Rock-a-Billie Blues

One

One year.

It had been one year and I was fed up with the sad faces. I'd had enough of the daily reminders from friends and family that she was gone. My wife of twenty years, my Adrianne, was gone.

Photographs covered every conceivable surface. Her knickknacks from decades of travel were crammed into every nook and cranny in our one bedroom apartment in the heart of Melbourne. Our safe haven from the hustle and bustle of the city, not that it had bothered her that much.

Sitting at the breakfast bar each morning, the walls moved in closer. They moved inch by inch as my focus shifted away, threatening to crush me with the memory of my saving grace. The already small space invoked apprehension, I was completely claustrophobic.

Visitors avoided this place, and I didn't have much incentive to invite them in either. As soon as they looked at the shrine, they'd follow it up with a look at me, that look of pity. I didn't want it, their misplaced sympathy doesn't bring her back, so what use was it?

The junk accumulated. I was afraid that anything I chucked away of hers would make me forget her. My family ended up hiring a cleaning lady, worried that I was reaching hermit status in the months after. That went down like a lead balloon, too early for the intrusion, no warning given. In hindsight, I might've overreacted...

I called the cleaning lady a fucking meddlesome cow and told her to get the fuck out of my house. She tried to throw out one of Adrianne's favorite biros.

I couldn't care less if it was dried up, it wasn't her place.

So, after that successful human interaction, gradual shut down from the outside world was my coping mechanism of choice. First I stopped volunteering extra time at the school where I worked, the other music teacher stepping in and taking over projects that seemed so precious to me before.

Then I stopped going to social functions with our shared friend group. Adrianne had always been my connection to the outside world in that regard. I wasn't quite sure how to talk to them without her. She was always the one to lead the conversation. It just didn't feel right without her there, nothing was right anymore.

My new routine ensued: get up, go to work, eat, come home to my untouched apartment then, sleep. Anything else that veered off that reminded me of her; going to concerts, browsing the vintage vinyl store down the street, gigging with my band. All the things that had once given me joy ripped at my soul. It had felt so wrong to enjoy life when hers was cut so short.

But, I knew this wasn't healthy. 

Something had to be done. I needed to do something drastic, break free and start living again.

Without too much thought, I packed my bags, put my apartment on the market and headed for the first mountain town that came up in my google search- Lawson.

A little town nestled in the Blue Mountains, a time capsule of a place. A nostalgic reflection of eras gone by. The photos sucked me straight in, the natural landscape speckled with small cottages that hadn't changed in decades. Somewhere I could start all over, try and be me again.

Grunting at the screen, impatience being one of my less flattering traits, I shut my current window and opened a new one. The employment site was taking a ridiculously long time to load, but it eventually came up with the job search screen. I typed Lawson into the location bar and a head of music position turned up at Francis Greenway High. The stars were aligning.

As soon as I sent through my CV I got an immediate response, keen for me to start. That weekend, I decided to take my crappy little shit box and get to know my new home.

Surprisingly, my car made it up the mountain, feeling like it was on a ninety degree angle at times. The moment I found level land, I parked next to a quaint, little antique store.

As I stepped out of the car, I let the cool, crisp air fill my lungs. So fresh, so rejuvenating, void of all the pollutants I'd learned to ignore back home. The street had a couple of mum'n'pop shops, all re-purposed, heritage-listed buildings. If I'd zoned out for a minute, I would've missed it. I looked down the road to see a man walking down the street, walking. No rush, no urgency to him at all.

This is going to be good.

Closing my eyes, I could hear the ever faint sounds of Bluegrass music. My heart fluttered at the idea of wandering down the quiet streets toward the lively bass. But, hesitation anchored me, so used to depriving myself of the things I loved.

No more.

The music was my compass, leading me to the promised land. Homely smells permeated the air the closer I got. That distinct smell of roast meats and yeast mixed together, holy shit, my mouth watered. The idea of a meal purely consisting of meat and beer tugged at my lips. It had been a long time since I'd had a meal that wasn't activated with boiling water or out of a freezer, that's for damn sure.

When I reached the football field, a sense of ease ebbed over me. A cacophony of music melded together. People laughed, drunk, sang, awakening my senses. I hadn't realized how much I missed it until this moment.

Flicking my head towards the closest vendor, my eyes widened at the vast array of menu items. I browsed the selection before picking a fresh baguette with pork and stewed apple, with a old brew to accompany it.

The lady who served me was one of the most hospitable people I'd ever met, nothing was too much trouble. She was bursting with pleases and thank yous, leaning in to me as she handed over my lunch. "Hope you enjoy there darlin'! It's my auntie's recipe." She exited the truck and lead me to 'the best seats in the house.'

As I sat down on the flimsy, white garden chair the legs sank into the damp earth, giving me the perfect view of the main stage. At that point I was just looking at an empty stage, but even then I knew I was in for a treat. The entire construct was made with untreated and recycled timber. It looked so natural, like Mother Nature had decided to sprout it there herself.

I unrolled my sandwich, and took that first bite. It stuck with me. The rich moreish taste of that tender pork and sweet juicy apple. The obviously homemade baguette that soaked up everything. Each bite warmed me up, all the way to my extremities.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Before I knew it, the whole thing was gone. I was contentment personified, sipping my beer with a full stomach, there wasn't much I could think of to improve this moment. Legs crossed, casually waiting for the show to begin, I watched as two pimple-covered roadies scurried across the stage, preparing for the next act. The familiar rush coursed through my veins, anticipation for the live act had me buzzing.

Two young men followed in, one manned the double bass and the other the drums.

Then there was her.

She walked onto the stage with a slow sultry sway of her rounded hips. Her chocolate waves shimmered in the artificial light, an old beat-up Maton strapped to her front.

The world seemed to stop in that moment, as is time slowed to allow me to take her in. Her polka-dotted halter dress picked up the wind, flicking up and exposing her milky thighs.

Norma Jean, eat your heart out.

The alluring vixen stopped in front of the microphone. I held my breath, waiting for her to speak.

"Hey everyone, my name's Billie and I'd like to start this little set with a bang!"

Her voice was everything I could've dreamed of. She had the fullest, raspy-rich timbre, the kind you get from smoking one too many cigarettes. But she couldn't of been older than 25.

"He got me with a hook,
Those big bass notes,
Thunder in my chest,
Mmmm stuck in my throat..."

She kept me completely enthralled, watching her full, red lips curve so skilfully around every syllable. I was hard instantly.

It was in that very moment that she locked those large emerald peepers on me, winking before belting out the middle eight.

...I was so screwed.