Hey, someone wrote a story that sounded familiar to me.

[KB.]

She said I could share since it was mine.





Robert Johnson Wasn't the Only Man to Ever Stumble Upon a Crossroad

Thaddaeus stood in the center of the universe. His belly was full from the crispy chicken sandwich that he had devoured only an hour earlier. His heart was full of an unknown hope that somehow found its way to him. His mind was full of illusions of sunshine, blue skies, and Willie nelson on a horse under the stars. He had come to a place he'd never seen before. He had always liked to spend his days in his brick and hardwood fortress. He spent his nights wrapped up in thoughts of a woman with a flower in her hair. But for some reason, he had felt the overwhelming urge to roam today. He had no idea of what was in store for him.

Thadd was much older than his father was when he became more than just a twinkle in his eye. He had started to wonder if he'd ever get to see his own sparkle come to life. He was growing weary from his aimless quests to, what seemed to him, take him nowhere. He was happy that he'd found this little corner of the world and the people that made it feel like home for awhile. How could he not be glad to have met some of the people that he was now able to call family? The thing that bothered him most, were his shoes. He remembered the days when he was happy wearing his old "gangsta Boks", but now he enjoyed wearing Kenneth Coles. He knew his feet were tired of running, and he looked down at his feet, trying to figure out just why those old faithfuls were hurting him now. The shoes were brown and scuffed. There were wrinkles on the top, much like the ones starting to show around his temples. Neither of those things ever bothered Thadd. He felt they added character.

He decided to leave the fortress that day and wander around a bit in the cool, crisp Spring air. Maybe he could see something new; little did he know that what he was in store for would be more enlightening than ol' Robert Johnson himself having a conversation with the devil on that sticky Mississippi day. He walked slowly, humming the lyrics to an old Isley Brothers tune. Something bright and yellow caught his eye at the end of a desolate alley. Upon closer examination, and giving in to the temptation of exploring that alley, he saw a single Daffodil. He wanted to pick it and take it home with him, but he was much too thoughtful for that. What happened next was enough to take the breath from this story telling, hazel-eyed man. It even kept him speechless for a moment. When he looked up from the flower, he was standing at what could be loosely interpretated, as his own crossroad.

He wasn't in the "almost ghetto" of the city anymore. Instead, he found himself at the beginning of two paths. He chuckled a little to himself, thinking of his brother's love for Robert Frost's Two Roads poem. One path looked like the gateway to Heaven on earth. The other reminded him of the "route", and he was sure there were little-kid eating werewolves somewhere down that road. Somehow, he was still standing there wondering which way to go. The first one looked so inviting, and he was sure he'd only been to a place like that in his dreams. The other was also intriguing, because he knew it had a story to be told as well.

He looked up, perhaps to get a sign, or perhaps to think. He saw there were signs above both paths. The first one read, "Omnia iam fient quae posse negabam"; the other, "Nihil est ab omni parte beatum." Oh, how he wished he would have brushed up on his Latin, or at least have Google on speed dial. He decided to take a journey into what seemed to be his own version of Heaven. Why not, he'd been the other way, far too many times? He took off those old wrinkled shoes, and decided to venture barefoot.

Upon his first step into the lushness and tranquility, a feeling of contentment overwhelmed his entire being. He immediately started feeling like a man again. He felt strong, and rested. He felt full and able. He felt his heart pounding, and almost broke into a semi-trot. He paused, and reminded himself to slow walk it. He strolled though trees, and flowers, and little creeks nestled in the hilly landscape. As he approached the row of weeping willows shading his path, he noticed that there was something hanging from the branches. There were hundreds and hundreds of pictures suspended of them. The first set, seemed to go together nicely. There had to be at least 20 different portraits of long, womanly legs. He even recognized a few of them. There was a set that were golden brown, and so sweet they could have tasted like 3 am fresh Krispy Kremes. There were a set that were strong; they looked as if they'd been pushing a boulder up a hill and over again, hundreds upon hundreds of times. The last one caused him to stop dead in his tracks. Those legs looked like the tallest Caramel-flavored white Russian that would surely inebriate him if he got close enough. Damn, that devil pancreas! It had some vile hatred for him. They reminded him of legs that would most definitely belong to a muse. He wiped a tear from his eyes and continued to walk.

There were plenty more pictures to look at, and he did so, allowing each one the time and admiration they deserved. He saw a picture of his granddaddy. It had to have been taken sometime between when he first met that short woman he loved for so long, and days looking for potatoes. He looked so handsome and content. There were pictures of people in Hawaiian shirts, and matrimonial bliss. There were ones of children that closely resembled old friends. There were pictures of the most virtuous women he'd ever laid eyes on. There was even one of his daddy; that big old teddy bear. In the photo, he was writing a letter, and he was wearing a uniform. Thadd figured that it had to have been a candid shot, when he was writing to the woman that somehow made him want to write a letter a day. It was the only way that he'd have ever been on that side of the camera.

When he looked back down the road, back towards the steps he'd already taken, he noticed that all the pictures were now sepia toned. That was his favorite, and he smiled. He pressed on. He wasn't humming anymore; it was more of a soft solo-his own rendition of Temptation. He passed by an old red barn. He felt loved. He saw and old country church and fields of buttercups.

As night began to fall, and the whistling birds started their slumber, the air was still. He could only hear the thoughts in his head. He sat down to give himself a shot. The journey was so sweet. He had to have 3 shots so far. He sat on a rock beside a tiny gnome. It was pretty clear that he considered punting the gnome over the hill, but the poor fella (the gnome, not Thadd) must have had his share of Jameson that day, so Thadd let the statue be. He was caught off guard by the sound of a piano. It sounded like a Southern Baptist Benediction Hymn compared to the train whistles and drunken morons that usually kept him awake at night. The notes were faint, but it was no doubt from a piano. He hoped Norah Jones was stroking the keys. She played them all so well, not just the black ones.

The sound of what could possibly be a siren was all the encouragement he needed to continue along. There was still a chance it would be an unclothed Norah, and he wasn't about to pass that up. As he walked toward the melody, it got louder and sweeter, all the while. By this time, he was running. He was running hard and fast. He was 70 pounds lighter than the last time he'd tried running, and it was much easier on his poor knees now.

Night was all around him. The stars were so evident in the night sky; he didn't need that lighter in his pocket to find his way. He went over hills, and rocks and grass. He even passed one evil looking armadillo. When he got to the top of the tallest hill he had climbed all day, he saw her. There she was, flesh and blood, that raven-haired beauty that he had hoped and wished for and had thought had never, ever been born. There she was sitting on that piano bench. She was wearing a white tank top and her hair was wet and a deep lustrous color of coal. It fell a few inches past the sun-loved skin of her shoulders. He thought how strong those shoulders looked in the moon light. They could no doubt, carry him and anyone else he chose to bring a long for the ride.

He stepped gently toward the woman. He sat down on the bench beside her and played the black keys. He couldn't even play the piano, but somehow, the notes went perfectly with the tune she was playing. They sat together in the night, and played the songs. Finally, this woman, Loreley he called her, looked over at Thadd. He had dreaded this moment even before he even saw her there. She looked into his eyes, and past all the fear, stubbornness and unfinished stories he had swimming in his head. She looked into his soul. She spoke, and he trembled. The first couple of minutes, he didn't hear a thing she said; only the sounds the words made as they nibbled his ear lobes. Finally, he pulled himself together and realized she was loving him out loud. She told him a few of her stories, and told him not to worry. She explained to him about the journey he had had that day. She told him, that he was never to have taken the other road that day. No matter which way he would have chosen, both paths would have taken him to this moment with her on the hill, under the stars, sitting on that piano bench. Perhaps he would have gotten a different view and a few different details for stories that he would one day want to tell, but that wasn't the point. She quoted Ovid, "Be patient and tough; some day this pain will be useful to you."



Loreley kissed him on his cheek, gave him one crazy eye for the road, and in an instant, he was standing back at that crossroad beneath to Latin signs. The first one had changed. It now read, "Non ignara mali, miseris svccvrrere disco." He wanted to venture down that path again, and see if Loreley was still there playing her piano and luring him away from the less fortunate ones he was bound to take in. He wanted to see if he could talk her into singing Heart of Mine for him. He wanted to lay in her arms for a moment. He wanted to ask her if she liked tomatos or if she'd ever read All Over But the Shoutin'. He wanted to know if he could talk to her sometime when he needed her again.



He fell to the ground in pain. His head was aching; his eyes were red and full of tears, begging to be let out. His heart was starting to feel weak again. Thadd pulled himself up and took a deep breath. He paced around in circles for what seemed like 1,876 miles. He had almost given up and started to search for that alley he had wondered down. He put his hands in his pocket to reach for a smoke. The Mediums weren't there. Instead he found an envelope. "Oh dear lord," he thought. Nothing he had ever gotten in an envelope had turned out to be good news. Inside he found three things: a dozen tomato seeds, a letter to someone named Melopomene and a letter to him. He read the letter to Melopomene first, and let those tears flow like the Forked Deer after a West Tennessee rain storm. Loreley had never met Melopomene, but she loved her, and wanted Thadd to give her a piece of Loreley's heart. She explained it was too big for her own good sometimes, and the only thing she could figure would make it better for all three of them was to share some of the hope and strength that Melopomene had trouble finding for herself from time to time.



Then he took a long breath before reading that letter that she had written him. "Love does not know order," prefaced it. It was more beautiful than any of the things she said on that bench. It was so sincere and so close to his own thoughts that it took him back for a moment. It talked about sirens, and muses, and new friends, old knees, wrinkles, chicken sandwiches, Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson, Kate's role in Doc's life, going to California or Idaho (or wherever you can find women with flowers in their hair), and big headed hazel-eyed babies. Of course there was a quote. Loreley loved quotes and knew that Thadd did as well. "But let there be spaces in your togetherness and let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls," she quoted Gibran. How did she know he loved Gibran? Was she part of his soul that was missing? Where had this woman been hiding and why was she telling him that she was only a stop on his way?

Thadd woke up in a familiar place. He was home. It wasn't necessarily because he was in a place that had a Chow Wagon, or because his parents were just a hollar away. It was because he could now do the things he needed to do. Things he needed to do for a long-legged blonde waitress and her son, and most importantly, things he needed to do for his old friend KB.

[KB.]

Lots of allusions to things I write about in that, she always did pay attention. If you don't get them scroll down to the next story or twelve for footnotes.