Once There Were Sad Songs

by Velda Brotherton

  Together they emptied the tent, stacked everything on the table. Rolling the colorful canvas into a tight cylinder brought them together on their hands and knees.

  “You know,” he said, tying it securely. “Woman like you ought to go home. You got no business out like this alone. At the mercy of three motorcycle bums. Could get you hurt, or worse. Dead.”

  “I will not go home. That’s crazy. Who’d want to kill me? I’ll go someplace else, but I won’t go home. Not yet, maybe not ever. And when I do it’ll be my choice, my decision.”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry I said anything. What about a motel or something? You’re not broke, are you?” He placed the tightly rolled tent on the table and helped her pack up the foodstuffs.

  Instead of answering his question, she asked one. “What are we going to do about my car?”

  “Why won’t it start?”

  “How do I know?”

  “I mean, what does it do when you try to start it?”

  “It just sits there. It doesn’t groan or growl or go uden-uden, or anything. Nothing.”

  He cocked his head and studied her in the moonlight. She met his gaze steadily, her throat going dry. He was having a profound effect on her, and she almost wished she didn’t have to fight it. What would happen if she simply threw her arms open and said, “Okay, I give.” It was getting more and more difficult to keep the devil at her back, or think of a reason to do so.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing, just thinking.”

  “Uden-uden?”

  With a smile she locked the cover on the Coleman stove. “It’s not funny. I tried to find a telephone, but there’s not one here, and so I was going to wait until a ranger came along, you know, to collect for the sites or something.”

  “Half the time they don’t do that till Friday, for the weekend, not this early in the year. And so why didn’t you ask one of us to take a look at it?”

  Embarrassed, she gathered an armload of supplies and headed for the car. “I thought... I guess I didn’t think.”

  Trotting along behind her, dragging the tent and sleeping bag, he insisted, “Well?”

  In the bright glow from the security light, she bent over the trunk to unlock it. “I guess I didn’t want you all to know I couldn’t—”

  ”Get away?” He was incredulous, and that made her angry.

  “Well, look at you guys. If you were me, would you trust you?”

  He thought that over a minute. “Hell, no. I guess I wouldn’t. Especially not those other two fellas. Now, me, I might.”

  “Oh, sure you would. You’re just acting foolish.” Hands on her hips she turned to regard him. “Well, are you going to fix my car or not?”

  “If I can’t, Lefty can. And if worse comes to worse, we can haul you out to a phone on one of the bikes so you can get someone who can.”

  “Never. Me climb on one of those dreadful machines? I should say not.”

  Laughing, he held out a hand.

  For a moment she stared at it. “What?”

  “Keys, ma’am. I’ll see what I can figure out.”

  He sat in the car, poking the key in the ignition, like he maybe didn't believe her. When nothing happened, he grinned up at her. “You're right. Not even an uden-uden.” With a grunt he unfolded himself, lifted the hood, and poked around for a while. “Got a screwdriver and pliers?” he finally asked.

  She dug around in the glove compartment, came up with both tools, and handed them to him. “Can you see okay?”

  “Yeah, there’s plenty of light. It’s just all this gunk on your battery terminals.” He removed the cables, scraped the connections clean, and reconnected them.

  “Get in, see if she’ll start.”

  He leaned on the fender while she climbed in and gave it a try. The car started right up.

  Closing the hood, he went to the open door and handed her the screwdriver and pliers. “Smart woman, to keep basic tools in the glove box. Now you ought to learn to use them. Need to keep those cleaned off, tightened down good. Woman’s going to drive all over creation alone, she ought to learn a bit about the machine she’s driving. Lots of simple stuff under there you could handle yourself. Not always going to be some kindhearted soul like myself around to get you out of jams." He started away, said over his shoulder, “Let it run a bit. I’ll fetch the rest of your stuff.”

  Surprised at herself, she did as he asked and allowed him to bring her basket and ice chest to the car.

  She told him to put them in the back seat, and he did, then came to stand beside the window.

  “Where will you go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll check the map, find another place to camp for a while. I need to think.”

  “About your husband?”

  She should have told him that was none of his business, but instead she nodded. “And other things too.”

  He scanned the lightening sky. “Sun will be up soon. Time to get moving.”

  “Yes.”

  She was glad he didn’t bring up about their scabby butts again. “Do you think they would’ve shot us?”

  “Who? Oh, the cops. Nah.”

  “I was scared to death, weren’t you?”

  “Nah, not really. Well, more mad than scared, really. Pissed, you know?”

  “Has anyone ever pointed a gun at you before?”

  “A few times.” He stopped looking at the sky and regarded her with a dark look.

  She took a ragged breath. “My goodness, what did you do?”

  He grinned. “I ducked.”

  She gazed past him toward the lake. Early dawn draped a lacy gown beneath the forest and silvered the water’s mirror surface. Trees stalked like ghostly sentinels along the shore, reminding her of the legend of the Valley of Vapors.

  “Godawful beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. “Almost makes your heart ache.”

  From far off a cat screamed its eerie warning, the mountain lion the natives called a painter.

  “Spirits are restless,” he teased.

  She chuckled at his reference to something she’d been thinking about. Chill bumps walked up her arms. “Yes, well…”

  “You’d better get going.”

  “Yes.” But she made no move to do so, and he continued to lean against the car.

  Steven stared down at her for so long it made his eyes hurt. “You could come with us, you know.”

  Had he really said that? Put his size-ten foot right in his own big mouth? Now he’d have to chew on it. What the hell was wrong with him?

  To his surprise, she aimed bright eyes at him. “Could I really?”

  “Well, yes, that is, I mean—”

  “You mean you didn’t mean it. It’s okay. That’d be foolish anyway, wouldn’t it?”

  “I did mean it, and it might be foolish, and you might not like it, but, I did mean it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

  “We’re going out in the boonies. No toilets or running water or security lights. No electricity. Out in the boonies.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  Ah, Christ. He felt her studying him, the intensity of it.

  “Could I trust you not to play any more games with me?”

  He considered Lefty’s perverted ideas about women, his own gut reaction to being around this one, his fantasy of lying down beside her, holding her forever close, having her give a damn about him. And knew he would never do anything to hurt her, or let anyone else either, for that matter. Not even Lefty, who’d been through hell with him. He’d kill him first.

  How had this happened?

  “Well, you didn’t answer my question. Does that mean I can’t trust you?”

  “Yes, you could.”

  She waited, stared out the window, both hands gripping the steering wheel. He could almost hear her thinking, the arguments rattling around in that pretty head.

  “Look, come or don’t come. I’ll go help the
guys pack up. Follow us if you want to. It’s up to you. Entirely. Completely. Absolutely. No strings if you do. No hard feelings if you don’t.”

  He walked away without saying good luck or goodbye or have a nice day. He wanted her to come, and maybe she would. She hadn't ought to, and if she didn’t, well, so much for that. It would be better if she didn’t, and he knew that too. The arguments continued to spin around in his head.

  “No more games,” he’d said and touched her hand because he couldn't help it. And she let him. Probably couldn't help it either.

  Chapter Nine

  Sitting behind the wheel of her car, Mary Elizabeth watched the three ghostly silhouettes dart to and fro, loading their bikes, and wondered if she might be losing her mind. In the light cast by the high yellow lamp their shadows cavorted like images in a house of mirrors.

  Suppose she threw caution to the wind and went with them, entered their unstable world? It was foolish. Asking for trouble. Not at all proper. Might be dangerous. But if they were going to physically harm her, there’d been plenty of opportunity. Still, Lefty possessed a volatile temper that could spell trouble for her.

  Once, a long time ago, she’d given in to temptation, and the results had been disastrous. Levi’s death still haunted her, but she cherished the memories of the time they'd had together. Would've hated to miss something so precious. But Lord knows she’d done her penance.

  She could still see the boy she’d loved so long ago, leaning against the door frame of the Chapel Hill Church, watching her with eyes dark as sloe berries.

  It was Youth for Christ night, and thirteen teenagers including Mary Elizabeth chattered noisily while making decorations for Miss Rosie’s ninetieth birthday. Suddenly, with no warning, their chaperone and lay leader Brother Seasons had come down with one of his fits. He toppled to his face on the floor, frothing at the mouth, legs kicking and arms flailing.

  Some of the boys, among them her thirteen-year-old brother Johnny Ray, loaded him into Bert Vaughn’s old ’36 Dodge, the same car Levi would later die in when it plunged off the mountain, and took off for the hospital down south.

  All the kids had scattered for home then, eager to share the excitement. Her best friend Pam left too, giving Mary Elizabeth a huge wink as she slipped out the door, leaving her and Levi alone to put things away.

  God, she could still see him combing his black hair and regarding her with those deep, mysterious eyes. She’d just turned sixteen and was madly and secretly in love with him. He liked to play the field, teased all the girls, and never officially “went with” anyone.

  “Your folks coming after you?” he asked, slipping the comb into his back pocket.

  She still recalled her fervent, silent prayer. Please, Lord, don’t let me act a fool.

  He nodded, held out a hand. “Let’s take a walk, then.”

  She gazed at him, released a double handful of tissue paper flowers that fluttered to the floor, and slipped her trembling fingers into his grasp. After all, what could be the harm? He was the son of the preacher. A good boy. Everyone said so. A drop-dead-gorgeous boy, all the girls said.

  Together they stepped out the side door just as the afternoon sun slipped behind the ridge, throwing long tree shadows across the small adjoining cemetery. For an instant she held back, almost afraid to breathe.

  “You ain’t scared of me, are you? I’m not about to let anything happen to a pretty little thing like you.”

  Her heart pounded until she grew dizzy. “I’m not pretty.”

  He snorted and clasped her hand tighter. “Says you. I reckon your mama told you that.”

  His sexual energy washed over her, caught in the rich aroma of hay and leather and Juicy Fruit gum. An urge to explore the full pout of his lips with her own churned in her throat like a wicked hunger.

  When Levi smiled, he smiled all over. Mouth curved, eyes flashed with the blink of long lashes, cheeks dimpled. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him for too long.

  She walked with him through the resting dead, carefully skirting the small stone markers. She would always believe that the ground actually trembled beneath their feet. That her heart stopped long enough for her to see angels.

  “We shouldn’t walk on them,” she told him when she could speak again. The words whispered like wind blowing through dried stalks of corn.

  “Don’t be silly. They love company. How would you like to lie alone in the cold dirt and never have anyone come see you or talk to you except on Decoration Day?”

  She remembered that later, after he died, and spent hours every day after school sitting beside his grave, telling him about his favorite classes and who said what, so he wouldn’t be lonely. And crying. She cried a lot for a long time.

  But on that wondrous evening, before God so cruelly snatched him from her, she followed along trustingly, thinking how daring she felt, walking out alone with him, and his hand wrapped around hers opening a great need inside her. Without hesitation she went with him into the hushed shadows of the woods. Abruptly he halted and turned to face her, tugging her into the circle of his arms. In the gathering cloak of dusk she could barely see his features, but she sensed every part of him.

  “I been watching you play piano in church. Did you know I can see your cute dimpled knees?” He laughed deep down in his throat and touched her cheek with his thumb. “I know just where to sit. Hope they never take it in their heads to scoot that old piano around.”

  A flush spread from her breasts like a fire blooming until she was sure she glowed in the dark.

  “Well, what do you think of that?” he teased, and let the knuckles of his raised hand drift down to her collarbone.

  She tried to wet her lips with a tongue so dry it stuck to them. “I’d say you’re wasting precious time looking at my old sticks of legs.”

  Head tilted, his dark eyes gleamed in a flash of errant sunlight that dripped through the trees. “Oh, is that right?” The hand that had been so gentle snaked around the back of her neck, pulled her face right up to his. Those soft, warm, wet lips nuzzled hers.

  On knees that threatened to buckle, she breathed a silent prayer, squeezed her eyelids shut, and tumbled into the depths of desire. And him all around her, like he was the only person in the universe and she belonged to him. Everything inside her bloomed outward to explore the sweet evening air, the glorious sky, the warm sun, the honeyed dew. His skin touching hers. At that moment he could have had anything he wanted of her.

  A trickle of perspiration ran between her breasts, and she licked the taste of Juicy Fruit gum from her swollen lips and waited for him to ask. Even today she regretted that he hadn’t, for she was left with no memory of such a love consummated.

  Levi moved away, stood with one hip cocked, still holding her hand as he laughed. “You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen, Mary Beth Morgan. And one of these days you won’t want to do anything but let me touch you and make love to you, you’ll see. But not tonight, not here.”

  She wanted so badly to tell him that day had come, but held back.

  They’d only had a part of that one sweet summer, brief encounters, each one better than the last. Though they never went all the way, he was right, all she wanted out of life was for him to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

  After Levi died and Mama saw how she was about it, she did her best to convince her daughter that God had taken him as a just punishment because she dared to consider such an evil thing as the enjoyment of sex or passion. After a while Mary Elizabeth believed her and soon made another soul-saving trip to the altar, begging God’s forgiveness while the congregation sang “Just As I Am.”

  So many years later, sitting in the car and gazing through the pearlescent dawn at Steven and his friends, Mary Elizabeth blinked away the memory. One by one the motorcycles fired up. She started the Ford. Their headlights blinked on and she turned hers on, as well. When they pulled off, she backed out and sat there a moment, watching the red taillights grow dimmer. Then she shifted i
nto drive and followed them.

  ****

  Steven rode between Lefty and Shadow, the bikes filling the narrow blacktop. She was behind them; he could tell because her headlights threw wavering shadow riders out ahead of them. Still he had no way of knowing which way she would go when they reached the highway. Even now he wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do. Whatever she chose, he might be disappointed. When he was around her he felt like some adolescent in the throes of first love, yet away from her influence he recognized the frivolity of such yearnings. Hard to decipher his motives for having her around.

  Once, a long, long time ago, when he was still young enough to believe in such drivel as love, he remembered sitting cross-legged in new spring grass on the campus of Oklahoma State University, part of an enormous circle of students, holding hands and swaying like seaweed to the rumble of voices singing. That March Tuesday in 1967 sprang as freshly to his mind as yesterday, though he hadn’t thought of it in years.

  A young girl holding his right hand, squeezing with tiny delicate fingers, and him glancing at her. A solemnly pretty girl, if you discounted the bulk of clothing that disguised her figure, the long sandy hair that veiled her features. He remembered wishing he weren’t there, holding her hand, but rather that they were somewhere secret and quiet. He didn’t know her name, but he wanted to cup that somber, oval face between his palms, place a warm kiss on the fine line of her upper lip, and make sweet love to her. He, a virgin, swimming in this sea of free love, clinging to his fantasies. From the stage, a man shouted a wild greeting and began to speak. In the throes of young and lustful fantasies, he’d forgotten why he came here. Who was speaking. What their message might be. It was a time of campus unrest, and any excuse to get together and sing, shout, protest, was sufficient.

  In college he had crawled from his shell forever. Left behind the inward-looking folk of Rossville, Oklahoma, where the Beetles and Elvis were banned. Never would he reenter its safety, its warmth, its desires again. He would leave his mama to die alone while he began a journey that led him, as if fated, to some faraway place to slay enemies he hadn’t known existed.