I don't like the genre, but my fate is the stuff found in a country music song. There were two blondes, years of circumstance, and a story.
Over twenty years ago, while in college in Alabama, I came home for a weekend to visit friends in Georgia. We decided to go to a country music bar, despite my disdain for the style. I was sullen, ironic, and angst ridden years before it was cool. Playing the role of put upon friend, I sat at the old wooden pub, nursing a beer. A tall blonde with curly hair and a loud, twangy voice sat down next to me and asked "what the hell are you doing here?" Her candor made me smile. Being twenty years old and having a girl talk to me first; I ran with the moment. Minutes turned into more than an hour when a man's voice over a microphone called the tall blonde with curly hair to the stage.
"Folks, let's give Trisha Yearwood a big hand!"
One of my friends walked over and leaned into my ear. "Dude what's with the big blonde chick? She's all yours."
I caught eyes looking at me. They were glaring with a shrewd intensity. It was another tall blonde, but very young. She was underage, early teens, so I assumed she was waiting for a babysitter. I looked away as much as I could. Younger girls weren't my thing.
Beer bottles lined the saloon. Cigarette smoke danced over my sight lines. Suddenly, I felt like I was in a situation that had control over me.
After her set, which ended in thunderous applause, the singer rejoined me. By then, my friends were angling to hit another place. Since I didn't want to be there to begin with, my plea to stay fell on deaf ears. With her hands on mine and her blue eyes distracting me from the young girl in the corner, I blew off my chance, and left.
A year later, the tall blonde with curly hair and a big twangy voice became famous. Country music superstardom was hers. I had a cute story to tell my friends. What happened seventeen years after that was just incredible.
I met me wife 3 years ago, today, May 13th, at a Chili's restaurant at the Mall of Georgia. A few dates later she told me about her family members that ran a country music bar where many stars cut their teeth. One of those stars was the tall, curly haired blonde with the big twangy voice. Then my wife asked me this.
"Did you go to the Buckboard with your friends many years ago? I swear I remember this guy who looked like you talking to this girl and I wanted him to stop. I was only thirteen so my family wouldn't let me near the bar, I had to sit in the back."
The girl in the corner glaring at me was my wife. Start the steel guitar and pick a fiddle. My life, whether I wanted it to be or not, is a country music song.
*blogger's note* - This is a writing exercise from my blogger friends at The Red Dress Club. The prompt is the picture of cigarettes located in the story. The story is true. My wife and I are weird. But we were meant to be together.
E Blogger has been down lately. Please revisit my #100words piece, Threshold. Ava made her agenda known to Caleb. I will write more fiction This weekend, if Blogger behaves.
Today's song is NOT country NOR from Trisha. It's back to the prompt and back to my taste. Here's Oasis' Cigarettes and Alcohol...great song