Born to be Country

As Craig walked the worn limestone river path, the stars gave just enough light, so he wouldn’t trip on the occasional rock or small boulder that popped up along the trail that perched on the river’s edge. His floppy eared basset hound Elvis, wet nose up, happily inhaled the fresh summer scents. This nightly routine was Craigs respite from long days of working as a life insurance agent, a job Craig had only intended to be temporary. Talking to people about their impending demise had turned into 15 miserable years where every day tasted like a Monday and every evening was saturated with the promise of another dreadful workday the next morning. As the sound of the rushing river current and the cool night breeze washed over him, he could feel the ever-present tension in his body drift away into the night. His minds usual flip flopping over the actuarial table’s death rate for the morbidly obese had stopped and he began to dream about his passion of moving to Nashville and becoming a country music artist. A dream he had put off for more than a decade because of his own life which had become its own tragic country song of sorts. Lost love, broken hearts and wasted moments. In fact, that was going to be the name of his first album which he knew would give him the adulation of the future fans which were just patiently waiting for his debut. Unfortunately, his divorce from 5 years ago had put him into a semi-permanent state of debt that kept him from relocating until he could pay off the remaining agreed to settlement. Just waiting for a miracle, Craig thought. Which could be the name of one of his many future hit singles. Along with Damn you Colleen, the name of his ex-wife. Craig pulled out his small black Moleskine notebook and pen from his back jeans pocket and made a few quick notes. Just waiting for a miracle & Damn you Colleen. *Future hits*.

Craig had been through so many musical phases in life. In high school he dove deep into the heavy metal scene even purchasing a sleeveless black leather motorcycle jacket with all of the angry looking patches, none of which he really understood at the time. In his 2 years at college Craig even embraced the punk scene going so far as to having one too many drinks at a dorm party and waking up with a safety pin neatly shoved through his ear lobe while a Black Flag record skipped repeatedly on the shared turn table. Years later Craig finally settled on a love for country music after hearing Willie Nelson singing Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain bellowing from a Juke Box in a New Orleans bar. The passion in Willie’s whining nasal filled voice filled him with regret, promise, love, discontent, contentment and every other emotion all at once. Maybe it was the timing and the recent break with the blue eyed Sam he’d fallen in love with, but at this moment he knew he was destined to be a country music artist.

As Craig’s mind wandered to his future self, Elvis begin to bark and pull Craig in a short legged gallop, breaking his taught leash and running full steam, or at least as fast as a portly Bassett hound can run, towards the wooden walking bridge that was just ahead. “What is it Elvis? Stop!”, Craig yelled. Elvis continued full stride. He would never actually run away as he loved his cozy life with Craig, but he was on a mission that only he knew. Elvis, looking back at Craig, had reached the foot of the wooden bridge in mere seconds. Craig out of shape and out of breath caught up. “Damn, Elvis you broke your leash and next time wait up!” Craig undid his enormous Born to be Country belt buckle and wrapped his 40 inch waist belt around Elvis’s collar to replace the broken leash. Elvis focused and unphased kept his attention to the human sounds underneath the bridge. Craig turned his ear to the side and could hear the faint sound of a man talking to himself in hushed tones. “You’re failing, man. Completely off your game. You ain’t nothin’ ‘til you’re something and right now you are nothin.” Craig reached down and comfortingly patted Elvis trying to calm his tense body. After a second of contemplation and a bit concerned about his and Elvis safety he quietly called out “You ok down there…..hello?” A deep voice responded. “Yeah, I’m good.” “Can you come out so I can see you, just so were all safe?” Craig called back. “I’d prefer not to,” the baritone voice called back. “Well, I don’t want to leave you hear if you’re not ok so just peek around the corner so I can see you,” Craig pleaded. Craig, if nothing else, was always a compassionate guy and didn’t feel right moving on without knowing for sure if the man behind the voice was truly alright. A cartoonishly large man came out from under the bridge, shoulders the size of a Buick and a large dinner plate sized gold necklace shimmered from the street light above. Craig squinted hard trying to read the giant gold initials “DJEZK”. “You need help?” Craig asked. “No I’m good,” the man answered. A surge of recognition hit Craig. “Oh my God, your DJ EZ Kool!”, You’ve had more hits than Madonna and Dolly Pardon put together,” Craig said. “That’s an odd combination, but yeah that’s me. You caught me at my thinking spot,” DJ EZ Kool answered. “You had us worried, you sure you’re ok?” Craig asked. “OK, since you’re asking again I’m going to be straight up, I can’t think of a new lyric a beat or a flow to save my life. I feel all tapped out. You wouldn’t understand, ” DJ EZ Kool said. “I think I do actually. I try to write songs and I hit road blocks, sometimes for days. Nothing comes. That’s why I carry this little black notebook,” Craig said. He pulled it from his back pocket and waved it in the air like a bible at a Pentecostal revival. “I’ve got several years of ideas and lyrics for my country songs in here. You should give that a try.” DJ EZ Kool, straightened the emblem on his gold chain and looked Craig straight in the eyes. “I’ll buy your notebook from you. Just to get out of my rut, get ideas.” DJ EZ Kool said. “Uh, sorry, man it’s not for sale. I’m going to Nashville as soon as I pay off my debt and save enough to get there. I’ll need this and I don’t think you’d get much out of it anyway,” Craig answered. “I got good instincts. I think I need your notebook. How much is that debt?” DJ EZ Kool asked. “$20,000. $12,000 in debt and $8,000 to set me up down there,” Craig answered. DJ EZ Kool gave a quick nod. “Follow me I want to show you something,” he said. DJ EZ Kool climbed the small steep hill and climbed onto the river path and walked briskly towards a dark parking lot that was just ahead. Craig and Elvis had trouble keeping up with his giant strides but soon ended up at the trunk of a very large black Bentley. A driver equally as large as DJ EZ Kool sat quietly next to the hood. “Open the trunk,” DJ EZ Kool barked. The driver remotely opened the back hatch. DJ EZ Kool reached in and pulled a black brief case out from the cavernous trunk, popped up two latches exposing more cash than Craig had ever seen. DJ EZ Kool took his enormous hands pulled out two large stacks of 100 dollar bills. “Open your hands,” He said to Craig. Craig fumbled with the belt he was using as a leash and the large man put both giant stacks of bills in Craigs open palms. “That’s 20 large. You still want to keep that notebook?” DJ EZ Kool asked. “That will get you to Nashville, right?” Craig thought for a second. According to the actuarial tables, with the year he was born, his height his weight his propensity for greasy food he probably had another 25 years tops. It’s now or never. He could always write more. Once he was in Nashville the words would probably even come easier with the warm southern air. An Impulsive “Let’s do it,” came out of Craigs mouth. He pulled the small note book from his back pocket and handed it over to DJ EZ Kool. DJ EZ Kool released the two bundles of cash and gave Craig a nod. Craig was in disbelief. He just traded his words for $20,000! Lost in thought and while looking at the cash the black Bentley suddenly rolled past. The back window rolled down and an oversized hand gave a quick thumbs up as it sped away.

Craig sat out on the balcony of his Nashville studio apartment just off Broadway. Even after 6 months he never grew tired of the twanging vocals and telecaster guitar solos ringing through the streets. Where some would be discouraged, the dreams of 10,000 want to be musicians trying to make their way all at once inspired him. Craig popped a beer, opened his phone to the billboard charts to see who had risen and who had fallen, something he did every week . Before he checked on the country music genre something pulled him to click on the hip-hop category for the first time. He dropped his phone as he read:

Hip Hop:

Number 1: DJ EZ Kool ‘Damn You Colleen’

Craig pulled out his new little black notebook and wrote at the top of his first page ‘We’ll I’ll be damned’.