I do not own any of the TWD characters.
A Little Gal Named Opry
"Come on Josh" Opry pleaded. "I'm runnin late and it really ain't outta your way one bit. Pleasssssse" she added at the end, making sure to flash her big blue eyes at the guy. She'd learned that trick many years ago by watching her mom work her dad up into a frenzy. "And, it's my birthday" Opry added.
Josh wanted to tell her no, but honestly, he just couldn't.
"Ya wouldn't want me to be extra late for work on my birthday would ya?" Opry smiled. Who was she kidding? The girl was already late.
"If my girlfriend finds out, she's gonna kill you and me both" Josh tried to defend his hesitation in dropping Opry at her second place of employment. "She's really jealous of you anyway Opry."
"Well, that's just ridiculous. There's no reason to be." Opry snapped back. "Want me to talk to her?"
"God no" Josh shot back. "That'd just make it worse."
Thinking she was going to have to hoof it on over to the outdoor concert venue, Opry had already taken her boots off and replaced them with Toms. At this point, Opry knew full well that Josh would not wait for her to switch footwear again, so she hopped on the back of his bike – a change of clothes in her backpack, her newest Old Gringo boots in hand, and no helmet. Daryl Dixon would have a duck fit if he knew she was riding on the back of a motorcycle with no head protection. Oh well, Opry dismissed that thought, Daryl Dixon would have a duck fit if he knew what she'd paid for those boots. The girl quickly decided that what her Dad didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. She made a mental note to call her Daddy in the morning – it'd been near a week since they'd talked and she missed hearing his gravely voice fussing and wanting to know when "she's gonna come on back home and go to school like she'd promised." In addition to that, both of her parents were pissed as hell that she couldn't make time to come home for her birthday. Her momma had cried and her daddy just couldn't hardly take a sad wife, so therefore, he fussed at Opry. Opry was getting really adept at tuning out her Daddy and his "bitch sessions." Big Brother Silas had perfected it years ago.
Opry was so lost in thought that she didn't notice that they'd already arrived at her drop off point. "Get off Opry, so I can get on home" Josh grunted. "Lesly's gonna kill me dead for sure." Opry rolled her eyes behind the boy's back and hopped off the motorcycle.
"Thanks Josh" she smiled. "You're an all right guy. I don't care what anybody says 'bout ya" she teased and slapped him on the ass. Josh only mumbled and pulled away from the curb. Traffic was always horrible in downtown Nashville, but factor in concert season on a Saturday night and it was unreal. Opry was running a bit behind, but hell, that was nothing new either – she took off in a dead sprint for the employee's entrance around back, shouting out hellos to the metro police officers who'd watched her roll in there. They waved back, one officer in particular – the taller of the two, not being able to take his eyes off the girl. Opry and the officers certainly weren't on a first name basis, but they knew each other's faces really well. The same officers usually worked concert events and well, Opry worked all the time it seemed, so yeh, they'd seen her around.
"Damn" tall guy said to shaved head guy. "Bet she's a hellcat."
"I bet she's jailbait" the Baldy cautioned.
"Can't be" was the other guy's reply, "she works over at Wildhorse too."
"Hmmmm" they both said together.
"Hey guys!" Opry yelled and waved at them in passing.
"Hey" they answered in unison.
"Hey" Baldy teased Stretch. "Is that the best we can fucking do?" They both laughed at themselves. "Who's playing tonight?" Stretch thought he'd change the subject as he tried to adjust himself without being noticed.
"Who the fuck knows" Baldy said. "Some country ass redneck I'm sure. Have you seen the people already lining up?"
"My kind of people" Stretch laughed. They both snorted.
Opry worked an early shift at the Wildhorse Saloon. Not a single one of Daryl and Beth Dixon's kids were afraid of hard work. She waited tables, worked the hostess stand when necessary, and conducted the line dancing classes that the tourists ate up. When the bus boys got behind, Opry could be found clearing tables and she'd never even shied away from bathroom duty. Opry loved it. The hours were long, the tips were amazing – as her boot collection proved, and she got to meet people from all over the world. If it was a night that she had to work a concert, timing was of the upmost importance. It was a good thing that she was really good at her jobs or none of her bosses would put up with her near constant tardiness.
Opry was running to the employee's locker room. When she passed the manager's office, she saw that he was in a deep discussion with some country clad person. "I'm here" she hollered out and continued her mad dash to use the restroom so that she could change clothes and freshen up. Opry had no idea what she'd been scheduled to do tonight, but whatever it was, she was ready. It could be anything from ushering, working the front gate, or handling the musicians. Opry secretly hoped that she'd be a handler that night so that she could get up and close with the one and only Bruester Hollis. God Almighty, Opry thought to herself, what I wouldn't do for that hunk of ….. Opry's thoughts were interrupted though by the screams of the previously mentioned manager however.
"Opry" Mr. Bivins bellowed. "Opry!"
Opry changed directions and returned back the way she came. Her heart was racing at this point as she tried to figure out what she may have messed up on the last time she worked. He couldn't be yelling because she was slightly late. Well, an hour late.
"Yessir" Opry gasped, clearly out of breath and scared shitless.
"Can't you sing?" the two men in the office stared at her waiting for a reply.
"Sir?" Opry asked in confusion.
"And play that mandolin thing?" he added.
"Yessir" Opry nodded in agreement. "I play lots of instruments, but the mandolin is my favorite."
"Can ya sing?" the other man asked anxiously.
"I, uhhh, I lead the praise and worship music at church. And sometimes, I sing at my other job if somebody doesn't show. And, oh, I sing over at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital, but that's just for kids and they like anything" Opry rattled on. "Why?"
The nervous guy handed Opry a set list. "Ya ever heard of any of those songs?"
Opry looked over the list. A small smile threatened to break out across her lips. She knew every one of those freakin songs. This was Bruester's play list. "Yes sir – I'm familiar with these songs."
"Familiar?" the guy asked. "That the best we got?" he asked Opry's manager. Beads of sweat were forming on Mr. Bivin's upper lip.
"Awww, Opry, I hear ya singing and humming to yourself all the time" Bivins sputtered. "Surely to God, you're more than familiar with these songs. Come on girl, throw me a bone here."
"Well, Mr. Bivins, Sir" Opry began to explain. "I's always taught not to be a blowhard." Clearly, Mr. Bivins didn't understand what a blowhard was as he got red in the face. "I mean, somebody who brags on themselves. I's always taught to take the humble road Sir."
The uptight guy, who must have been Bruester's manager or something, was fighting laughter at this point to see this little bitty girl getting this full of shit venue manager all matter of torn up. He quickly pointed to one of the songs on the play list. "If I were to give you the sheet music to this song right here, could you play it tonight?"
Opry looked directly at the band's manager. "I could play it right now if I had my instrument." The band's manager pulled out his cell phone and punched a number.
"Yeh, Chris" he barked out. "Get us a mandolin to the manager's office – now." He looked back at Opry. Can ya sing June Carter's part on this song right here?" he pointed to another item on the list.
"Pffft" Opry looked down at the "CASH" shirt she was wearing. The manager smirked at Opry. "Yessir" she replied. "I sure can."
"Think ya could sing back up with the other girls as well?" he continued the frazzled interview.
Opry nodded, "Yessir" she said.
"Very well" the band's representative said. "Want to be up on that stage tonight?"
Opry could no longer contain her smile – this is what she'd been waiting for – something exciting to happen in her life. "Yessir" Opry answered. What a freakin birthday this was turning out to be! Opry thought to herself.
"Sing for me while we're waiting on that mandolin" the man told her.
We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout.
We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out.
I'm goin' to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around.
Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson, Look out Jackson town.
Well, go on down to Jackson: go ahead and wreck your health.
Go play your hand you big-talkin' man, make a big fool of yourself.
The band's manager held his hand up. He was having trouble containing his excitement. "Damn, Little Lady" he admitted. "I think you've seriously underestimated your vocal skills." A scraggly looking guy slid into the office, Cramer style, with an instrument in his hand. The manager pointed to Opry and so Chris The Scraggly handed the mandolin over to Opry. Opry spent a few tense moments tuning it to her liking and then asked, "where's the music?"
All three men stood there in awe as they listened to Opry plink out the tune to Bruester's newest hit.
"Chris" the manager spoke when Opry finished playing. "Get her to hair and make-up – then wardrobe."
If you didn't catch it, or if you don't remember my story Daddy Daryl, this is Opry from that story. In an unfortunate set of circumstances, Daddy Daryl may have been lost to us forever. I'm still digging through flash drives and old laptops looking for my original story – and I'm still sick over the whole thing. I spent this past weekend in Nashville - something my husband and I do often – and I could not get this story out of my head. Hope you enjoyed reading it.
