Hold On

Hold On

 

Hi Readers:  I'm trying out a new writing experience.  The below story is inspired by a song, but in no way is a continuation or background to the song.  It's a companion piece.   

My hope is that you read the full story, and then listen to the song that inspired the piece.  I selected a You Tube video that has scrolling lyrics and not the actual video for the song.  I hope you enjoy.

 

 

****

She sat in her idling car, twirling her ring absentmindedly. Dark clouds were beginning to roll in, but she wasn't seeing them. Her mind was in other places. In other times. Happier times. Or at least, less unhappy times.

****

She had met Charlie when she was 24. She was his waitress at the local diner one night, and it was near-closing time. He was 28, and as charismatic as they make them. He could sell water to a drowning man, as the saying goes. He certainly sold her. It wasn't that he was necessarily good-looking, or even exceptionally bright. He was neither tall, nor short. Heavy nor skinny. He just had that spark. That magnetic personality. The moment she first saw him, he seemed to glow from within. She imagined that this is what meeting a celebrity in person must feel like. He was like no one else she had ever met, and she was hooked the moment they locked eyes.
 

Charlie was a smooth talker, without being cliché. He could make you feel that you were the only person that mattered. Not only in the room, but in the whole world. He had danger in his eyes, there was no mistaking that. His eyes were a light brown that seemed to be lit up from the inside. The night they first met, they flashed with specks of gold and amber, and she thought they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen in her entire life. She later learned that they could turn black as tar in a flash.
 

Their chemistry was instantaneous and the relationship moved forward at a pace that worried her friends and family. She shrugged them off, telling herself that they didn't understand what it meant to really be in love. After 3 months, they had already moved in to his place - a run down 1 bedroom house on a dirt road, a road that had no name. Looking back, she admits to herself that she wasn't so fond of living "nowhere". How can you call your house a home if you live nowhere? At the time, though, she just called it romantic.
 

The first few months were paradise for her. Even the month they spent without electricity because Charlie said the "Goddamn Company had lost his payment." Who needed electricity? He would just buy his beer cold from the liquor store and drink it up before it got too warm, anyway. Charlie was very economical that way.
 

After a few months, when the phone was shut off, she asked Charlie if the bill had been paid. She always gave him her waitressing paycheck and all the tips she earned from the diner - that should certainly have been enough to at least cover the utility bills along with the groceries. His reply was a quick and hard punch to her cheek. She didn't even see it coming, and ended up on the floor, her tooth knocked loose. She knew Charlie had a temper. She shouldn't have questioned his ability to provide for her. Men have their pride.
 

He tossed a dirty dish towel on top of her, and told her to clean herself up. And while she was at, she should scrub the "Goddamn kitchen floor, since her Goddamn blood was all over the place." She heard the front door open and slam, and the car spraying dirt and rocks as Charlie put it in reverse and sped away. She lay there awhile, then got herself up to her knees. Her waitress uniform had spots of blood down the front and she tried to rinse it out before the stain set in too quickly. She couldn't afford a new uniform. Maybe she could place her name tag over the bigger spot. Or say that it was a pie stain. She'd think of something. She had in the past.

****

Time passed, months turned in to years. There were good times, she can't say there wasn't. The good times were always appreciated fully, since the bad times became more and more frequent.
 

4 years in to the relationship, she happened to catch a glance of a woman, her reflection appearing in the diner mirror that was behind the customer counter. In that brief moment, she felt automatic pity for the face she was looking at. In those seconds, she knew that the woman she was looking at was old beyond her years. That she had once been a pretty girl, but the pretty had been stolen. She could tell that the woman was merely surviving. It's amazing the thoughts that can float through ones head in microseconds. It took no time at all for her to realize that she was staring at her own reflection. In between the pity and the realization, though, a change had finally started.
 

She made a promise to herself, right there, staring at this strange face in the dirty reflection, that she was not going to live like this anymore. She made a promise to start saving her tips and start planning an escape
 

****

Charlie would never actually say he was sorry for his outbursts. He would come home with a trinket or two to show his remorse, without saying he was remorseful. A watch, a teddy bear, a small token of some sort.
 

A ring.
 

Charlie had suspected something was up. He had sensed a "change". So he did as he always did. He bought her a gift. A ring bent from a spoon. A ring that he said "Was a promise that I will always scoop you up." He thought this quite clever. She smiled to show she found him clever and sweet. It was a bit too small, so it skinned her knuckles as he pushed it down her finger. Even then he was beginning to lose his cool.
 

It's beautiful, she had told him.
 

****

She sat in the parking lot, still twirling her ring. Over time, the ring had loosened up and now spun on her skinny fingers. She had driven 50 miles at least, and knew none of Charlie's friends would be way out here. She had saved enough money, and the car was in decent shape to take her where she needed to go. But where was that? Where was her final destination?
 

She decided to check into the Riverside Motel and figure things out. It was turning cold and she couldn't sit in the car all night deciding her next move.
 

She got a single room for the night, in the dingy motel on the highway and turned the radio on. Charlie never let her listen to the radio. He always said those "Goddamn people don't know how to make Goddamn music." Charlie was a failed musician and had nothing but scorn for those who actually received airplay.
 

The thought of this made her get up and start dancing. Swaying, really. She hadn't danced in years and it felt so good. She felt free.
 

She didn't know what her next move would be, but she knew wherever it took her, it wouldn't be to a road with no-name.
 

 

 

Hold On, by Tom Waits