Come Over

-2-

I stared down at the battered notepad where it lay on the coffee table, the first page full of jumbled words in my illegible scrawl, as I strummed my fingers over the strings of my old pawn shop acoustic and frowned.  For days, I'd had this chord working in my head with the words fit perfectly to the music.  I'd walked around humming the same tune, mumbling the same chorus over and over again. For some reason though, now that I was finally home with a chance to sit down and write, none of it seemed to be fitting together.

Leaning forward, I picked up my chewed up number 2 pencil with no eraser, and crossed out half of the last line I'd written.  Hastily, I added a whole new line and ran it through my head a few times before I dropped the pencil and sat up. I went back to the playing the same chord again, mumbling the words as I went.

My fingers moved effortless over the strings, but for some reason, the words didn't flow.  I stopped, lifting my hands to stretch my fingers.  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  Then I started all over.  On the fourth time through, I stumbled on the words again and cursed out loud. With the guitar still in my lap, I flopped back and sank down into the couch.

It was never this hard when I was busy, out on the road  running from town to town.  I always had ideas bouncing around in my head while I was waiting to walk out on stage, or while I was lying in my bunk at night in that brand new tour bus we'd just gotten as it ate up the road crossing the country. Now that I actually wanted to sit down and get some of it on paper, it wouldn't come.

I sat there, lounging on the worn leather cushions with my guitar resting on my legs, my cup of coffee sitting on the table beside me getting cold and my mind drawing a blank. I sat there long enough for the sun to rise over the top of the trees, filling the room with daylight. From the back of the house, I heard a door open and close, then the sound of running water as the rest of the house began to stir.

A few minutes later, Ty walked into the room yawning widely and scratching his belly.  He took one look at me and shook his head before heading toward the kitchen and the pot of coffee he knew I had warming there.  "Still nothing," he asked, walking back into the room with his mug in hand.

"Nah," I mumbled, dropping my head back to rest on the cushion.  

"Don't rush it," he murmured, heading back down the hallway. "It'll come. Just relax, bro."

Staring at the ceiling, I thought about what he was saying to me. I knew he was right.  I knew it would come to me.  It always did, just not when I wanted it to. That's how it'd always been. When I least expected it to, it'd pop right into my head like it was there all along.

Maybe I was trying to rush it.  Maybe that's what it was.  I was trying too hard to make the words come when they would eventually anyway.  Maybe I did need to relax for a little while. It's not like we got to do that too often these days anyway. 

There more I thought about it, I knew what I needed to do.  Sitting up, I laid my guitar on the cushion beside me and dug my phone out of my front pocket.  Scrolling through the contacts, I stopped on my daddy's name.  He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, daddy, mind if I stay at the cabin for a few days?" Of course he didn't mind, he said. I better let my mama know.  And I better make sure I saw my granny while I was home. "I will," I promised. "I'll call mama when I get ready to leave."

Jumping up, I slung the guitar strap over my shoulder and gathered up my things scattered about the coffee table.  After I poured my cold coffee down the sink, I hurried to my room anxious to get going now that I'd made up my mind. I had a couple of bags packed in no time. I picked my phone up ready to call mama to tell her I was coming home.

I paused, clutching my phone in the palm of my hand and let it sink in.  I was going home.  Not just to stop in for a visit.  Not because it was some holiday, or family event.  Not because I was trying to sneak in some fishing or an overnight hunting trip.  I was going home and I was going to stay for a few days.

And I'd probably see HER while I was there...

Then, instead of calling mama, I was dialing that old number I still knew by heart. I wasn't even surprised when it went straight to voicemail, either.  Why wouldn't it?  That's what mama's would have done, too.  Since she was still at school and all and they weren't supposed to take personal calls. 

I quickly hit the message icon, typed out three little words and hit SEND...

I'm coming home...