A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
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The year was 1959, I was 17 and close to graduating, and for a little while, life wasn't bad.
I shivered as I pulled my brother into the record store on our way home from school.
"Alfred," Matthew whined, "We're supposed to go straight home."
"We will. We're just warming up first. It'll only be a minute." I agreed as a wandered through the rows of shelves.
"Alfred," Matthew repeated as he followed me. I stopped in front of a rock-and-roll display. "Alfred, Maman doesn't like you listening to that."
"Are you going to tell her?" Matthew shook his head. "Me neither, so quit complaining." I flipped through a few records.
"What about this one?" Matthew offered.
I glanced over at him and shook my head, "I already have that one."
"What about Elvis?" he offered again.
"I have Elvis."
"Buddy Holly? You like him."
"That's why I already have his records," I sighed, "Nothing new. You want anything?" Matthew shook his head. "I'll buy you a coke at the grocery if you want?"
Matthew shook his head, "Maman expects us to be home before her."
"I have to go to the hardware store too. Sure you don't want a coke?" Matthew nodded. "Suite yourself. Come on." I led him across the street.
"What do you need here?" Matthew asked as soon as we were inside the door.
"Maman's sewing machine is broke, I think I can fix it, but I need some parts. And I need a few things for the truck too."
"Can we drive it soon?"
I handed him a few bolts for the truck and a screw for the sewing machine, "Hopefully."
"What are you going to do then?"
"Probably just drive to the garage and fix everybody else's cars and trucks. You know, work there once I graduate."
Matthew nodded, then paused, "What about your guitar?"
I shrugged, "That's just for fun."
That wasn't quite true. I didn't want to just drive to the next town over every day of my life, I wanted to take my old truck and drive far far away. And I wanted to take my guitar and nothing else and make a living off of it. Just playing music for the rest of my life. Not just music, Rock and Roll. But Maman wouldn't like that, and I can't leave her and Matthew anyway, so it's just a dream.
As soon as we got home I turned on the radio and switched it from Maman's gospel music to a rock and roll station. I sang along with Elvis as I settled down in front of Maman's sewing machine. Matthew was in the kitchen, starting dinner so it would be ready by the time Maman came home.
She took the bus to the next town to cook breakfast at the diner there every morning, and stayed there until almost dinner time everyday. Then she came home and did whatever sewing or mending she had been hired for until she couldn't stay awake anymore. It's been this way ever since Dad died. When we were younger, Matthew and I would stay at a neighbour's house until she came home, but I'm almost an adult now, and Mattie isn't really a kid anymore either, so now we take care of ourselves.
I got so focused on the music and the machine that I didn't even notice Maman was home until she switched the radio off. "Oh, Alfred," she sighed as she sat down next to me.
"Hi," I said, "I'm almost done here. I think it'll live."
"Thank you, Alfred, but you know I don't really like you listening to that music."
"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh," I stretched the word out as long as I could.
"Father Thomas came to the diner today," Maman got up and went about finishing dinner, "He asked about you joining the choir."
I hesitated, "What did you tell him?"
"I told him you're still busy with marching band."
"Okay." I started putting the sewing machine back together.
"But I think it would be good for you to join the choir. You have a wonderful voice, Alfred."
"Maman," I sighed.
"I just don't want to see it go to waste."
I sighed again, the church choir really wasn't where I wanted to sing.
After dinner I went out to the garage to work on the truck. It was an old piece of junk that I had gotten for less than I paid for my guitar. But it was my only chance out of this place, and it was mine. The garage used to house Dad's old Cadillac, but Maman had sold it to make a payment on the house soon after Dad died, since she couldn't drive and needed the money more. Then it had sat empty for years until I bought the truck and my friend John helped me bring it home. Now the garage was my space. The truck, all my tools, and the record player and guitar Maman didn't know I had. I put on a Buddy Holly record and sang along as I tried to figure out what was keeping the piece of junk from starting.
Maman doesn't really like the dirt and grease in here, so she doesn't ever come in. Matthew sees enough of me in our shared room, and John can't tell a carburetor from a wheel well, so they don't come in either. So it's just me, the truck, and rock and roll. It's not a bad deal. With as much as I listen to Buddy Holly and Elvis and the others, I almost feel like they're friends of mine. Maman wouldn't approve, but I don't care, it's what make me happy.
I sometimes wish the world had ended that morning, just so I didn't have to get up. In some ways, it almost felt like the world had ended. I had woken up early, Matthew was still asleep, and Maman had already left for the diner, so it was like I was the only person in the world as I went out to deliver the morning newspaper. I think I delivered them all that day, or at least I never heard any complaints about anyone on my route not receiving their paper. I was in too much of a daze to quite remember the rest of the day. I picked up the papers to be delivered that day, only the be faced with the worst headline I could imagine. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and JP Richardson had all been killed in a plane crash.