Today we have a story from Adam Moorad called The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter. It's a quick little tale about romance on the road. Check it out!
The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter
On the side of the road the Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter felt like it was Christmas. He pointed to his license and told her his picture was taken a long time ago. She stood there behind her badge. Cars passed. It was dark outside. She handed the license back. She smiled and said her shift was about over.
She said she was against marriage. She twirled the straw in her margarita. The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter agreed under the assumption that it was what she wanted to hear and she said that was good. Marriage is forever, he said.
A waiter ran by with is arms full of hot plates and she said that someone must be hungry.
They ate their dinner prepared by people who were working the country illegally. She looked the other way. The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter said he used to be in love with a Hispanic girl. She got quiet then asked him how long ago that was. A long, long time ago, he said. Do you still love her? she asked. He said it wasn't real love, that he was young then and is older now.
The waiter wore a button-down shirt and toreador slacks. He spoke broken English and asked if they would like to have another pitcher. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks as if he had just eaten and mouthful of tamales. He left. The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter looked at her face. He made an expression and she laughed.
She covered her mouth as she laughed and he told her she covered her mouth. He asked her what was so funny. She was more talkative that before and was getting drunk. He pinched her arm and said she cleans-up well. She said the same and said she was getting tired. The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter asked her if he could write a song about her and if he could put her name in it.
A real song? she said. She said she thought that was just a line he likes to use to get out of speeding tickets.
He said she was right, that he always did. He said she had him figured out. He asked her if she was mad. But can I? he asked. I only will if you let me, he said.
She said it was fine and brushed the bangs from her forehead. The Wanna-Be-Singer-Songwriter said it will be a song about a policewoman and he'll play it for her on the guitar. So you can play guitar, she said. A little, he said. Is that your job? she asked. Sort of, he said. She said that she works for the city with a radar gun, that she writes speeding tickets to people who look less cute. He looked at her. She laughed and covered her mouth. And they rode in her squad car to his apartment.
And they made it. The Wanna-be-Singer-Songwriter asked her if she had ever been to the rodeo. She said no and she asked if he had a song about that too. He said something like that.
