The kid just kind of looks at him.
"It was the defining event of your generation. You're a professional musician. You were there with your brother and bandmate, but you don't even have a favorite set, all that stands out is Beth?"
Daryl blinks hard at the cold journalistic question and chews the inside of his lip. "I mean, it was a bunch of dirty hippies in a field. I wasn't into all that cultural shit, Merle mostly made it back from 'Nam. That was all I gave a shit about before then." He gestures with the bottle and sips at the whiskey, "The music woulda been great if there weren't so many problems, was raining the whole damn time. She was the, what'd you say… defining event?"
"Well, well what about after?"
"Thought this was about Woodstock. I'm done with that story." He gets up and moves to stoke the fire.
"You said she was the defining event. I know you two recorded together, there is footage of you at her father's house. I know you played a show in her hometown the week after the festival."
Daryl stares into the flames, pokes at the ashes and adds another log. Something is gnawing at him to just tell the kid, to spill the whole story out and let it lay there out in front of them both. He thinks of her gentle voice and way of understanding what he was saying with him having to think about opening his mouth. He thinks of all the abandoned words, every quiet, drawn out night full of whispers and thoughts that he would give anything to tell her.
He goes to the kitchen for another bottle.
"If I'm doing this," He pours himself another glass, "I ain't doing it sober."
See the lonely boy,
out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay.
Can't relate to joy,
he tries to speak and
Can't begin to say.
The theater they got booked at was a decent size, a few big names had played there recently and the night had started off with the buzz of a change in the air.
Daryl did not expect to be wandering the city green an hour and a half later, energy from the stage still coursing through him, bandana pressed on a gash at his hairline. Merle must be close, but the green was quiet aside from a few people milling around leaving one hole in the wall bar for another. There was music coming from a small bar, a simple guitar and beautiful voice calling him like a moth to a damn flame.
He is not surprised at all that it's Beth sitting in the corner singing Bobby McGee. He grins a little at her cutoff denim and the memory of her thigh pressed against his in the backseat as Maggie lets the car idle outside the gas station. Her hand entangled with his as she scribbled down her address. Her lips on his before he climbed out of the car to go meet Merle.
He never told Merle why he chose Connecticut as their stop. Daryl doesn't tell him why he isn't excited about this cross country train ride Merle's signed them up for. Merle just asks if he got any pussy or any good pot.
He watches her play. He watches her eyes go big and her face light up when she looks around the room. He never realizes that it only happens once she spots him. He waits by the door while she puts her guitar, a Martin he can't help but notice, in it's case. He wraps his free arm around her when she hugs him.
"What happened to you?"
"Somebody wanted to hear Johnny Winter and not me." The joke falls flat, her eyes are narrowed at the balled up bandana, "Got clipped with a bottle, think it was a Rolling Rock."
Her hand lands on his wrist, blue eyes focused, brows furrowed in concern. "Alright, come back to my place. It's not far and my Daddy can fix you up." She goes up on her tip toes and ghosts her lips against his cheek, "I missed you."
She talks about watching Iron Butterfly play at the high school and how she wakes up thinking about his eyes and the way his lips look when he says her name. He tells her about having to ditch the car they picked up in New York and grabbing a spot on a train tour, whispers how he's still having dreams with the chupacabra and waking up reaching for her.
They find Merle nearly passed out at a bus stop on the way to her house.
The neighborhood is quiet, rows of little white houses. Neighbors, families whose patriarchs all fought in Europe. It's late, late enough for street lights but not late enough for silence. People are sitting on their porches, radios are playing, Merle is mumbling about Tommy James and the Shondells.
Daryl is immediately ushered into the kitchen where a white haired man on a crutch cleans his split skin and declares he does not need stitches, or any more beer. Beth is holding his hand the whole time. Her father definitely notices. Daryl can feel the man's eyes boring into him as his daughter tells the story of them being chased off stage.
Beth goes to sit on the porch with Merle while Daryl cleans himself off. The bathroom is clean, soap and towels exactly where they should be. He finds himself staring at his reflection for a little too long when a tap on the door startles him.
"You alright in there boy?"
He leaves the bathroom to come face to face with her father. "I'm alright."
"Hmm." The older man looks him over, "Bethy says you're quite the guitar player."
Daryl shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention.
"She hasn't stopped talking about you since she snuck off with her sister to that festival. You hurt my little girl you're gonna have worse than a Rolling Rock to the skull."
"I ain't ever gonna hurt her." Daryl forces himself to look the older man in the eye before following him out.
They go to the porch where Merle has parked himself. There is a video camera on a tripod and Beth is fiddling with a tape recorder.
"My brother, Shawn, he wanted to work for the radio or TV. He showed me how to do all this before he went to Vietnam." She's talking to Merle who has stirred a bit and is watching her. She looks up when his height blocks the light. "I figure you couldn't play your show and mine was only two songs anyhow. We can play a few together, if you're up for it?"
"I'll play," Daryl steps away from where he's leaning on the door, doesn't give the camera a second thought. "Merle only got one good hand anyhow. We can let him warble along I guess." He picks up her guitar resting on the floorboards and settles down on the step across from her. "You know Barbara Allen?"
Beth smiles at the new shadow in the doorway, "That's Daddy's favorite."
He doesn't realize his fingers are tapping out a rhythm on the table until he moves to lift his glass.
"Did you ever see that footage? From that night?"
He just shakes his head. He can picture the rows of white houses reflecting the street lights.
"It's what started the rumors, about you and Beth."
The kid keeps talking. Daryl remembers exactly how the shadow from the porch light framed her face. That night started more than just rumors.
He lets the final notes fade off as Merle is calling out suggestions. "Play something I can sing, Darylina. Some Leadbelly."
Daryl ignores the drunken jab and nods as he begins to play. Merle's voice starts in on the first verse, it's rough and thick with too much whiskey. Daryl changes his pace and style, slower and lower, to match. Beth comes in on the chorus and coaxes Merle through the second verse.
Merle stumbles on the third, and Daryl isn't even thinking about the camera. He switches to a simpler chord and takes over the lyrics.
I love Irene, God knows I do
I'll love her till the sea runs dry
If she ever loves another
I'm gonna take morphine and die.
He remembers looking up from his guitar and meeting her eyes as the words tumbled from his lips. He remembers the exact timbre of her voice carrying through the night air. He remembers her father watching from the open door as Merle drunkenly moved on to another song. He remembers sitting on the steps, letting his gaze rest on her as the final notes slow to an end.
"These old floor boards are awful creaky, boy, and I sleep lighter than a feather." Her father turns into the house.
Daryl can't help the embarrassment creeping up his neck.
"I better be heading in, you guys are leaving in the morning?"
"Mhmm, trains leaves at eight. Heading to New York and then up to Montreal, I guess." He stands and glances at Merle who has walked into the yard and is still humming bars of a Leadbelly song. "You could come, you know?"
"You got a hotel or something, kid?"
Daryl doesn't care that it's harsh. He doesn't care that it's abrupt. He calls a taxi and practically pushes the kid out the door with the promise that he can come back to hear about the train.
He practically falls into his recliner. Staring at the flames and thinking about that night.
They found a motel by the highway but Merle is no where to be found when a soft knock wakes Daryl up.
"Oh."
"Hey Daryl." Beth is standing there in her cut off denim shorts and white blouse. A familiar duffle is at her feet and a guitar case in her hand.
"What're you doing, girl?" He doesn't try to hide the sleep in his voice.
She grins a little, "I couldn't just let you walk off into the night, Daryl."
There are nights that he wishes he never felt her lips against his, never let her bright eyes into his heart. Nights when the memory of her touch is nothing but torture, but there are also nights like this one. Nights when he can taste the salt of her sweat as he pulled her perfect pink nipple into his mouth or catch the slightest remnant of her scent when she came on his tongue. When the memory is so crystal clear that his hand drifts down and he comes hard and fast just like he did that first night, with her name on his lips.
AN:
This one took quite awhile, sorry about that.
1. Out on the Weekend - Neil Young
2. Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin (preferably the demo version)
3. Barbara Allen - Blackmore's Night
4. Goodnight Irene - Tom Waits
5. In the Pines - Leadbelly
6. Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles - Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band
