Nobody Reads This Page – “Songwriter Solo”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-24)

 

 

By Wednesday afternoon, the humidity outside had reached a sticky, stifling peak of meteorological woe. Something that had been predicted with expert skill by weather forecasters on local television. But I barely noticed while sitting at my desk in the Icehouse home office. I had been busy since the morning, doing research for a writing project that was dragging along at a frustrating pace. Something that I had been trying to finish since late, last year, without a positive result.

 

But as often happens, my cellular link rang in the midst of a creative surge. The synthetic tone made me jump as if someone had poked me with a woodworker’s awl. The device screen indicated that it was my friend Janis, who still lived at a skilled-care facility in Ashtabula.

 

When I answered, she began coughing in my ear.

 

“It’s too hot to smoke outside, Rodbert! So, I came back to the activity room. That new phone you ordered got delivered over the weekend. I like it! One of the nurses here figured out how to switch my number from the broken one I used before. I had to put in an e-mail account.”

 

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Suddenly, my enthusiasm for brainstorming had evaporated.

 

“E-mail? I thought you didn’t know your password! That’s why I made up a different account to use with your memberships at Walmart and Etsy...”

 

My scatterbrained cohort laughed as if I had spoken gibberish.

 

“Nooooo, dude, she figured it out. It worked, so I was happy. No worries, right?”

 

I felt slightly confused. Maybe the aide had been able to set up a new code, or perhaps used my clandestine strategy, and bypassed the unusable link altogether.

 

“You’re right. If it works, then hooray for that!”

 

Janis coughed more cigarette residue out of her windpipe.

 

“So, what have you been doing all day, watching foosball? That is boring, boring, boring! Why do you sit there watching people chase a brown ball up and down the field?”

 

I smiled and offered some correction. My beard had begun to itch.

“It’s the beginning of summer, woman! This isn’t the season for NFL competition. I’ve been lugging files around in the back bedroom here, trying to get inspired. Not making much progress on a storyline, but I found lyrics to a Country ballad that I penned during the winter...”

 

She reacted with a snort and a giggle.

 

“COUNTRY MUSIC? THAT SUCKS, RODBERT! ONLY HICKS AND OLD PEOPLE LISTEN TO THAT KIND OF SHIT! MY GRANNY WAS A HICK!”

 

Her harsh observation made my ears tingle.

 

“Show some respect to her memory, she raised you!”

 

My contrarian pal whistled like a teakettle.

 

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your boxers in a bunch. So, what song did you find in those moldy-oldie file cabinets? I always wondered why you keep all that stuff. You’re more of a pack rat than my roomie at the house by Lake Erie!”

 

Her curiosity revived my interest in accomplishing something productive with the day. So, I grabbed my acoustic guitar, which was propped against a corner of the desk. I cleared my throat, strummed an opening chord, and started to croon.

 

“Now I’ve heard this tale for years

Spoken in a thousand tongues

That freewill is a curse for those

Who don’t know what should be done

And the way through life is narrow

You’ve got to crouch low between the rocks

But when I took a pledge not to follow

I found myself picking locks

Now I’ve learned a few things on the way

Evidence scraped from the stones

Like a blueprint for a flying machine

That’ll get me way back home

And yes, I’ve heard the wisdom

Of those who disagree

But everyone has a chance to jump

From here to eternity

 

So, I’ll sidestep the glory

And ride into the setting sun

Before anyone will tell me

What I should have done

 

Now I’ve seen the sights that sparkle

And some really blew my mind

But others left me feeling

Like a traveler, left behind

One seat short of a spot on the bus

So, I had to walk that mile

Hot and dirty on the street

Grumbling, all the while

Now it taught me how to last

When the hourglass has run out

How to strike a match in the dark

When duped by the din of doubt

That got me to this place in time

A spot on which I stand

I’ll plant my flag and say a prayer

An oath as I raise my hand

 

Yes, I’ll sidestep the glory

And ride into the setting sun

Before anyone will tell me

What I should have done

 

Now I hope these rowdy words I speak

Won’t separate us as friends

I think it’s all a matter of choice

Which way you turn will depend

On what the glowing in your heart

Illuminates inside

Whether you go ‘round the face of a clock

Is up to you to decide

Now I’ve found that the path I take

Is usually wrong at first

And sometimes I double back with hope

That it won’t get any worse

But in the end, I often know

The peace of a seeker, set free

Gold and silver can’t compare

To the taste of liberty

 

So yes, I’ll sidestep the glory

And ride into the setting sun

Before anyone will tell me

What I should have done...”

 

After I had finished singing, Janis was unusually quiet. Then, she yelped and cackled a sarcastic critique of my performance.

 

“Jeez, Rodbert! That sounded like the hillbilly crap that Granny used to play on her 8-track stereo system. Ugh, ugh, ugh! She liked Slim Whitman and Freddy Fender, who the eff are those people? Gawdamm! The only one I could stand was Dolly Parton, she’s cool, I guess. You must be a fan because she has big boobs!”

 

I went completely red with embarrassment.

 

“Give me some credit! My music tastes run deeper than that!”

 

My distant, ornery companion purred like a kitten after a saucer of milk.

 

“Righhhht, you’re a damn man though. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all. I never needed a man to keep me in line, screw that shit! I like living on my own. No wifey life for me!”

 

My head hurt from thinking of snappy retorts to her assertion. But I didn’t want to instigate an argument. So, I let it drop instead.

 

“Maybe I’ll work on it a little bit. We’ll see how it turns out...”

 

Janis manifested her usual ability to throw a curve when least expected.

 

“Anyway, the lady who helped me said I need a phone case, so this new one doesn’t get broken. You can find one of those, right? Go back to the Walmart page and have a look!”

 

Her knowledge of computer hacks was limited. But I guessed that if I could remember the model number for her device, then accessories could be located.

 

“Alright, just give me a little time to snoop around...”

 

She became indignant and kicked the wall behind her lunchroom table.

 

“YOU’VE BEEN SITTING AT YOUR KEYBOARD ALL DAY, RODBERT! QUIT WASTING TIME ON WRITING STUPID COWBOY SONGS AND GET BUSY! GET OFF YOUR OLD ASS, AND FIND ME A SAMSUNG CASE!”