So, a year or so ago my Momma and I decided to write a book - don’t laugh! We really did! And, it is finished. It is based loosely on our experiences and follows a fictitious character named Memphis who is an aspiring country music artist. You will notice great similarities between me and Memphis :-) but we decided to change the names of almost everyone to protect the innocent! Any resemblance to anyone I know is purely accidental! wink wink. No, seriously, a good bit of the book is based on real-life experiences but some of it is just imagination... Anyway, I will post a few chapters for your entertainment.
Introduction
My name is Memphis August Layne and I live in Lickskillet, Alabama, on the corner of Moontown Road and Butter and Egg Lane. No joke. But don’t get the wrong idea; I’m not a backwoods hillbilly, even though I do come from a long line of rednecks and hicks. There is a big difference between a hillbilly and a redneck, you know.
Oh, and just to set the record straight right from the start; contrary to popular belief (i.e., the movie Sweet Home Alabama ) we don’t eat bologna cake here - that’s sick! I’d never even heard of it before that movie! We prefer cheeseburger pie or a fried Twinkie and, most importantly, chocolate gravy! Although that does remind me of the story my Momma told me about how my Uncle Jeremiah, when he was little, snuck some bologna into church, stood on the front pew and......OK, I’m chasing a rabbit now, as my grandpa likes to say. Back to the subject, which is me.
One thing you need to know – I am going to be a big country music star one day. I know this because my great-grandma Patty Lou said so when I was just a little girl and all the family knows that her visions are surprisingly accurate.
I’m also going to find out what really happened to my Daddy because I know in my heart that he did not kill himself.
Oh yeah, my name. Most people wonder about my name. I was named Memphis cause that’s where I was born. And my middle name is August cause I was born on August 16th. Momma and Daddy had gone to Memphis to look at a car and decided that they wanted to visit Graceland too. Momma’s water broke, two weeks early, right there on The King’s property, on the very anniversary of his death.
"That right there is prophetic!" Patty Lou had predicted.
Of course that was back in the days when Momma and Daddy were still young and in love and married. They divorced two years ago and me, Momma and my little sister Maddie, aka – The Rat, had moved in with my grandparents ’for a short spell’ that was turning into a long spell it seemed.
The last year in my life could have provided material for a hundred episodes of some bizarre reality show. A redneck version of The Osbornes or Hogan Knows Best – only we are poor and nobody, except maybe Uncle Elroy and Aunt Mirtle, knows anything about wrestling….
There have been wonderful, magical moments - and some absolutely awful and painful ones. Dark secrets have been uncovered, lies have been told, hearts have been broken and miracles have occurred. I’ve done a lot of growing up. Some of the stuff that’s happened, well, you just flat won’t believe.
Anyway, I won’t bore you with all the details of my life since my birth, which my Momma assures me was long and painful on that hot August day in Memphis, so I’ll just start a year ago - when I was fourteen and got my first real taste of the stage…
Chapter 1
It would have been a shame to puke on such a perfect October Saturday - especially at the Annual Lickskillet School Fall Festival. We’d moved past the dog-hot summer days and the air was tinged with a wonderful coolness that made you just glad to alive. The leaves on the trees were the most vivid shades of red, orange and purple, one of nature’s prettiest patchwork quilts. It is my favorite time of year.
Someone had the Alabama football game blaring on the radio (we still had our priorities festival or no festival) and you could hear the cheers sometimes, but mostly the groans. It was a bad year for The Tide.
The smell of grills cooking up hamburgers and hotdogs made my mouth water. But then I remembered what I was about to do and that’s when the urge to do some puking came in. I wondered if people would recognize that I had Cheerios for breakfast if I did throw up. Momma didn’t look like she felt much better.
"Memphis, do you remember the words?" she asked me for the ninth time. A control freak masquerading as a soft-spoken southern belle, she had her big purse slung over her shoulder and was clutching The Rat by the hand. I didn’t even bother to answer; she wouldn’t have heard me anyway. Her nerves were in overdrive too - even though she was trying to act normal.
The Lickskillet Fall Festival entertainment committee had asked me to sing!
Now, I’ve been singing and playing the piano in front of folks at church since I was real little. Grandpa is the preacher at our little southern Baptist church so I got stage-time out the wazoo.
The Annual Fall Festival was different. It was a school function! And, for the first time, I would be singing a group of songs - like a concert but music people call it a set.
The scary puke-inspiring thing was that in the eighth grade you would be the looser of the year if you dared to break out of the pack and do something in front of everyone - and then screw it up. I definitely didn’t want my friends saying I howled like a scraggly cat on crack or start making the big ’L’ sign every time they saw me!
The Lickskillet Fall Festival ’gig’ (I learned that is what to call it when I sing somewhere) wasn’t something Shania or Faith Hill would have headlined - but it was a big deal to me.
It had taken me forever to get ready that morning. For such a momentous occasion, I had dressed for success in some flared jeans and a cool floral-patterned shirt. I only owned one really cool shirt - and I think Momma just let me buy that one on accident.
Jerrica and Leslie, my two best friends, descended on me, squealing and fluttering around, holding my hands, getting me water and acting like I was about to open up at the CMA Awards or something. I think they were glad it was me and not them that was about to potentially commit social suicide.
Daddy was standing by with the video camera, as usual, in order to record my happiness if it went well - or my total humiliation if it didn’t. He had spread the word among his kinfolk and I had my own little fan club in attendance, a very odd-looking one for sure. Uncle Elroy (Daddy’s brother) and his wife Aunt Mirtle were the most noticeable and Momma was already rolling her eyes at their behavior. They were a little… enthusiastic I guess.
Most importantly, there were some high school kids in attendance, including my future secret boyfriend, Kyle! When I say future, I meant that he didn’t know he was going to be my boyfriend. I had plans for him. Even when he became my boyfriend - and he would, he would have to be a secret because he was a lot older than me (he was seventeen and could drive!). That was a big strike with a capital "S" as far as Momma was concerned. Only Jerrica and Leslie knew that I was in love with him.
As usual, my nemesis, Amanda Killingsworth, better known as The Heifer in my mind, was prowling around. I knew she was probably hoping I’d trip and fall so she could go home and trash me on her MySpace site. She was the undisputed ’princess of the junior high’ around our neck of the woods and was usually the one who sang in public at school – and danced – and twirled the baton. This was obviously due to the fact that she wasn’t aware of what she actually sounded or looked like when she was doing these things. Think LuLu Hogg from Dukes of Hazzard in a tutu – you get the picture.
She and her little Heifer Groupies came over and stood close to me where she loudly proclaimed "Oh, look who they felt sorry for and let sing. How pitiful. Well, I guess it should be entertaining, kind of like watching William Hung on American Idol. That’ll just make me sound even better when I get up there!" Of course her little groupies laughed at that. I tried to ignore them. If I DID throw up, maybe I’d make sure it was on one of them.
"I KNOW she isn’t talking about you!" Aunt Mirtle said and glared over at The Heifer. Aunt Mirtle is ’as stout as a bulldozer’ Grandpa remarked once. A spandex-clad bulldozer with bright magenta hair, hot pink lipstick and a tic in her left eye when she got mad. The tic was in full force at the moment. The Heifer took one look at Aunt Mirtle, realized she was in mortal danger and escaped to the other side of the field, her groupies trailing after her like little baby ducklings.
Everyone else was happy and having fun, completely oblivious to the anxiety attack I was suffering. The fear that I was about to hyperventilate replaced my fear that I was about to puke. I’d never hyperventilated before but it doesn’t look like a pleasant experience - especially with all the chest-heaving and ugly faces.
Momma started walking with a purpose, half-dragging The Rat, looking around to find someone in charge and finally spotted one of my teachers, Miss Nancy, standing by the stage. We went over to Miss Nancy to let her know I was there and give her my karaoke CDs. I wasn’t good enough with my guitar yet to accompany myself, which pretty much eliminated me being able to perform any of the songs I had written in my secret Song Notebook. That was okay – I’m pretty sure they are hideous anyway.
Miss Nancy looked at us with dismay and then we found out why. "Oh, Charlie Ray (that’s my Momma’s name), there’s not a sound system hooked up that will play CDs!" Miss Nancy had said. Big problem.
"Oh, darn. I guess I just can’t sing today.." I said, only half-disappointed.
But, Momma and Ms. Nancy came up with an improvisation. Someone had a little boom box with a CD player and Momma’s job was to hold one of the microphones up to the boom box speaker so everyone could hear the music and then I was going to sing in the other microphone.
"Now just hold that microphone real still right up to the speaker while she’s singing and everything will be just fine." Mrs. Nancy told Momma. The way Momma’s hands were shaking, I had my doubts about how it was gonna turn out. The Cheerios almost made it back up at that point! I vowed to make a renewed effort to get proficient on my guitar.
Momma didn’t seem to be enjoying her first job as a sound technician in my singing career.
I climbed up on the stage – which was really just a flat-bed trailer - and stood there as Miss Nancy introduced me. It was just a formality – everybody knew who I was. The Heifer and her groupies had moved closer to the stage and were on my right side. As soon as Miss Nancy finished, there was a brief silence as I waited for the music to start. During that second or two somebody screamed out "Poser!".
Chapter 2
It had come from the right side and all heads swiveled in that direction. I could feel my face turning an unattractive red shade and knew at once who had done it, but before I could react, the music started and I automatically opened my mouth to sing.
I don’t really remember a lot during the singing itself. I remember flashes of my friends’ faces as they jumped around and screamed for me like I was Carrie Underwood, especially Jerrica and Leslie. Unfortunately, I remember Uncle Elroy dancing – he twitches like a frog in a lab experiment. It’s not pretty and actually looks like it would be painful. I was hoping that The Heifer would keep quiet so that Aunt Mirtle wouldn’t have to go over there and cause a scene.
I was conscious of people drifting over to listen and my Daddy videotaping in the background. Most people, including The Heifer, started having very surprised looks on their faces. The thing that sticks out in my mind now as I look back on it, is how I felt up there on that stage. After the first song, I calmed down and a huge peace and sense of rightness came over me. I knew this was for me. This was what I was born to do. Patty Lou was right.
I must have gotten down off the stage somehow after I sang but I don’t remember that part. A part of me had wanted to remain up there on the stage, singing my heart out.
"Lordy! Charlie Ray, Memphis sure can sing!" She’s getting to look more like you every day!"
That was the start of a whole group of women circling around us praising my performance and remarking on how I was the ’spittin’ image’ of my Momma. This gathering of women was what my Daddy refers to as the Cackling Hen Party. He was over to the side with Uncle Elroy who was announcing to everyone "that was my niece up there singing!" and clapping people on the back when they walked by. Great. People would nod and smile and then try to get out of his reach.
I’m told that I am ’the spittin image’ of Momma all the time and I don’t mind that too much. Momma is probably the prettiest Momma in the whole town. But what’s with the ’spittin’? As far as I know, Momma doesn’t dip snuff or chew tobacco (that’s one of those differences between a backwoods hillbilly and a redneck). I have been told, though, that one of my great-grandmas, Maw Martin, used to dip snuff and could spit clear across the room into an old coffee can.
Oh well, I was feeling good! I was on a high! Who needed drugs! Or snuff for that matter! Singing before an adoring crowd of many fans was the greatest feeling! Well, I may be exaggerating a tad but you get the picture.
"Who yelled out when you were about to sing?" Aunt Mirtle asked me, looking around like she was gonna ’have a talk’ with somebody.
"Come on! Mr. Sallow’s fixin to get in the dunking booth!" Jerrica yelled and grabbed my arm. I wasn’t about to miss that so I headed off. I was kind of glad she had butted in so that I didn’t have to answer Aunt Mirtle. Knowing her, ’the law’ would have been called in if she got tied up with The Heifer.
"I heard what Amanda said and we’ll get her later." Jerrica added as we walked.
Mr. Sallow is our principal and a pretty nice guy, but I still wanted to see him get dunked. At the time, there was a rumor going around that he had a toupee and we were all hoping that we would find out for sure. Hey, what can I say? We were easily amused.
As we headed towards the dunking booth, people kept stopping me and telling me what a great job I did singing. I must admit that I liked the attention and felt like I could get used to that! I shot The Heifer a look of triumph as we passed by. The expression on her face would have made small children cry. Jerrica didn’t help anything by looking over at The Heifer and her groupies and saying "Move aside! Move aside! Ya’ll can get her autograph later." in a snobby voice. The Heifer shot us a bird. I noticed she didn’t call me a poser again though.
I’m not exactly sure why The Heifer is so mean. Well, there’s the obvious reason that she is spoiled rotten by her rich daddy and gets whatever she wants. He owns the local bank and is president of the Elks club and chairman of practically every board or society in town. He inherited it all from his daddy. The Heifer has a pool, the best designer clothes and a beautiful big old former plantation house. (We don’t have slaves anymore in Alabama, just in case you were wondering, but her family does have a cook and a cleaning lady.) The one thing she can’t seem to get a holt on though is her weight, hence the nickname. I shouldn’t take so much pleasure in her chunkiness because I’m half afraid The Good Lord will strike me down and punish me for it by making me fat one day. I’ve always been told that the women in our family have Big Girl Potential.
I saw Kyle standing in a group of guys and was satisfied to see he was looking at me – and that he had a very interested look on his face. I’d baited the hook, baby! Good. Now I could play like I didn’t know he existed.
At the dunking booth, we found out shortly after our star pitcher, Chad Davis, threw his first ball that Mr. Sallow grows his own hair. Pity. I felt sorry for Mr. Sallow then because I knew I’d hate to have Donald Trump’s hair and not be able to take it off whenever I wanted to.
I notice that kind of thing because hair is a very important thing in the life of an adolescent female, or any age female for that matter. We spend hours and hours obsessing about it, cussing it, or teasing it into obeying. Good hair can almost guarantee a certain amount of popularity in middle school. I guess I had average hair. It’s long and brown and I’d been begging Momma for some time to add blonde highlights in it. She keeps putting me off but I can tell she is close to caving. She changes her hair color every other month. She is currently a brunette but I remember one time she messed up and ended up looking like a female version of Ronald McDonald. She had to wear a baseball cap into the drugstore to get more hair color to fix it. We still laugh about that. Then there was the time she resembled Morticia from the Adams Family… Now, how did I get off on that? Well, while I’m here, though, I may as well give you one word of advice from Momma. She still freaks a little when her hair turns out with a green or purple tint but she says "it’s like painting a wall, if you don’t like the color, you can always start over again". (I have found out, however, that if you pluck out too many of your eyebrow hairs, it takes a long time to grow them back. I won’t even go into how that came about.)
Later on, when it was time for The Heifer to take the stage we migrated on over to listen. She always sang more classical type songs because her mother had put her in pageants since before she could even walk. She prissed up on the stage and I saw that she had someone playing the violin for her. I was kind of jealous of that and then I noticed that her momma and daddy were telling everybody to be quiet so she could perform.
She began some sort of opera-sounding song and I could just feel everybody cringing on the inside. It went up and down – like a roller coaster. She kind of sounded like Old Man Burton’s calf that time it got caught in the barb-wire fence. But, because of her family’s status in the community she did receive a polite applause. And, of course, a burst of yelling from her little groupies when she finished. I saw her seek me out with her eyes and give me a look like she had ’showed me’ or something.
"Doesn’t she just sing like a bird?" The Heifer’s mother, Gloria, gushed to someone close by us.
"Yeah, a crow." I muttered in Jerrica’s ear who laughed and started saying "Caw, caw!" in a shrill voice. Miss Gloria glowered over at us. Uh oh. Busted. I started pounding Jerrica on the back like she had been coughing and we rushed away, giggling.
During the rest of the Lickskillet Fall Festival, I was as charged up as the Energizer Bunny on one of Aunt Mirtle’s thyroid pills. Everything had gone better than I thought it would and The Heifer wouldn’t have anything to write about on her MySpace – at least not about me.
My good mood faded as I saw Momma and Daddy in a heated discussion by our car, arguing like only recently-divorced people could. Sigh.
Chapter 3
I approached quietly and cautiously. The Rat was in the backseat looking like she was in a sugar-induced coma with the remains of cotton candy and cool aid around her mouth.
"Don’t be filling her head with a bunch of worthless…" Momma was saying.
Daddy looked over and saw me. "Memphis, you did really good today." He said interrupting Momma’s tirade. "You know, everyone kept saying we need to take you someplace and let someone listen to you. What do you think about that?" He gave Momma a challenging look as he said this.
Hope sprung up in my little heart and I thought it was a great idea. I could be a star! I could try out for American Idol! No, wait – I wasn’t old enough yet.
Momma’s retort blindsided me then and destroyed my budding fantasy.
"Yeah, well I just don’t know where that someplace would be and who that someone is!" she replied in a no-nonsense tone, giving him ’the eye’. "Besides, like I was saying, she is so young, I don’t want to push her into anything that would cause her to miss out on her childhood." She gritted her teeth as she threw out that last sentence. They stared each other down. I got it then and realized they must have been arguing about that when I walked up. I wasn’t surprised.
But, that whole childhood remark of Momma’s kind of insulted me! I was practically an adult and I knew what I wanted. Parents can be such hypocrites about stuff like that. Oh yeah, you’re all grown up and responsible when they want you to baby-sit or clean the kitchen or mow the yard. But when it comes to doing the fun stuff grownups get to do like wear mascara and drive, you all of a sudden become young and dumb. I mean, it had taken me forever to convince Momma to let me start shaving my legs the year before! I had been afraid people at school were going to start calling me Grizzly before she caved.
Daddy looked at me with that sympathetic ’I guess you heard that!’ look on his face because once my Momma gets something in her mind there is no turning back. She has a one-track mind. They say she gets that from my Grandma Nan, who is as stubborn as a mule. Must be true because my Momma’s brother, Uncle Jeremiah, is a lawyer and he could argue with a stump! He’s also the black sheep of our family since he moved ’Up North’ and became a Liberal. The disappointed look Grandpa gets when he talks about this as he shakes his head makes me think he is not happy about it.
"Well, I’ve got to go relieve Grandma Nan and close up the café. We’ll talk about this later." Momma finished up.
"Sure thing Charlie Ray. Whatever you want. Always has been." Daddy answered angrily and then turned to me and said "But guess what I’ve got!" in a happy sing-song voice. I have learned that adults do not realize how completely transparent and obvious they are to their children. Daddy, especially, seemed very bipolar sometimes. Oh well, I’ll bite.
"What?" I asked.
"Not much – just four tickets to the Cotton Jam next weekend!" he yelled taking them out of his pocket and fanning them out in front of my face.
I wasn’t faking when I squealed and said "Really?"
The Cotton Jam was a huge concert held every year out in the middle of a big field. It was close to our little community and hordes of people from all over flooded the area. There were always big name acts. Everybody went!
"I got enough tickets for you and me and your two Siamese twins to go!" he answered, referring to Jerrica and Leslie.
"Cool!" I hugged him and he laughed.
"David, I thought we agreed that she isn’t old enough to go to the Jam yet." Momma, the ultimate fun-buster said.
When I said everybody went, well, everybody except me went. Actually, Grandma Nan and Grandpa didn’t go either.
"You don’t need to be goin down to that Sodom and Gomora!" Grandpa would preach about the Cotton Jam.
Momma never had taken me to the Jam because there were alcohol tents everywhere and a good bit of the crowd got drunk. I’d heard it was always a huge party.
"Well, from the very mature way she acted today, I say she is old enough!" Daddy responded while holding the tickets above my head and laughing as I jumped for them.
"We’ll see." Momma answered as she got in the car. Now, kids of all ages know that the whole "we’ll see" is just a stalling tactic but at least it’s not a flat-out "no" so I decided not to ’back-talk’ as I strapped in and waved bye to Daddy, who was standing there looking pretty smug. ’Back-talking’ is a big no-no around these parts and if you value the way your face is arranged, you don’t do it. If you would like a new face arrangement, then go for it. I kind of like mine. I’m not ever going to win The Next Top Model contest but at least I don’t look like Cousin Ovie. Daddy always said she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. She does kinda resemble a giraffe in the face.