Words From A Country Song Ch 01

I had a hare-brained idea of turning country songs into short stories and fleshing out the lyrics from my imagination. This is my first attempt. If it's well-received, I'll likely continue; each song a new chapter.

This one is based on the song

"Wait in the Truck."

It was written by Michael Hardy, Hunter Phelps, Jordan Schmidt, and Renee Blair. All credit to them.

Wait in the Truck

♫ ♬ ♫ ♬ ♫ ♬

Mike was cursing the rain, cursing the piece of shit defroster in his beat-up truck, cursing his boss for sending him on this job, cursing his damn life. Why was he still doing this? He peered through the fogged-up windshield, wiping futilely at it with a greasy napkin from the fast-food bag beside him. The last thing he'd had to eat since leaving home.

He cracked the window, trying to let some fresh air in, but it brought the driving rain with it too. "Fuck!" he shouted, cranking it back up slowly, the old mechanism clearly on its last legs.

For the hundredth time, he regretted that he didn't have a choice but to put up with this job, and old man Greeley's demands. Like this trip. It was Friday afternoon when Greely called him into his office.

"Mike, I need you to get to Shreveport and make a pickup. I need it right away. Get movin'."

Not like he had anything better to do. Debbie had left him nine months ago, saying she was tired of scraping by, tired of his traveling. Tired to death of

Greely

. Didn't matter that it wasn't his fault. Greeley said "Go," and that was it.

"I don't care, Mike. I'm just tired of everything. No, before you ask, I'm not cheating on you. I do love you, but it's not enough. I just can't go on like this. I'm sorry."

With her gone, what was the point of anything anymore? He was just going through the motions.

Now he was stuck driving through this damn thunderstorm in the middle of the night. He was beginning to think he might have missed his turn and was debating whether to turn around when he saw something that caused him to throw the wheel over, then slam on his brakes. The old pickup rocked one way, then the other, as Mike reversed the wheel to keep the tail end from hitting whatever it was that he'd seen. The back end broke loose, the worn tires losing their grip on the rain-slicked asphalt, and he wound up spinning 180 degrees, finally coming to a shuddering stop facing the way he'd come.

Knuckles white on the steering wheel, his breath coming in gasps, he stared out at the figure - it looked like a person now - standing in the middle of the road. Whoever it was, they hadn't even moved. Mike threw open the door. His adrenaline was pumping, and it came out of him as anger. He shouted at the person as he made his way toward them, both of them seemingly oblivious to the rain.

"What the hell are you doin', standin' out here in the middle of the goddamn road?" he hollered as he drew close. He was close enough now to see that it was a young woman, and at his tone, she flinched. No, Mike realized, she

cowered

. He was immediately contrite. "Hey, I'm sorry for yellin', you just scared the bejesus outa me. Are you okay?" he asked, more solicitously than before. She turned, and he saw her face. And then... the rest of her.

"Oh, fuck me," he whispered. Moving slowly, he reached out a hand. "Miss? You can't stand out here in the road. Can I take you somewhere?"

She just stared at him.

"My name's Mike. Can I at least get you in out of the rain?" Moving slowly, he very gently took her hand and she followed him mindlessly over to the truck.

He opened the door and said, "Go on, climb in." She did, and he hurried around to the driver's side. Mike reached behind the seat, grabbed the towel he kept there, and handed it to her. "Sorry I don't have any dry clothes, but I might have an old jacket you can put on," he told her, and she very quietly thanked him. She finished drying her face, and Mike saw the dark splotches on the towel as she started on her hair.

He took in the bruises and the cuts, and the bloodstained shirt she was wearing, and felt the rage building. He knew what had happened. He flashed back to his mother, crying in the kitchen. His father yelling. Her cries of pain. Just one of too many memories. He had been small, then. His fists tightened on the steering wheel, and he shook his head, trying to banish the past.

He glanced over at her. This poor girl didn't need a bunch of questions, however, there were a few things he

had

to ask.

"What's your name, honey?" he asked gently.

"J-Janey," she whispered.

"Is there somewhere you'd like me to take you, Janey? The police maybe?" he added gently.

Her eyes were wide, and she shook her head. "N-No, no police! I just... just fell down and scraped myself, that's all." But she wouldn't look at him.

"Okay, okay... what about the hospital?"

"Ain't got no insurance," she mumbled. "I'll be all right."

"Your call, honey. I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to."

Watching her sitting there, clutching the towel and trembling, Mike took a deep breath, keeping a tight leash on the fury that kept threatening to erupt.

"I just want to ask you one thing, okay?"

She stared at him with haunted eyes.

"Where is that sonofabitch?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want him to get involved. He just pulled the truck out of the road and turned in the seat to look at her. "Do you want to get away from him? Do you want to be free?"

She started to cry, and told him where to turn.

☈

Mike pulled the truck up in front of the double-wide. His anger was still there, but now it was overlaid with a paper-thin veneer of calm.

"Janey?"

"Please Mike, don't..."

"Janey, honey," he repeated, opening the truck door.

"Mike, no, he'll kill you!"

He reached under the seat, and her eyes went wide. "Oh my God..."

He locked eyes with her, and his gaze was filled with such tender sadness for her that she began to cry again. He had to look away before speaking.

"Wait in the truck. Just... wait in the truck."

His eyes changed. And he walked up the steps.

He pounded on the door of the trailer and listened. When he heard nothing, he pounded again. Still nothing. Finally, he raised one leg and hammered his heavy work boot against the doorknob. The flimsy sheet metal crumpled and the door flew open.

Mike slid into the trailer, head swiveling. Movement drew his eyes. He saw a greasy-haired guy in a wife beater, scrambling up off a ratty sofa, reaching for the shotgun that was leaning against it. Almost in slow motion, an empty whiskey bottle spun in circles on the floor.

Mike let the hammer drop.

☈

Janey jumped when she heard the shot, her tears starting afresh. She slid over behind the wheel, not knowing what to expect, then let out a gasp of relief when she saw Mike step out slowly onto the front stoop. He lit a cigarette from a pack he'd found inside, took a deep drag, then let it out. He sat on the top step and rested his elbows on his knees, gazing up at the sky.

Janey opened the door and limped over to him.

He turned his eyes to her. They were tender again. "He will never, ever hit you again," he said, and she thought his was the saddest voice she had ever heard.

She tentatively reached a hand toward him, and he smiled wearily. He scooched over, making room, and she sat down beside him. Gradually, her head lowered to rest against his shoulder.

They were still sitting there, his arm around her, when the police arrived.

☈

At the trial, Janey was so brave. She had to be, for his sake. She told the judge and jury everything. The years of abuse, how she wound up in the road, how Mike had saved her. He was her hero, and she would be forever grateful for what he did.

"Maybe he's not an angel. But then again, maybe he is. I was praying for someone to save me, and there he was. No one else would have done what he did. No one. Please, have mercy."

The jurors were nodding, which was a hopeful sign. But it was an election year, and the DA wanted a conviction. His public defender tried his best, but Mike wound up with an eight-year sentence, eligible for parole in five. It could have been much, much worse.

Janey visited him regularly. Mike had insisted on loaning - she swore she'd pay him back - enough money to get back on her feet. She never wanted to go back to the trailer, so he offered her his little house to live in.

She cried through the glass. "It's too much, Mike!"

"You need a fresh start. You deserve it, so no more arguing, okay?"

He lived for the days she came to see him, and to see how happy she was to be able to tell him about the things that she'd done, and the progress she was making, like her new job, and the night school classes she was taking. He was especially pleased to hear how she loved the little house.

In turn, he told her how proud he was of her, how beautiful she looked now, and how impressed he was that she was turning her life around.

"Janey, honey, your visits make my time here bearable. When I see you, there's a brightness about you now, and you've come so far from the girl I picked up that night. It makes everything worth it."

"It's because of you that I have that chance," she said softly, a tear tracking down one cheek. "You were there for me when I needed you, and now I'm gonna be there for you."

"You don't owe me a thing, honey."

"Well, we're gonna have to agree to disagree on that, but that's not why I keep comin' to see you." And the smile she gave him caused something inside him, something he thought was long dead, start to beat again.

☈

It was a bright, sunny day when Mike finally walked through the parole gate. He squinted up at the sky, a small smile on his face.

He heard a honk, and turned to see a familiar face in the driver's seat of a familiar vehicle.

"Need a ride, mister?" the grinning face asked.

"Not sure, does that piece of junk actually run?" he grinned back.

The smile faded, and Janey - of course it was Janey - said seriously, "It hasn't let me down yet. Just like its owner."

He walked over to her window. "And he never will," he replied.

Her smile bloomed, and she crossed her arms on the door sill, resting her cheek on them. Looking at him. He gazed back, taking her in. No glass between them. She was so beautiful to him. He took a gasping breath, suddenly nervous. Before he could speak, she beat him to it.

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Get in the truck."

♫ ♬ ♫ ♬ ♫ ♬

Sorry, it made me sad that in the song, Mike got sent to prison for life (the line "And I might be here forever") so I gave him - them - a chance at happiness.