'Ello there my friends! Seems it's been quite some time since I last appeared on here. Like...what has it been now? A year? Yeesh. I'm sure one for disappearing! But on a happy note, I did get that original that I was working on finished. Plus I started edits on it and dove into two other writing projects on top of that. So fun times.
BUT. All that aside. I decided I'd pop in here today because I had an idea. As each and every single one of us is aware...COVID - 19 is alive and kicking quite violently. So we're all pretty much self quarantined to our houses. Not to make a joke of it, but I basically am anyway because of the life I lead. BUT, regardless of MY situation, I can imagine a lot of you are wondering what in the world you're going to do with your time. True, you could choose to read someone else's stuff, but I was thinking, why not post some of my stuff?
So Song Fics : The COVID-19 Edition was born. In my mind. And yeah, I'm kind of loving the idea. In essence, I will be writing fan fictions from songs. I might even write fan fictions of a movie or book that are based off the vibes I get from a song (if that made any sense). If anyone feels the need to, you can suggest a song for me and I'll see what I can do. Just keep in mind that I'm a Christian and thus will not write suggestive or vulgar content and also that I hold complete and total right to refuse anyone's song suggestions on any grounds I choose to.
(That is not to say I will refuse your song. Just keep in mind I'm living a life still myself, so sometimes I don't have time to post. And sometimes I will choose not to write a story from a song.)
AHEM. All the babbling aside, today's story is actually a project I was commissioned to write by a friend. As is the second one I will be posting (if I can dig it up from all my files, but that's beside the fact. *cough*)
So yeah. Enjoy.
Beautiful People / 3.30.2020 / Tim Mcgraw
Crazy how life works. One moment you're looking for something big to change your life, a rainbow to leap, a bridge to cross... and the next you realize it's the small things that do it for you. Like getting stranded in a little town in the middle of nowhere…
Her fingers stopped, hovering over the keyboard, trembling from the emotions coursing from her very veins, from the tears tracking their way down her cheeks.
Birds twittered cheerily in the trees outside the window, but for once she didn't hear. For once she didn't drink in the beauty of the moment.
For once she stopped, like she'd been forced to do all those years ago, and she remembered, and that vein - to be truthful, all those veins - in her heart that'd been touched by the experience throbbed once more, as it always did when she remembered.
Oh, how she remembered…
Panicking is bad. Panicking is for people who're helpless, people who don't have a future. People who're lost.
Panicking didn't apply to people stranded on the side of the road somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere-Wyoming, people who were done with...well, people, who just needed that one story to land them a big job in a big city far away from cows and heat and grass and sweat and cars with smoking radiators.
But as she glanced at her grease-stained, sweat-slick fingers; fingers she itched to use to brush that mop of perfect brunette hair...hair that now stuck to her flushed face like super glue, out of her face - she wondered if panicking maybe did apply to her.
It'd been about two hours since the car had broken down...two long, sweltering hours full of summer sun, sweat and, of course, grease.
And she'd gotten nowhere - mentally or physically speaking.
No amount of so-called automobile skill - not that she possessed that - or heated verbal urgings could convince the car it'd be a wise move to start.
It was somewhere in that two hour block of time she decided maybe the story she'd been pursuing wasn't so worth it.
And also maybe that journalists weren't cut out for car servicing - or fixing, for that matter - of any sort.
So, with a dramatic sigh, she'd flopped down in the grass. On the shady side of the car, of course, and just stopped. And let the world - or at least, the world outside of this forsaken place, the world she'd left behind - go round like it always did.
And she wondered what everyone was doing, if anyone were in a situation like she now found herself in. If someone were stranded, without service or knowledge of any kind.
Alone.
Forced to stop and think and realize.
For a moment she was fearful her thoughts would continue along in this startling channel and inevitably lead her to some conclusion she'd rather not decide on right at that moment when she heard the noise.
It rattled like no other, grated against the deathly silence of the day, roared into her mind and threw all other ruminitions out the window - but she didn't care. She didn't care that she could smell gas and smoke and feel sweat trickling down her back.
All she cared about was that sound and the inevitable...hopefully inevitable... help it represented.
Lurching from her position; stiff in the knees from lack of movement and wet as a dish rag, she hobbled to the edge of the road and peered in the direction the sound was coming from.
An old '90s ford truck was rattling down the road in her direction, spewing black smoke, screaming country, apparently rusting at the seams - but it was the most beautiful thing she'd laid eyes on for at least two days.
Fairly on the edge of hysterics, she began jumping up and down, waving her arms, and generally making a hooligan of herself.
Sure, it was unnecessary. But it felt good nonetheless, felt like she were a victorious party over aloneness, like she'd vanquished an army or something.
The driver of the vehicle, obviously catching sight of her - not that that would be difficult -, geared down and rattled over to her side of the road - pulling to a stop a scant few inches from her broke-down bumper.
Fairly hopping with excitement, she tripped over to the driver's side of her vistor's vehicle and tried not to look too anxious for company or help...or both.
Like a goat with asthma, the truck door wheezed open and out stepped an older gentleman in faded wranglers, a very well used button down shirt, and broken down cowboy boots.
Nearly swallowing her tongue, though doing her best not to show her surprise, she stuck her hand out and offered a sort-of smile, mentally chastising herself all the while. What'd you expect? A banker in suit and tie?
"Hi."
He took her hand with a grip strong enough to break the bones in her fingers and offered a wrinkled-face, honest to goodness ear to ear grin in return.
"Howdy. Have a problem, d'ya?"
"Yeah…"
Like it weren't obvious, but it'd be entirely impolite to point that out. The man didn't seem to notice her partially sarcastic answer, however. Instead, he released her hand, stepped around her, and began looking her car over like it was for sale or something.
"Let me just have a looksie at this beauty."
So followed a one way conversation of exploratory grunts and hmms and "well I'll be's" while she stood sentinel beside the passenger side door of her vehicle, curiosity getting the better of her facial expressions.
After a few moments of poking around under the hood, the man finally slammed the thing shut - effectively scaring her out of her britches, incredulties, curiosities, and self pity parties -, dusted his hands off, and declared he wouldn't be able to fix the vehicle where it sat.
She'd started sweating again...though maybe the sweating was simply continuing it's apparent mission of dehydrating her. At any rate, the sweat had returned full force, and here an old man who looked like he'd stepped from the pages of a Louis L'Amour was telling her that he couldn't fix her car where it sat on the side of the road in the middle-of-nowhere-Wyoming.
To give him a little credit, she probably wouldn't be able to fix her car anywhere. But that was beside the fact.
She needed that car. For a story. That would hopefully land her another story that would hopefully land her a job in some big city.
She couldn't afford to break down on the side of the road like this without the ability to get anywhere, really. At least, nowhere without the consent of afore-mentioned old man.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, she crossed her arms over her chest, dropped her chin, and mumbled, "Is there anywhere nearby I could get the car fixed?"
The man squinted an eye and glanced up at the sky. "Well, there is a town about thirty miles from here, but I'm not sure if they have a car service shop. Might as well take you there, though. You can't very well spend the night out here."
She shivered at the idea. "Ahh, yeah, no. That wouldn't be great."
Awkward pause.
How does one converse with someone of so few and concise words? Maybe in kind?
"Could we, perhaps...go there? I mean, like, would you mind driving me there and helping me find someone who could come and get my car?" And then, as an afterthought, she added "Sir."
Fail. But a try, at least.
The man grinned that big-as-life smile of his again. "Sure thing. Just grab your stuff and hop in."
Well then. Still slightly thrown off by the man's manner of speech and dress, but honestly needing no second urging, she rifled through the contents of her luggage in the backseat of her vehicle.
Duffle with clothing and other necessities? Check. Laptop and other journaling necessities? Check. Basically all she needed - but the idea of just walking off and leaving the vehicle and all its contents to the elements and any stray passerby's mercy made her feel like she'd never see it again.
The moment she was in the passenger's seat of the old Ford, though, she was partially glad she hadn't brought all that extra stuff. A ride in the back of the old vehicle probably wouldn't have warranted very high chances of survival on their part. But slim survival was definitely better than forever disappearance.
Not that they were alive, but-
The truck roared to life, nearly scaring her through the window. Eyes wide, she waited for the thing to explode, but when it didn't, she managed to turn her head enough to see the amused expression on the man's face.
"She's a loud ol' girl."
"Aha."
Lame phraseology, that.
Eyes glued to the road as the man swerved back into action and began switching gears as the old truck rumbled to top speed, she wondered where in the world her vast vocabulary had gone and how in the world she'd gotten herself in the situation she currently found herself in.
Thirty something horribly long and agonisingly word-devoid minutes later, they arrived.
Her initial thoughts upon seeing the sparse scattering of buildings were something along the line of you can't be serious. I've literally ridden into a modern day old west. Soon after coming to the conclusion that there was apparently only two streets, a gas station, and a store of some description, however, she further concluded, I'm dead.
The man seemed to be under no such allusion, however. In fact, he actually looked happy.
If it was possible to actually shrink, that's exactly what she did...against the door. Her hands clutching the remnants of a life she wasn't so sure she'd be able to return to.
Not that she was insinuating sheer disaster...or that her funds were even remotely close to being low, but-
With a movement dramatic enough to be the equivalent of a seizure, the man spun the steering wheel - effectively making a ninety degree onto a side street. And then, as if for good measure, slammed on the breaks, halting the truck before a dilapidated house that looked like it hadn't seen a new coat of paint since before Noah.
On second thought, maybe she was insinuating disaster.
Uncurling from her perch against the door - she managed to get a question past her dry lips. "What's this?" Wow. Rude, much?
The man, however, did not seem to notice. A wide smile creased his face again; whether from amusement at her reaction to his driving, or simply an outward showing of his inward atmosphere she did not know. "Maggie's house. She boards any travelers who're brave enough to stop by here."
She cringed. Or have a dysfunctional vehicle that enjoys dumping its owner in the middle of nowhere.
Her thoughts were pulled rather rudely from her grasp by the loud creak of the truck door and the sound of pattering steps coming from the direction of the house.
Oh snap. More people. Just what I need.
Sighing, she pulled herself upright and managed to wrestle her door open as the old man came around the front of the truck to greet a young woman standing on the other side of the white picket fence surrounding the yard of the old house.
Attempting a hopefully legitimate smile, she wobbled toward the two, who were now watching her approach.
The moment she reached her side of the fence, the young woman stuck her hand out and slapped a grin almost as wide as the old man's on her face. "Hi there! Carl was just telling me about your situation and everythin'."
If the pumping she'd received from that handshake hadn't stretched all the muscles in her arm to the max, she was a monkey's uncle.
She was on the verge of attempting an answer for the girl's exuberant welcome, but was thankfully spared the trouble when the old man - Carl, was it? - turned to her and offered her another of his smiles. "I'll see if I can't convince Josh to help me with your car."
He paused, as if the exertion of saying even that much were enough to steal his breath. "Maggie'll be able to show you where it'll be when we're finished." He paused again, but this time to extend his hand in farewell. "I'll see you 'round."
She'd barely taken his hand before he released hers and started for his truck. She watched as he climbed into the old beast and started it. Watched as he drove away; and for some reason she experienced a pang inside her chest, forgot about the young woman behind her, forgot about her situation.
What was this? Had someone finally started to penetrate the shell of her solitary existence?
"Miss?" The voice, soft behind her, started her from her thoughts. Turning, she stared blankly at the young woman for a moment, remembered herself suddenly, and cleared her throat.
"Eh, sorry about that. He...Mr. Carl told me you might have a room or something for me?" Not really, but in essence….yeah.
The young woman pushed her dark hair aside, her hazel eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun. "Of course! I rarely have visitors, so the rooms are usually open." She pulled the gate to the picket fence open and held it aside. "Come on in! I'll show you 'round."
For a moment she simply stood, eyes on the young women, a thousand thoughts flying through her head at once. (Oh they hurt!) And then she acquiesced to the women's wishes and stepped into the yard.
An hour later, watching the Wyoming sunset paint the western horizon shades of blood and gold and warmth, watching kids play in the yard across the street, she wondered what she was missing.
It'd taken her a while to realize, a while to come to terms with the thoughts pushing at the backs of her eyes when the car had first broken down, after she'd met Maggie.
But now, alone, watching the sunset, listening to children play and Maggie fuss in the kitchen, she realized something.
All the struggle from earlier that afternoon, the pushing away of herself from people...all of it was somehow wrong. The actions of someone who didn't have a purpose.
Wow. Startling.
She lifted a trembling hand to her face and was surprised to find it come away wet.
Deep breaths.
Why had it taken breaking down in the middle of nowhere...in the middle of Wyoming, in the middle of the plains with no one and nothing; why had it taken all that to bring her to this?
What was it about these small town people? Carl...Maggie, those kids across the street, the old woman she could see a few houses down, knitting and rocking like there was nothing wrong in the world. What was it about these people that had stopped her?
She closed her eyes, seeing the silhouettes of her life before all this against the backs of her eyelids. What had it all been for? What was she running from.
It took her heart a moment, but when it realized...when she realized what...Who it was, she almost choked.
Oh Lord...Oh Lord, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took all this. All this struggle, all these years.
Her eyes came open, gaze went to the sunrise.
Oh Lord, I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry for this. I'm not sorry for what happened today - what will happen tomorrow.
The children across the room had stopped playing, were trooping toward the house as their mother called them in to supper.
Oh Lord, I'm back. I'm here now. I'm unpredictable, hardly constant in my journey to you. But I'm here.
And I thank you for these beautiful people. These people who brought me back to You.