"Well, we're big rock singers
We got golden fingers
And we're loved everywhere we go (that sounds like us)"
"I don't know why Rolling Stone'd wanna talk to me. Ain't like anything I did was ever in their top hundred anything." The voicemail was on his phone for three days before he even thought about calling her back, it was another two before he actually did it.
"I know you don't like this stuff Daryl, but if you could just try. This album is good, you know that. And a nod in Rolling Stone could get the ball rolling on some sales, maybe get you a spot in someone's tour?"
He thinks about the roof on the house, he's been wanting to switch it out for a metal one and get some new insulation for the workshop.
"I know you could use a good gig."
He know's she's right, damn agent always is. "Alright, guess I'll meet him, Michonne."
The interviewer is younger than Daryl thought he'd be, but he has to give the kid credit for trekking all the way to his place in the mountains in the dead of winter.
"So what's the deal with this article anyway? Washed up mighta beens?"
The kid sips the whiskey Daryl gave him and makes a face, but he swallows it. "No… it's about studio musicians and the handful that should've been more."
Daryl shifts in his seat. He already doesn't like where this is going.
"Coulda, woulda, shoulda I guess." Daryl downs his drink and pours another.
"When did you start playing music?"
He clears his throat, "I was twelve."
"After your mother died?"
He hates that people know that. He curses Merle's big mouth. "Mhmm."
"What guitarists did you look up to?"
Daryl falls into the easy pattern of questions and answers. It comes much easier than he though it ever could.
"We are running this in a twentieth anniversary article on Woodstock, I know your brother was there, were you?"
He smiles, "Asshole never did anything by himself. Course I was there. Didn't fly in on a damn helicopter though." He answers a set of questions about Merle and their notorious days touring. Merle's story was everywhere when he died, the details kept coming along with the rumors and all Daryl could say was that he wasn't there. It's the same questions he always gets but he likes the kid asking them this time.
"I actually have it in my notes that Woodstock was where you met Beth Greene."
Her name repeats in his ears and sinks into his chest. The kid says it carefully, and something in it lets the weight of the word settle warm and heavy around him instead of knocking him on his ass into headfirst into a bottle.
"Mhmm." He can't blame Merle's ghost for that one.
"I have word that her family is putting out an album with some unreleased tracks."
Daryl nods, looks out the window. He signed off on it years ago. A manilla envelope postmarked from Connecticut.
"I also have word that you're featured on quite a few of them."
"Played together a lot, damn girl could sing." The air in the room is suddenly heavy, an invisible presence takes over the room.
"You know, a lot of people think you and her were… together, any comment on that rumor?"
He swirls the caramel colored liquor over the ice cubes in his glass, "That the story you really came here for then?"
"People are always lookin' for something to talk about."
"Probably gonna snow soon," Daryl chews on the inside of his lip and curses Michonne for sending the kid. He sips the drink and realizes this decision was made when he gave the kid his address. "I was with Beth. I was with her for awhile." He watches the kid's eyes widen, "Met her at Woodstock though, fixed her sister's car."