Busted Flat in Nashville

Busted Flat in Nashville    
      
     The church organ had been silent for a century. The congregation had left the shadowy pews empty for a hundred years. Night had fallen on our lonely roam through this ghost town. We watched the altar until it was too dark to see. Then we boarded our car for the drive north to a better life. We had nowhere to stay in Nashville and no job prospects. But our oracle pointed north and so we followed.
     We paid our respects to the next segment of the trace by stopping outside Jackson at the welcome center. There was an old lady whom I spoke to about Lincoln. She said, “If he were around today he’d be on Prozac.”
     She pointed out that he had a genetic predisposition which made it face long and narrow. When I brought up that Lewis of the expedition west had bipolar she gave the perfect answer. “That just shows that people can overcome their disabilities.” And so we bade farewell to the lady and headed north.
     We arrived in Tupelo with all its Elvis vibes
and set up a tent out of sight in the tall grass park by the trace. The next morning a slow rain fell and we wandered the paths through the pampas. It felt like a baptism for two down on their luck folks from the other side of the tracks. But the cool refreshment did its work and we were ready to make for the big city. Natchez was a dream from another lifetime.
     So our next stop was the Pharr Indian Mound complex. There was still a light rain and we stood at the overlook gazing at the mounds which boded well for our employment search. If the ancients could build such grand architectural wonders surely we could land a job in the big city.
     We crossed into Tennessee and stopped at a waterfall down below a slope. The sprinkle of holy water blessed our descent to view the cascade. We chose to climb the bluff holding onto roots and vines until we arrived back at our car. The Natchez Trace held the key to our success. And the history though including horse thieves and bandits also was a story of brave pioneers. Their courage gave us hope.
     Finally, we made the night ride into downtown where lights danced in our eyes like diamonds. There were riches to be had and surely we would get our fair share.
     As luck would have it we both got jobs in the same club. This placed served food, beverages, and had live music. I felt I’d died and gone to heaven. But this place was bustling with loud music and people shooting orders faster than a general on a military maneuver through an ambush. Try as I may I couldn’t keep up. But Marsha just caught those balls like she was a major league legend. She was a natural born waitress. Finally, the manager called us to the side. He said, “Look I know you two are a couple. But John just isn’t cutting it. In this business, it is dog eat dog. So, Marsha, you can stay but John goes.”
     Marsha said, “John, this place is trashy. This dude doesn’t know high-class labor when he sees it. Let’s split this joint and head somewhere else. Nashville ain’t my kind of town.”
     We skipped town like bats out of hell. Marsha said, “That joint was too hopping for me too. And ain’t nothing going to split me from my man. Take us to Knoxville and we’ll find a nice slow greasy spoon to short order.”
     We crossed the city limits into a zone where butter melted on grits like the ice cream cones we licked at the magnolia state fair in June when one was all we could afford.