Post by Murdoc on Apr 9, 2006 0:27:37 GMT -5
Only thing I ever wanted...
...was a jukebox.
An honest-to-God, sho'nuff jukebox. One o' them light-up ones you see in bars nowadays. I don't mean any reg'lar jukebox neither. I'm talkin' one o' the ones that's been sittin' in some cheap, dive bar for the last five, ten years. Jukebox that plays nothin' but Johnny Cash...
...Loretta Lynn...
...Bill Anderson and Jeannie Pruitt...
...Willie Nelson...
...and them Osbourne Brothers.
(He could hear the sound even before he fully opened the door. That clear, deep voice...ringing out as sharp as a bell. And once the door was opened completely, he could see it all again as clear and as vivid as the night that it happened, which was odd. Considering he was only...)
(...8 years old. It was Christmastime, and the entire family was gathered about. Christmastime was always special around the Murdoc household. The adults of the family all got together and decided it was a nice thing to do to get the little ones, including himself, a little something before Santa Claus came 'round. Something that would hopefully sate otherwise insatiable appetites for toys and knick-knacks of all shapes and colors.)
(Most of the children had either gone off on their ways to play with the newly unwrapped gifts, or had simply fallen asleep through the sheer exhaustion of the day's festivities. The adults were content to sit in the living room and chatter amiably about the normal grown-up things. Money matters, for the most part...but every so often talking about fellow family members, plans for the next family get-together. Typical adult conversations among a typical family.)
(Except him. The sight of his bristling mustache moving lightly as his lips moved to speak, the lights from the decorated Christmas tree across the room shining brightly in his eyes...you seemed to be able to become mesmerized in those vibrant and brilliant eyes. Leaned back in his worn in, brown leather Lay-Z-Boy recliner, a beer in one hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips...the ashes threatening to crash to his lap until, at the last moment, he scooped up the ashtray to catch them.)
But Paw! A jukebox sounds kinda silly!
(The older man looking down, looking and listening intently at the small child setting comfortably at the foot of his chair. Staring up with those big, steel colored eyes, his voice soft because he knew to speak too loudly would wake the other children...and he really didn't wish to run and jump and play at this time of night.)
A jukebox! Well, if'n you have that kinda money, why don'tcha use it on something that could be USED? Like uhm...well, like the wheels on your truck! They sound something AWFUL, Paw...like they's about to fall right off!
Pard, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Come on in closer...
I'm ALWAYS gonna have something that I NEED, you know. I'm always gonna have a house payment...or truck fixin's..or a broke television...(The child looked visibly shaken by this thought.)...but that jukebox may not be on my list of wants for that long.
It's good to be able to buy a thing or two from time to time that don't really SERVE no reason. Like that ol' jukebox. Can't do it ALL the time...but sometimes...it's good to be able to look across the room, point at that corner over there and say 'Yep...that's MY jukebox..'
(Looking over to the corner that had been beckoned towards, the child stares for the longest time. His head tilted to the left ever so slightly...much like a dog who has heard a sound that doesn't quite make sense and is struggling to try and figure it out. Finally, his eyes squint a bit as he turns back.)
Paw...I don't think that ol' jukebox can GO there. There ain't a plug-in over there...!
Well...we can fix that, can't we? Get an extension cord and FIND a socket over there. We'd have to move that ol' sewing machine, but we can do that can't we?
Sure we can, I'll help! And I think we got a cord at home, a big ol' LONG one that we ain't usin'...I'll bring it next time and see if we can fit it. How's that sound, Paw?
Sounds like a plan to me, pardner...
(And just like that...it was gone. The sounds of Christmastime was gone, the sight of trees and cookies and cakes and children and family...all gone. In its' stead...was an old house. Not just was old, but looked every bit of it. Thin layers of dust covering the pictures hanging on the wall, giving them a yellowish color. The air seemed to be heavy, oppressive in its' dreary aura.)
(The family couch was old. Tattered and old. The olive green upholstery was certainly showing its' age...yet he can remember with great clarity how at one time, that very same couch was a bright lime green color. Had it really been around that long? He didn't want to believe it. The house was dark, thanks in part to the curtain the covered the sliding glass door in the dining room. Actually...it wasn't a curtain, just a navy-blue blanket doubling as a curtain.)
(His legs instinctively beginning to carry him that way, his boots thump softly on the tiled panel floor. He could literally hear the beams beneath him creak, imagining the dust-storm being kicked up in the basement. Having to step over a few things...random magazines strewn about the floor, a section of newspaper...even that old sewing machine he had to find a way to maneuver around before he made it to the glass panel.)
PAW! Come look what I found! Quick, hurry up before I lose him!
(Hm?)
What is it you got there, buddy?
Come here and take a look f'r yourself!
(Biting at his bottom lip tightly, his fingers curl around the edge of the blanket and pull the flap back from the glass. The sunlight streaming in, he squints heavily as he attempts to look out the door. All he can manage to see is two silhouettes. One, again child-sized...the other, a towering figure. Much like he remembered. The day was hot...and it could be seen quite clearly with the waves of heat rising from the deck surface.)
Where'd you find 'im?
He was hippety-hoppin' around the porch...I been chasin' him for a good long time while you were off feedin' the dogs!
Well what are we gonna DO with 'im?
I wanna keep 'im, but I don't have no place to put 'im!
Well I tell you what. Why don't you go in the house, go talk to Maw and ask her for a big ol' jar. Have her help you poke holes in the lid, then we can find some leaves and grass and sticks and stuff, and you can put 'im in there. We'll catch some bugs for 'im to eat later. Sound good, buddy?
MAAAAAAAW! Find a JARRRRRR!
(The small silhouette running towards the glass door, he lets out a sharp gasp and lets the flap of blue fabric fall back into place, plunging the house back into darkness once more. He couldn't bear it anymore. His eyes shutting, eyelids clenching tightly as he covers them with his hands as well. He could feel the tears beginning to spring to his eyes. His head shaking back and forth violently, he swore himself he wouldn't do this. He would be every bit the man he was raised to be. Every bit the fighter, every bit the warrior, every bit the-)
And you can have it all...
(...all time seems to stop. Reality and the fabric of space seems to warp. Even the wristwatch on his arm seems to stop ticking. His hands dropping from his eyes slowly, he can't even bring himself to open his eyes just yet...the tears welling within still threatening to roll down his cheeks.)
...my empire of dirt.
(Finally, his eyes flutter open...a glassy, wet look shining even in the dark as he stares across the room. That old jukebox, nestled snugly in the corner and lighting up, its' neon lights brightening an otherwise dark living room. His legs beginning to carry him across the beige carpet as he finally comes to stand in front of the now-alive music box. His own face reflecting back at him in the glass, he lets a single hand raise up to press softly against the crystalline surface.)
I will let you down...
(His eyes growing heavy, his fingertips begin to lightly dance along the edges of the glass and the lights, tracing the neon rivulets with an almost instinctive motion. His eyes unable to hold back now, he can feel a single tear drop and begin to roll down his cheek. Turning his head away, he couldn't bear to let his tears fall onto the jukebox. His Paw had been so proud of that thing, it was the ONLY thing in the house that didn't seem to have a coating of dust. He couldn't bear to change that. It was only...fitting.)
...I will make you hurt.
(Sniffling a bit, his eyes red and puffy...he begins to furiously wipe at the tears staining his cheeks. Pursing his lips softly...he has had enough of this. No more. He can't stand being in this house. Not with the lingering spectre plaguing his thoughts. Shaking his head, he quickly turns his head back to the doorway and finds his way to it...his feet seeming to drag along the carpeting.)
(Grabbing hold of the doorknob tightly as he steps onto the front porch, his knees fail him and his legs grow weak as the door shuts. The metallic click of the tumblers falling into place, he takes almost an ethereal cue as his body crashes to the cement stoop. His hand still clutching tightly at the doorknob...it was now that his sobs began to fill the otherwise peaceful day.)
(Tears running down his cheeks, his free hand resting against his brow now as finally, the well of emotion within him finally bursts free...like a dam crashed against, crashed against until its' supports can take no more.)
Only thing I ever wanted...
...my empire of dirt.
...was a jukebox.
An honest-to-God, sho'nuff jukebox. One o' them light-up ones you see in bars nowadays. I don't mean any reg'lar jukebox neither. I'm talkin' one o' the ones that's been sittin' in some cheap, dive bar for the last five, ten years. Jukebox that plays nothin' but Johnny Cash...
...Loretta Lynn...
...Bill Anderson and Jeannie Pruitt...
...Willie Nelson...
...and them Osbourne Brothers.
(He could hear the sound even before he fully opened the door. That clear, deep voice...ringing out as sharp as a bell. And once the door was opened completely, he could see it all again as clear and as vivid as the night that it happened, which was odd. Considering he was only...)
(...8 years old. It was Christmastime, and the entire family was gathered about. Christmastime was always special around the Murdoc household. The adults of the family all got together and decided it was a nice thing to do to get the little ones, including himself, a little something before Santa Claus came 'round. Something that would hopefully sate otherwise insatiable appetites for toys and knick-knacks of all shapes and colors.)
(Most of the children had either gone off on their ways to play with the newly unwrapped gifts, or had simply fallen asleep through the sheer exhaustion of the day's festivities. The adults were content to sit in the living room and chatter amiably about the normal grown-up things. Money matters, for the most part...but every so often talking about fellow family members, plans for the next family get-together. Typical adult conversations among a typical family.)
(Except him. The sight of his bristling mustache moving lightly as his lips moved to speak, the lights from the decorated Christmas tree across the room shining brightly in his eyes...you seemed to be able to become mesmerized in those vibrant and brilliant eyes. Leaned back in his worn in, brown leather Lay-Z-Boy recliner, a beer in one hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips...the ashes threatening to crash to his lap until, at the last moment, he scooped up the ashtray to catch them.)
But Paw! A jukebox sounds kinda silly!
(The older man looking down, looking and listening intently at the small child setting comfortably at the foot of his chair. Staring up with those big, steel colored eyes, his voice soft because he knew to speak too loudly would wake the other children...and he really didn't wish to run and jump and play at this time of night.)
A jukebox! Well, if'n you have that kinda money, why don'tcha use it on something that could be USED? Like uhm...well, like the wheels on your truck! They sound something AWFUL, Paw...like they's about to fall right off!
Pard, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Come on in closer...
I'm ALWAYS gonna have something that I NEED, you know. I'm always gonna have a house payment...or truck fixin's..or a broke television...(The child looked visibly shaken by this thought.)...but that jukebox may not be on my list of wants for that long.
It's good to be able to buy a thing or two from time to time that don't really SERVE no reason. Like that ol' jukebox. Can't do it ALL the time...but sometimes...it's good to be able to look across the room, point at that corner over there and say 'Yep...that's MY jukebox..'
(Looking over to the corner that had been beckoned towards, the child stares for the longest time. His head tilted to the left ever so slightly...much like a dog who has heard a sound that doesn't quite make sense and is struggling to try and figure it out. Finally, his eyes squint a bit as he turns back.)
Paw...I don't think that ol' jukebox can GO there. There ain't a plug-in over there...!
Well...we can fix that, can't we? Get an extension cord and FIND a socket over there. We'd have to move that ol' sewing machine, but we can do that can't we?
Sure we can, I'll help! And I think we got a cord at home, a big ol' LONG one that we ain't usin'...I'll bring it next time and see if we can fit it. How's that sound, Paw?
Sounds like a plan to me, pardner...
(And just like that...it was gone. The sounds of Christmastime was gone, the sight of trees and cookies and cakes and children and family...all gone. In its' stead...was an old house. Not just was old, but looked every bit of it. Thin layers of dust covering the pictures hanging on the wall, giving them a yellowish color. The air seemed to be heavy, oppressive in its' dreary aura.)
(The family couch was old. Tattered and old. The olive green upholstery was certainly showing its' age...yet he can remember with great clarity how at one time, that very same couch was a bright lime green color. Had it really been around that long? He didn't want to believe it. The house was dark, thanks in part to the curtain the covered the sliding glass door in the dining room. Actually...it wasn't a curtain, just a navy-blue blanket doubling as a curtain.)
(His legs instinctively beginning to carry him that way, his boots thump softly on the tiled panel floor. He could literally hear the beams beneath him creak, imagining the dust-storm being kicked up in the basement. Having to step over a few things...random magazines strewn about the floor, a section of newspaper...even that old sewing machine he had to find a way to maneuver around before he made it to the glass panel.)
PAW! Come look what I found! Quick, hurry up before I lose him!
(Hm?)
What is it you got there, buddy?
Come here and take a look f'r yourself!
(Biting at his bottom lip tightly, his fingers curl around the edge of the blanket and pull the flap back from the glass. The sunlight streaming in, he squints heavily as he attempts to look out the door. All he can manage to see is two silhouettes. One, again child-sized...the other, a towering figure. Much like he remembered. The day was hot...and it could be seen quite clearly with the waves of heat rising from the deck surface.)
Where'd you find 'im?
He was hippety-hoppin' around the porch...I been chasin' him for a good long time while you were off feedin' the dogs!
Well what are we gonna DO with 'im?
I wanna keep 'im, but I don't have no place to put 'im!
Well I tell you what. Why don't you go in the house, go talk to Maw and ask her for a big ol' jar. Have her help you poke holes in the lid, then we can find some leaves and grass and sticks and stuff, and you can put 'im in there. We'll catch some bugs for 'im to eat later. Sound good, buddy?
MAAAAAAAW! Find a JARRRRRR!
(The small silhouette running towards the glass door, he lets out a sharp gasp and lets the flap of blue fabric fall back into place, plunging the house back into darkness once more. He couldn't bear it anymore. His eyes shutting, eyelids clenching tightly as he covers them with his hands as well. He could feel the tears beginning to spring to his eyes. His head shaking back and forth violently, he swore himself he wouldn't do this. He would be every bit the man he was raised to be. Every bit the fighter, every bit the warrior, every bit the-)
And you can have it all...
(...all time seems to stop. Reality and the fabric of space seems to warp. Even the wristwatch on his arm seems to stop ticking. His hands dropping from his eyes slowly, he can't even bring himself to open his eyes just yet...the tears welling within still threatening to roll down his cheeks.)
...my empire of dirt.
(Finally, his eyes flutter open...a glassy, wet look shining even in the dark as he stares across the room. That old jukebox, nestled snugly in the corner and lighting up, its' neon lights brightening an otherwise dark living room. His legs beginning to carry him across the beige carpet as he finally comes to stand in front of the now-alive music box. His own face reflecting back at him in the glass, he lets a single hand raise up to press softly against the crystalline surface.)
I will let you down...
(His eyes growing heavy, his fingertips begin to lightly dance along the edges of the glass and the lights, tracing the neon rivulets with an almost instinctive motion. His eyes unable to hold back now, he can feel a single tear drop and begin to roll down his cheek. Turning his head away, he couldn't bear to let his tears fall onto the jukebox. His Paw had been so proud of that thing, it was the ONLY thing in the house that didn't seem to have a coating of dust. He couldn't bear to change that. It was only...fitting.)
...I will make you hurt.
(Sniffling a bit, his eyes red and puffy...he begins to furiously wipe at the tears staining his cheeks. Pursing his lips softly...he has had enough of this. No more. He can't stand being in this house. Not with the lingering spectre plaguing his thoughts. Shaking his head, he quickly turns his head back to the doorway and finds his way to it...his feet seeming to drag along the carpeting.)
(Grabbing hold of the doorknob tightly as he steps onto the front porch, his knees fail him and his legs grow weak as the door shuts. The metallic click of the tumblers falling into place, he takes almost an ethereal cue as his body crashes to the cement stoop. His hand still clutching tightly at the doorknob...it was now that his sobs began to fill the otherwise peaceful day.)
(Tears running down his cheeks, his free hand resting against his brow now as finally, the well of emotion within him finally bursts free...like a dam crashed against, crashed against until its' supports can take no more.)
Only thing I ever wanted...
...my empire of dirt.
-FIN-
www.bedsttilfest.dk/Billeder/jukebox3.jpg
*For Paw Bill : I only wish I could've gotten you that jukebox, though I know you have your own now.*
~R.I.P. April 2nd, 2006~
www.bedsttilfest.dk/Billeder/jukebox3.jpg
*For Paw Bill : I only wish I could've gotten you that jukebox, though I know you have your own now.*
~R.I.P. April 2nd, 2006~
