Page 52 of Whiskey Lullaby
“I got a truck, who needs aroad.”
The pasture dumped out onto a dirt road and just as soon as we turned onto it, Noah took a hard left onto a gravel drive. A goat skipped in front of the truck, stopping and staring at the headlights. Noah honked the horn, waving his arm out the window. “Go on,Marvin!”
On one side of the long drive sat a shotgun house, the yard littered with tires and metal barrels, and then we pulled up in front of a small house with white siding and forest green shutters. The engine cut off and Noah sighed. “Yep, he’s out there. He’s got a mouth on him, alright. He’s justold…”
“It’s fine.” Ilaughed.
As soon as he opened his door, a deep chuckle came from across the yard. When I stepped out and shut my door, I noticed an old man push up from a lawn chair and shuffle toward the chain-link fence. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” he said before turning up a beer can. “You gots you a lady friend, ain’tya?”
“Yeah, Old Man.” Noah rounded the car, placed his hand on the small of my back and moved me toward the frontporch.
“If I can give ya someadvice.”
“I’d rather you not,” Noahmumbled.
“I been with my fair share of ladies, and they like it when you fiddle with their clit, you know play fiddlesticks with good ole’ Satan’sdoorbell.”
Covering my mouth, I choked on a laugh as we climbed the few steps to the door. Noah rammed the key in the lock and pushed the dooropen.
“Alright, Old Man, thanks for the advice.” Noah practically shoved me inside the darkhouse.
“Ya get the deepest when you do ‘em from behind like a poodle in heat and thenyou—”
Bam. Noah slammed the door shut and flipped the light switch. “Fuck me, I toldyou.”
I burst out in laughter. “He’s kindafunny.”
“He’s kinda something alright.” He crossed the small room, snatching up a beer can and an empty bag of Cheetos. The inside of his house was bare, all that was in the living room was a floral couch and wooden side table, and a guitar propped in the corner. I could tell he was embarrassed by the way he was walking around trying to tidy a room that didn’t need tidying because that’s what Momma always did when she was nervous or embarrassed. “It’s not much, but it’shome.”
“I think it’sgreat.”
He gave me a smug nod. I crossed the room and picked up his guitar, then sat on the edge of the couch and strummed my fingers over the tight strings. “You know, I wanted to take guitar lessons, but I did the pianoinstead.”
“God, I’d love to play the piano.” He sat down, stretching one arm across the back of the couch and flipping the tips of my hair with hishand.
“They say if you learn one instrument it’s not hard to pick up on others…” I plucked a fewnotes.
“Well, I neverlearnedtheguitar.”
“What?”
“I taught myself, so I can’t readmusic.”
“How in the world did you teach yourself?” I thought about how he played on the stage with such ease like it was second-nature. I figured someone who played like that had taken years oflessons.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I just… listened to the songs I like. Really listened and picked out thenotes.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.” I shoved the guitar into his lap. “Playsomething.”
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” He grinned as he sat up and adjusted the guitar in his lap. “What do you want me toplay?”
“I don’t know, surpriseme.”
“Oh, come on now, you can’t do that tome.”
“Fine,” I said. “Your favorite song. Sing me your favoritesong.”
“So now I’m singingtoo?”
