Blindfaller

Hard Travelin'

I was in love. That should have made me happy, but somehow I felt lower than I'd ever been. Sandra had never been out of Nebraska, which I thought was odd considering I'd traveled to every major city in the country and a lot of the smaller ones too. She was a simple, sheltered small-town girl who I fell hard for during my band's stay in her town for the week-long county fair.

I'd spent my life traveling either for the numerous high school music competitions or with the band as an adult. I'd never felt this way about any of the girls I met during these trips. Everything was different with Sandra. Part of me wanted to settle down in rural Nebraska. Maybe the local high school could use a music teacher?

No, even now, in my lovesick fever, I couldn't imagine leaving the traveling life behind. There had to be another way.

I opened my eyes, unaware that I had drifted off and sat up straight in the barely comfortable chair in the RV. I'd said a sad goodbye to Sandra at her house only an hour before. Now, the Nostalgia Junkies were headed to their next gig. Sandra said she'd try to make it, but it was an hour away from her home and she didn't like to drive very much.

The Nebraska potholes made the ride rough and bumpy. The seldom-used highway wound through rural farm towns and cornfields dotted with old fashioned farmhouses. I kicked back and tried to relax, confident in Dave's driving abilities. Sure, he made a better bass player than a chauffeur, but I could always count on him to stay awake behind the wheel no matter how little sleep he had. Besides, since he had a buddy in the same town as the gig, we had a place to stay that night, which saved us from paying for a hotel. People like Dave were nice to have around.

I pulled out my notebook and scribbled down a few pathetic song ideas that I knew were sappy, sad and stupid, but it kept me busy, and that's what I needed more than anything. If left idle, my brain would always find its way back to Sandra. This was definitely one band-aid that hurt like hell to rip off.

We made it to the next show, and by then I was wishing I had laid down for a nap. My throat felt a bit rough, and I hoped for the best as far as my singing went. Maybe the crowd would be drunk and wouldn't notice. I pulled myself together and performed for one person, the only one that mattered. Sure, Sandra hadn't shown, and I felt my heart self destruct within me, but maybe she decided to move on. I was feeling bad...really low. We finished the set a few minutes early, and I cringed to realize that no one noticed. The attendance had been smaller than average, and the stress and heartache of the last few days caught up with me.

Why couldn't one thing go right? I had given up everything for this one chance to make something of myself and it seemed to be crumbling all around me. I was nothing but a giant heap of rubble.

That night, while crammed onto a dingy loveseat in Dave's friend's living room, I came to a decision. Something needed to change. Maybe it was me, maybe the situations we kept finding ourselves in, but a change was imminent.

A bottle of whiskey sat on the end table beside my head, the light filtered through in a beautiful display of amber and gold. I wasn't much of a drinker, but the moment seemed to call for it, so I picked it up and took a long swig.

Could I really handle the musician's life for another ten, or twenty years? Would I ever be able to marry, have a family or make enough money to retire? I hadn't really given any of those topics much thought before, but maybe I was growing up. I knew one thing for sure. This whiskey could never be my companion. It wouldn't hold me like my girl could, or cheer me on at a show.

When morning came, the daylight found me clutching the bottle to my chest in a half-sleep stupor. We packed quickly, the road called us with electric intensity and we headed out without breakfast.

Our destination was another town, similar to the last one. We settled into the cheap motel that would be home for the next few days and readied ourselves for the night's performance.

That night, the first person I saw in the front row with a cocktail in her hand was a redhead with a sexy smile and eyes only for me.

Suddenly, I didn't feel so low anymore.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
811 Words

Way down on Music Row is there anyone who knows
Who might lend a helping hand
'Cause I could stand a better show
Hard traveling down the road
I'm feeling bad boys, I'm feeling low
Well night after night, show after show
So many kind faces will never know
Hard traveling down the road
I'm feeling bad boys, I'm feeling low
Over by the window, laying on the couch
I'll toss and turn, a stranger in someone else's house
Hard traveling down the road
I'm feeling bad boys, I'm feeling low
Well that whiskey'll never hold you like a good girl can
When the nights get lonely it can be your only friend
Hard traveling down the road
I'm feeling bad boys, I'm feeling low
I'm feeling bad boys, I'm feeling low