In the Lyrics (2 page)

The thin cloth of my navy shirt does nothing to cushion their pressure on my skin. He may be old, but he is still stout. The years he’s spent hauling hay and herding cattle have kept him in shape, but I’m stronger and younger. Reaching up, I hastily grab his hand and push him away from me. One of his leather-covered feet kicks the bottle resting on the ground, and his eyes widen in horror. You would think it was the end of the world as we both watch it topple over and spill. Before I have time to raise my eyes from the ground, he charges at me, full force. Our bodies collide as I wrestle to gain the upper hand. He is fast though, and before I know it, his fist smashes into my jaw. I don’t feel my skin break, and I hope his impact doesn’t leave a mark. My mother cries in the background as his hand keeps up a steady line of blows to my face. This isn’t the first time this has happened; honestly, after Levi died, we all kind of lost it, but Pops really went off the deep end.

Enough is enough
. A jolt of adrenaline and blast of rage rush through me. I lean forward and grasp his body. As I am holding him and his arms in place, he tries to break from my embrace, but fails.

From the corner of my eye I see Eddie, our farm hand, barreling towards us. “Now y’all both stop. Come on now.”

Tightening my grip on my father, I hear Eddie shouting at us, but I don’t dare let go. Who knows if the old man has had enough, and I for sure don’t want another broken nose.
Nobody wants to see a country singer up on stage with a busted up face.

“Colby, come on, let him go, man.” Eddie’s pleas echo off the aluminum barn doors.

This fight has been building up for a while. Well, at least since the last time we got into it, which was only a few weeks ago. It was when I first mentioned I applied for a transfer to another college for my sophomore year. I had control of the situation then and walked away without a scratch. Pops was too drunk to do any real damage, although he thought he was sober enough to kick my ass. He was sadly mistaken.

Deciding the gravel below my back and the dirt that is stuck to my biceps from rolling around in the driveway isn’t comfortable anymore, I attempt to stand up. My hands are still holding him tightly around his chest, but he has stopped fighting back. I don’t know if that is a good sign or not. Eddie walks over to my momma and lowers his cowboy hat. Living in Texas my whole life, I understand this silent gesture. They have both been putting up with Pops and me fighting for far too long.

I make it to my feet and plant them on the ground. Our faces are so close I can see tiny beads of sweat lingering above his upper lip.

“You done?” I question him through clenched teeth as I prepare to unlock my hands and let him go. He doesn’t respond, but I let go anyway. Taking a small step away from him, I move my fingers up and down in a stretching motion in an attempt to loosen up my joints that are now sore from being clasped for so long.

We are all standing in the middle of the driveway as the sun sets behind the meadow. The crickets and horses are the only things making any noise that is louder than our erratic breathing.

“Now that’s enough, boys. Why don’t y’all get cleaned up and then come down for dinner? Eddie, make sure the lights are off in the stables and get changed too, please.” My mother gives her instructions before turning on her bare heels and heading back towards the house.

No one else moves. He isn’t done, and Eddie and I both know it.

I watch as my father turns towards my mother’s back. He wants to make sure she is far enough away before he does something stupid, again. I brace myself knowing he just can’t leave well enough alone. As soon as her first foot hits the bottom step he turns around in a hasty motion, but before his fist is even in the air, mine connects with the side of his face. He stumbles backwards and uses one hand to catch himself as he hits the gravel. The other he holds against his busted lip. Dark crimson blood escapes through the creases in his fingers.

Eddie moves to stand in between us as my father starts to run his mouth again, “That was a cheap shot and you know it. If you’re planning on leaving at the summer’s end, why don’t you just get your shit and get out now?”

He’s right. Nothing is stopping me. I’ve already made plans to room with someone. My college here contacted the campus there and found some dude named Dusty who needed a roommate. Even my bags have been packed for a while. The only thing that worries me about leaving is leaving my momma here with no one to fend for her when he goes on these drunken rants. Glancing over at Eddie, he nods. I know he knows what I am thinking, and if there’s anyone left in this world I trust, it’s him. He’s been like an older brother to me, even though he’s old enough to be my dad. Knowing he didn’t sign up to play referee for our family makes me sad. But I’m glad he’s here to help.

“All right. I’ll go.” Leaning down, I kneel in front of my father so we are face to face. “But I swear to God, if you lay one finger on her, I will come back and I will bury you so far down in this earth no one will find you. And since no one will be missin’ you, it won’t really matter.” I pause to catch my breath, “You can drink yourself to death, you can lose this whole farm for all I care, but don’t you ever take your anger out on her. Do you hear me?”

His lips part as the familiar stale smell of whiskey rolls off his tongue, “What, you think you call the shots around here? You think you’re famous, boy? You’re not shit, and you ain’t ever gonna be shit. So remember that when you’re driving up to Tennessee.”

“I mean it, Larry. Don’t fucking touch her.” I don’t remember the last time I called my father “Dad.” If anything, the closest I’ll get is calling him “Pops.” He hasn’t acted like a father should for a while now, so why address him as one? Standing back up, I look at Eddie and then turn around and walk towards the house. As I approach I can hear my momma’s muffled sobs. It kills me to hear her cry, though that’s all she seems to do these days.

“Momma, stop crying. I’ll be okay and one day I’ll be able to afford to buy you a one-way ticket away from here, away from that sorry ass man you call a husband.”

“Now you know your daddy ain’t gonna let me go and you know darn well why I can’t leave this farm.
His
memory. That’s all we have left of Levi, you know that, Colby. Don’t make me choose because I’d much rather be living here, in my own personal hell, than move away and leave his memories behind.”

My heart aches as her words drudge up feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury.

“You can move, that don’t mean you’re forgetting about him, or love him any less. Just listen to me, once I get to Nashville things are going to change. I promise you that. Just have a little faith in me, okay?”

She reaches her hand out to touch my swollen jawline. “I trust you, baby. Now go get cleaned up, and get ready for dinner. Whether you decide to leave tonight or not, you will get a full belly first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod and walk up the wooden steps to the house, a place where I’ve been laying my head for twenty years, but not a home.

AFTER DINNER, I loaded up my old pickup truck with a few bags and my most valued possession – my guitar, and then kissed my momma goodbye. The tears that fell from her face made my chest ache, but I know this is something I have to do. I made sure the horses were fed their evening feeding and that everything was set and ready for the morning, since Pops passed out on the couch after his last bite. Eddie could probably run this farm alone, if he ever had to, so I’m not worried about things too much. But nonetheless, he doesn’t deserve to have to do everything. After all he is hired help and this farm is my father’s. He inherited it from his father, and it will all be mine one day – that’s to say if it doesn’t go under before then.

Climbing into my truck, I turn on my headlights and take one last look around the farm before heading towards the highway. Rolling down the windows, I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in a long, long while.

“IF THIS DAMN song plays on the radio again, I swear I’m going to scream.” I cringe as my hands grip the steering wheel.

“Oh hush, girl. This is my jam!” Dusty fumbles with the knob, and turns up the volume. I instantaneously feel bile rising in my throat.
This song royally sucks.
Just listening to the lyrics irks me, but leave it to
my
Dusty to love a song about broken-hearted cowboys. The thought alone makes me laugh out loud.

“Come on, girl, live a little. Let that guard down and let some love in for once,” he says while making an incredibly stupid face and batting his long eyelashes while bobbing his head to the tune.

“Love’s for losers,” I snicker under my breath.

“Hell, even losers need love, baby girl. But seriously, maybe, just maybe, you’ll meet your prince charming tonight. I sure hope I do.” He wiggles his eyebrows as we both burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess, Dusty, but that is why I loooove you.” He knows he is the only man other than my daddy who’s ever heard those words, and most likely ever will.

Ignoring the song on the radio, my mind roams as I hold my hand out the driver’s side window and allow the summer sun to beat down on it.
Love’s for losers.
It’s not that I don’t like the idea of liking someone, and I can’t lie and say I’ve never entertained the thought of being in a relationship, but that is where I draw the line, at a thought. I can’t ever allow myself to lose focus, and if I’m using that energy crushing on a boy, I might miss my chance to get out of this God-forsaken town. That’s my dream, and there is no way in hell I’m letting some fling, crush, or whatever, get in the way of making it come true.

“I know you meant to add the word
hot
to that sentence, but because you’re so damn cute, I’ll let it slide.” He winks as he rolls his window down and welcomes the breeze in with open arms.

Dusty and I have been best friends since as long as I can remember. I was the poor girl growing up in a town full of snobs. I didn’t have a pot to piss in, and he was the resident gay, so our matching social statuses as outcasts grounded us and allowed for a friendship to bloom. Since then we have been inseparable, doing mostly everything together, including studying, singing, and sleeping.

“Take the next left and we can set up shop on the corner. I’ve seen Ronnie pack a good-sized crowd several times. I know if he can attract a crowd by singing rock on a corner in Nashville, we can too.”

“We can and we will, baby.” I shoot him a playful wink.

With downtown Nashville on the horizon, Dusty continues to lecture me about my nonexistent love life.

“Right there, pull over,” he instructs, before I turn the wheel slightly and prepare to pull the car over. I do my best at parallel parking and pop the trunk before getting out.

“That’s too heavy. Let me get it for you.” His lame attempt to act manly makes me laugh. He grabs my guitar and throws the strap over his shoulder and then picks up his keyboard by the handle on its leather bag. Slamming the trunk closed, I grab onto his arm.

Dusty raises his hand pointing a few yards away to a saloon with a neon sign hanging out in front of it. “See that bar over there?” I nod my head and he continues, “They just got a new mechanical bull. I ran into some girl last week at the café who was in my English lit class last semester and she told me. I know it’ll get packed tonight. And when they leave, guess who will be playing?” He stops to wiggle his eyebrows. “Us. Hopefully we can make a few hundred. My rent is due soon and my new roommate isn’t expected to move to town until the end of the summer, so it’s up to me to come up with it all. And you’re still saving up to get your dad that riding lawnmower. Speaking of Mr. Bradley, how is he? I haven’t heard you talk about him lately.”

“There isn’t much else to say. Mom’s been picking up more shifts at the hospital. And Dad? Well, he’s been on the bottle more than ever. I just want to be able to help them. Anyways, yeah it looks like tonight will be a big turnout. Look, they already have a line forming and it’s only six o’clock.”

I’m numb to the topic and never-ending questions about my dying father. Yes, we’re making ends meet, and yes, we’re still struggling.