimed albums, and her songs have been recorded by a variety of artists, including Emmylou Harris, Wynonna, Jimmy Buffett, Joe Cocker, Jessi Colter, John Hiatt, Olivia Newton-John, Dion, Irma Thomas, and Ronnie Milsap.

  In 1998, Marshall and songwriting pal Matraca Berg contributed fourteen songs to Good Ol’ Girls, a country musical based on the stories of Lee Smith and Jill McCorkle, which continues to play throughout the South. Marshall’s first book, Goodbye, Little Rock and Roller (St. Martin’s Press, 2003) was a 2004 SEBA Book Award finalist, and one of three finalists for the Southern Book Critics Circle Award.

  More recently, Marshall has performed across the country, developing a one-woman show called The Triumph of Rock and Roll Over Good Breeding; written commentaries for The Bob Edwards Show (XM radio); and toured in support of Mellowicious!, her first studio album in nine years. She is currently at work on a new book called They Came to Nashville. You can visit her Web site at www.Tallgirl.com.

  Born and Raised in Black and White

  Don Cook

  Before I headed east to pursue my destiny, I had a blissfully noneventful childhood in what history books call the Wild Horse Desert region of Texas. My hometown may best be described as one of the many places in the world where you truly have to live there to really like anything about it. In fact, that may be the best definition of the concept of “hometown” I have ever heard. One would think a place in a part of the country with such a picturesque name would likely resemble a Hollywood western movie set, but our little town was just a dustier, drier version of what most little towns in America must have been like in the early sixties.

  In my memory, flawed as it is, there was but one cowboy in our town and, ironical
ly enough, his name was Farmer Brown. (I am not kidding.) He was not a working cowboy, but he was, by all accounts, a saddle and boot maker of the highest order, so I guess technically he was sort of a Cowboy Emeritus. I used to go to the Sunshine Café with my mom before school to have a cake doughnut and chocolate milk, and I remember being fascinated watching him come in every morning and drink his coffee in what was undoubtedly the “cowboy way.” He would never drink from the cup but would instead swirl the coffee into the saucer and drink out of it. My mom always said that was how he cooled it so it wouldn’t burn his mouth, but I could not believe a tough guy like Farmer Brown would worry about how hot the coffee was, so I wrote it off to great style rather than substance.

  He was a quiet man. I figured Farmer had been coming in and ordering coffee since the late thirties or early forties. Every morning he’d walk in and the waitress would say, “Coffee?” and he’d just wink yes. (Nodding would have been too vocal for Farmer.) This ritual had been going on for as long as anyone could remember.

  It never occurred to me to try to talk to him any more than I would have spoken to the Frederic Remington statue that I passed on the way to school. Maybe I was afraid or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, but I never heard the sound of his voice.

  A pretty good myth surrounded Farmer Brown throughout my childhood. If you peeked through the slats in the old barn where he had his saddle shop just at the right angle you could see the back half of a Cadillac hearse sitting there as pretty as you please right next to the bench where Farmer worked. It’s also worth mentioning that this hearse was not a junker but a brand-spanking-new 1939 Cadillac hearse. Supposedly it had been sitting right there for the better part of twenty years. You couldn’t see all of it, but you could see enough to know somebody had taken such good care of it that it looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor.