c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-26)
I hadn’t been completely honest with T. Randall Squire, which he probably knew without having to put it into words. As a son of Appalachia, I had a natural connection with Country & Western music, and the art of storytelling via musical compositions. It was indeed, part of my heritage. A pursuit long practiced by mountain folk, from the dawn of their immigration to this continent as refugees leaving foreign lands. So, while I did not hold much affinity for the modern evolution of that earthy genre, its roots were my own. That is why, after every impulsive detour into dark caverns of free expression, I always returned to the fertile soil from which I was born.
At my desk, this habit once again produced an expressive, sorrowful ballad of a fall from grace.
Wages of Sin
“A clock on the wall says you’re leaving again
I should have known it was a matter of time
But I have enjoyed the feeling
Of keeping you around, to ease my mind
Comfort had me chasing after shadows
When the truth, could plainly be seen
So when you walk out that door on Monday
It won’t come as a surprise to me
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through
I had a wedding ring on my finger, once
And a vow taken to the heart
I never intended to cheat on that deal
But circumstances drove us apart
She got a burr right under her saddle
A prickly bit of bad advice
That told her to take, control of the odds
And drive a wedge between man and wife
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through
That strategy worked well enough to ruin
Everything we had as a pair
Pretty soon when I looked at her picture
No magic was lingering there
We split on an evening when she locked me out
It wasn’t something that I had expected
But with my clothes in a trash bag, waiting
I realized our romance had been neglected
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through
That’s why I’ll take this free ride for fun
‘Cause it’s all I’ve got left at the end
I could use a kiss and a warm embrace
Now that I’ve got a room at the Days Inn
My wife is somewhere feeling happy but hurt
A combination I don’t suggest
She got a court-ordered code of justice
And I’m the one stuck with this mess
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through
You’re mighty young and pretty, girl
Perhaps a better friend than I deserve
But since you don’t know where I started out
Maybe we can work our way ‘round the curve
Come to me when you’re ready for a cowboy
And I’ll be your ticket to ride
Take your money from the night stand
Give me a wink as you say goodbye
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through
Just a weekend walk in the park
And holding hands, long after dark
Those are the things you do
When the wages of sin come through...”
I took out my flat-top acoustic, and fumbled through a demo of this tune, with my voice sounding somewhat hoarse, and strained by emotion. The result was another short video, posted on my YouTube channel. I knew what would follow, and anticipated hearing from my entertainment contact before too many hours had passed.
Country Squire left a voicemail message on the phone that mocked me openly. I could hear a ring of satisfaction in his voice. Raucous laughter echoed in my ear.
“I TOLD Y’ALL, DAMMIT! IT’S IN YER BONES, BOY! YA CAN’T JUST SHED THAT HERITAGE LIKE A SNAKE SQUEEZIN’ OUTTA IT’S SKIN! YER A GAWDAMN HILLBILLY AT HEART!”
I bristled slightly at being given such a restrictive label. But of course, his admonition met the test of literal truth. That upbringing had been a strong component of my life, as a child, and beyond.
On WKKY in Geneva, I heard an entire block of songs supposedly authored and performed by Rodney Dean, the rising star. Real information about his identity was conspicuously absent. As were any details of upcoming shows in the area. I suspected that my cohort at the record label would soon want to negotiate about future appearances in public. Yet my actual skills had diminished greatly over time. Disability and retirement redefined who I was as a person, with a reclusive lifestyle being the yield. I could never hope to sustain a career on stage.
Fortunately, this eventuality did not present itself right away.
I took some comfort in remaining anonymous, among neighbors and friends in my rural area. Despite hearing my work on radios around the community, and streaming on cellular devices, no one suspected that I had any connection with this mysterious persona. I was safe and invisible on my porch. Able to drink peacefully, during the afternoon hours, once I had completed working in my home office.
The newspaper blog drew an increasing amount of web traffic, as did my video site. Both of these things elevated my standing in search results on platforms like Google, Bing, Dogpile, and Duck Duck Go. But the cloak I wore stayed intact. It gave me the ability to engage in making art without the pressing consequences of too much public exposure.
My only regret from this unspoken bargain was with the realization that most of my material held no value for those interested in popular culture. My books, magazine articles, and internet posts continued to languish in obscurity. I was a non-entity, lost in the vastness of cyberspace.
Still, that tradeoff kept me busy at the desk. And, drinking outside when my creative labor for the day was finished.
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