Short Story

This is based on the cover of Turn the Page by Metallica

On a long and lonesome highway

The roar of the motorcycle filled his ears, the only sound possible to hear through his helmet. His long hair blew out behind him in the night air

East of Omaha

The flatlands of Nebraska whizzed by him on either side, hardly a hill or ridge to break the monotony of the landscape

Listenin to the engine moaning out its worn-out song

The drone of the bike changed in pitch as he accelerated. Experience let him know that the bike was working fine, as it should be. His bike was all he had to care about, and all that seemed to care about him. His bike, and his music. He knew the better that he cared for the bike, the better care the bike would take of him.

You think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before

His nomadic life left plenty of women behind. Hed never found someone that would be happy living off the back of a motorcycle and in cheap motel rooms, never staying in one place for longer than a week. Only recently had this started to bother him, to eat away at his iron exterior.

But your thoughts will soon be wanderin, the way they always do

His mind wandered back to the reason and purpose for the way he lived, for his wandering. A face swam into the field of view of his minds eye, a beautiful face. Her eyes stared deep into his, a connection that was much deeper than mere physical attraction. Hed met her after one of his concerts, and, oddly enough theyd spent all night talking, discussing topics deeper than hed ever been able to talk about with another person. By the time the sun rose he knew he was in love, but she was gone. All he had left was a first name. Rory the word spoken aloud barely reached his ears but still reverberated deep within him. He didnt know where she lived or what she did or really who she was but he loved her.

When youre ridin 16 hours, theres nothing left to do

That had been three years ago. He had pleaded with his manager to delay the tour, give him a chance to find her again, but he had a schedule to keep. For the first 6 months he tried everything he could, phone calls, brief visits to the small town where he had met her, but all anyone could tell him was that she was a drifter herself, had only arrived a few days before he had and had left before his tour bus had rolled out of town.

And you dont feel much like ridin, you just wish the trip was through

That was when he had left the band, taking only his guitar and his share of the last concerts take. Hed bought the bike, helmet, leather jacket and chaps, and a backpack.

And here I amOn the road again

So now he traveled from town to town. Everywhere he stopped there was a club or a bar waiting, set up and ready for him to perform.

And here I amUpon a stage

He would plug in his guitar and play and sing and when he couldnt sing or play anymore hed go to tha bar and theyd give him food and beer and hed eat and drink until he was tired and theyd send him to a room.

And there I goPlayin the star again

Sometimes there was a girl or two who would talk to him, giggling and slapping at his shoulder. He didnt care. They didnt care who he was, only what he was, and they were never interested in coming with him, living his life so he turned away and eventually theyd give up.

And there I goTurn the page

And the next day he was gone again, off to the next place, his next destination in his search for her, the only girl he was sure he could love and live with.

So you walk into this restaurant, all strung out from the road

This gig, this town was so indefinable from the rest. He parked his bike, unstrapped his guitar and walked in through the door. The place was a dive, a diner and bar with a small platform in the corner with a microphone and an amplifier already set up.

And you feel the eyes upon you, as youre shakin off the cold

They always stared. His long hair and worn out and tired eyes seemed to captivate people, some enamored, some repelled.

You pretend it doesnt bother you, but you just want to explode

He always walked straight to the stage, never turning his eyes to either side. He wanted so badly to stare back, to silence the silent stares. But he didnt. He had a job, he had a mission. He didnt have time to bother with these people. He would entertain them and they would succor him and then their brief and unpleasant relationship would end. And if some changed their opinions of him, then fine. He didnt care.

and most times you cant hear em talk. Other times you can

There were always whispers, behind hands and across tables. Rarely did he catch the words being said, but on occasion someone would speak up, as if daring him to hear and respond.

All the same old clichés, is it woman, is it man

Most of the time it was a comment about his appearance, his hair, his clothes. He hated it, hated them for their intolerance, their cruelty. But he held his silence, content to merely finish his set and get on his way. These kind of people, the ones who spend their nights in bars and seedy diners needed someone to look down on anyway. It might as well be him. They didnt understand, nor would they. It wasnt his problem, not once he got started playing.

And you always seem outnumbered, and you dont dare make a stand

He reached the stage and took his guitar out of its case. He took as good of care of it as he did his bike. The guitar was his ticket to his travels, for it brought him the money and the food and lodging. Though he knew that if he swiped his debit card through an ATM there would be enough to buy most of the town, he took a certain pleasure from paying his pay his way through his travels. Everything he had, everything he did coming from within him.

Make your stand

And now here he was, on the stage, guitar in hand. He played a few notes, tightened or loosened the strings until the notes resonated perfectly in his ears. He took a deep breath. Here was where he would defy the universe, defy everyone and everything that oppressed him.

Out there in the spotlight, youre a million miles away

The music enveloped him, removing the years and the wear and tear, removing his cares and his sorrows and leaving peace, emptiness.

Every ounce of energy, youre tryin to give away

He always poured everything he had into the music, emotions and thoughts giving his song life and power.

As the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play

These gigs took so much out of him, but maybe that was the wrong way to look at it. Rather, he put so much of himself into his performances that he never had anything left. When he was done hed stumble to the bar and eat and drink whatever was set in front of him, unable to taste or feel much of anything.

Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed

He lay alone in the dark, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. His mind was empty, remembering nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but emptiness.

With the echoes of the amplifiers ringin in your head

He couldnt remember anything of the evening except the music, the sound, the energy. He wasnt even sure which songs hed played, or if hed even played more than one. He never remembered. Wasnt even sure if he really knew any songs at all anymore. It didnt matter. No one said anything, and in the morning there was money and breakfast and the open road.

You smoke the days last cigarette, rememberin what she said

Once again, her face hove into view, unbidden but welcome. She hadnt been there, he was certain. He hadnt seen her, but hadnt really expected too. She was never there, and he sometimes wondered, despaired of ever finding her. His love for her had become a love for the hunt, for the search to find her. He loved her for this, for the all the pain and misery he felt this was a life that he had chosen, that he could so easily change, simply going back to his former existence. The band would take him back, and he could have a house and a bed again, could live as other people do. The fact that he could go back made this life all the better ,all the more worth it.

And here I am, on the road again,

And here I am, upon a stage

And there I go

Playing the star again,

And there I go,

Turn the page

And as he began to drift off into the empty sleep of one who has exhausted all emotion, the door of his room opened and she walked in, exactly as he remembered her.

And here I go, turn the page