The Getaway

Well sure, there’s a story behind all o’ my songs. But The Getaway is special, more than jus’ some little ditty ‘bout a girl who leaves ‘er home town.

Where to begin?

My mother was a nasty woman. As a girl, I would always be singin’ my little songs an’ Momma would always yell at me, “Quit that racket Janey!” or “Well ain’t that a voice fer the Devil’s choir”. Whenever Momma found me listenin’ to the likes o’ Patsy Cline (God rest ‘er soul) an’ Kitty Wells on the radio, I’d get a hidin’ an’ a sermon.

Now, when I got to the age that girls was startin’ to marry, Momma set to findin’ me a husband. But I was only innerested in my music. I had been gifted a little black notebook by a girlfriend to keep as a diary, but it quickly became my song book. I tell you, it almos’ felt like witchcraft writin’ down those songs, an’ soon enough I realized that the spell was only half-cast without music to accompany ‘em. I decided I needed a guitar, but I coulden afford nothin’ like that. So, I got myself a job at the local bank. Momma diden think it was right me workin’ the nine-to-five an’ was always tellin’ me so. On my way out the door, she would always say, “Janey, ain’t no use fer a housewife countin’ coins!”

An’ I would always say back, “Momma, I ain’t a housewife yet!”

Honestly, I can’t tell you what was worse: Momma’s chastisement, or workin’ at the bank. Erry moment my mind wasen preoccupied with numbers or customers’ gossip, I was on stage, performin’ my songs to ever-adorin’ crowds. Thousands upon thousands ov ‘em, cheerin’ an’ whistlin’ an’ callin’ out my name, all to be innerupted by yet another woman makin’ a deposit on ‘er ‘usband’s behalf.

Then one day, a man came in inquirin’ ‘bout openin’ an account, when ‘is face wound up tight like a spring an’ jumped back into recognition, “I know you! You’re Ted Spire’s daughter, aintcha?”

Now I knew ‘e was trouble when ‘e mentioned my father’s name, but I kept my cool an’ my customer service smile, “Why, yes. Do I know you, sir?”

“Name’s Casey. Casey McNally. Me an’ Pa used to go hun’in’ with Ted, ‘fore ‘e up an’ took off,” he smiled at me like we was good friends long been apart. “What’s your name again, darlin’?”

“Jane.”

“Jane. Still live over in that old house on the corner?”

I saw no point in lyin’. The only map you need in a small town is a person’s name, “Yessir.”

“You know, you look jus’ like ‘im,” he kept on smilin’, but to my eyes what had been a neighborly warmth shifted to a sinister hunger.

“I- is there anythin’ else you’d like to know? ‘bout the account, o’ course.”

‘is eyes wandered around the bank an’ landed back on me, “No thankye Miss Jane. I got all the information I need.”

Even as ‘e walked away I knew I’d be seein’ ‘im again soon. Jus’ wasen ‘spectin’ it to be the day after. This began a period ov ‘im periodically botherin’ me at work. Then ‘e started showin’ up on my front porch. At first, I diden wan tell Momma ‘bout ‘im in case she found in ‘im a potential suitor, but when I finally did tell ‘er she stiffened up at the name ‘McNally’ an’ warned me right off ov ‘im, “They’s bad business those McNally’s. Your father used to get up to all sorts o’ trouble with those two. Next time ‘e comes round, you tell ‘im you ain’t innerested in ‘is companionship. An’ if ‘e doesen stop, you jus’ let ‘im know your pa lef’ ‘is rifle behind.”

That was nice, havin’ a moment o’ unity between us. It diden last long though. I was near to havin’ saved enough money to buy the guitar I’d been spyin’ through the store window, an’ Momma caught on to my high spirits, “What’s gotten into you, Janey? You look like you done fallen in love. Don’t go tellin’ me it’s that McNally boy.”

So, timid as a mouse, I told ‘er ‘bout my dreams to be a singer. An’ like the Lord up on Mount Sinai she thundered ‘er response, “Janey, you quit with this foolishness! You got a face like a door an’ a voice tha’s jus’ as creaky! You ain’t got a prayer o’ bein’ some famous singer! Ain’t no one lookin’ to wed a woman whose ambition reaches higher than ‘er station. I don’t wan hear another word outcher mouth ‘bout this. You hear?”

I was miserable I tell you. I jus’ don’t know how I managed to cry all those tears with only two eyes. I needed to get outta the house, but when I stepped outside, who was there waitin’ for me on the front porch other than Casey McNally? Oh, I was short on patience that day. “Mr. McNally, I need to be straight with you. I have absolutely no innerest in pursuin’ a relationship with a lech like you. An’ I’m sorry, but I’d like you to let me be, an’ not visit me no more, neither here nor at the bank.”

We stood there in silence for a spell. He looked down at ‘is boots an’ then back up at me, “I’m mighty disappointed to hear ye say that. ‘Cause you’re jus’ ‘bout the mos’ beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.” How is it such poisonous barbs an’ soothin’ balms can come from ‘xactly the wrong people? But then ‘e said, “I have plans fer us. I was goin’ letchu in on my plans. I thought you ov all people would unnerstand, bein’ so like your pa.”

I watched ‘im walk away, unnerved by ‘is words an’ doubtful he’d respect my wishes. But two weeks went by without a single molestation. At work, I even stopped eyein’ the door in anticipation ov ‘im, greatly easin’ my anxiety. Momma haden said a word to me since that day, an’ while the silence was discomfortin’, it sure was a respite from ‘er usual ridicule. When I left for work, I said “Bye, Momma,” an’ she pretended not to hear.

An’ that was the day it all happened.

“Errybody git on the ground!”

There was four ov ‘em, armed with pistols an’ wearin’ stockin’s over their heads with holes cut out for the eyes. The leader o’ the gang shouted orders an’ threats o’ violence. There was somethin’ familiar in ‘is voice, like when you read a passage o’ Scripture an’ you recognize it from a song you once heard. He waved ‘is pistol around like a wand an’ “hocus pocus!” the manager was openin’ the bank vault an’ us tellers was fillin’ their bags full with cash. When we was jus’ ‘bout finished clearin’ out the vault, the sound o’ police sirens came wailin’ out front.

“Grab them bags! Let's move it!”

Three ov ‘em collected up the loot, but the leader fixed ‘is eye upon me an’ pointed ‘is gun t’wards me, “You. You’re comin’ with us.”

Fear held me in its grip till the man arrested me from my spot an’ dragged me along with ‘im. When we was out in broad daylight, we found the police takin’ shelter behind their cars, pointin’ their weapons in our direction. He pushed me out in front ov ‘im an’ pressed ‘is pistol ‘gainst my temple.

"Putcher guns down r’else I shoot the lady!"

“No. Please. Don’t do this, please,” I begged an’ I begged, but he wasen listenin’, an’ as the police lowered their firearms, the other robbers clambered into the car with the bags o’ stolen money, an’ as soon as they started the engine I was swept inside an’ we took right off.

I was screamin’ like a banshee, “Let me go! Let me go!” but none ov ‘em paid me no mind. They was focussed on gettin’ outta town an’ gettin’ the police off their tail. My voice started to give out once we hit the highway, an’ then my hope when we made a turn onto a dirt road. Then, my kidnapper said somethin’ I wasen ‘spectin’.

“Jane.”

I recognized ‘im ‘fore ‘e uncovered ‘is face, “C… Casey?”

“Yes ma’am,” there was a thrill in ‘is voice, an’ ‘is eyes was wild like a rabid dog. “Hope we diden scare ye too bad back there.”

Why, the nerve o’ this knuckleheaded… “Casey, you quit with this sour business an’ take me back home this instant. I wan no part in this. You hear me?”

“Dontcha see? This is what I was gon’ tell ye ‘bout. My plans fer us?” We hit a bump in the road that sent our heads hittin’ the roof o’ the car. “We can be together now. I knew yer momma’d put nasty words ‘bout me in yer ‘ead, she was never gon’ be agreeable ‘bout us.”

The road turned real rough, an’ I shook as bad as the car did.

“We’re rich now! We can do whatever we wan!” Casey declared, “We can make a life together you an’ I. Git married. Start a family. Buy a big plot o’ land, build a nice house with plenny o’ room fer the littlens.”

With the rattlin’ came a sputterin’ an’ smoke started billowin’ outta the hood o’ the car. “What in tarnation?” the driver pulled off to the side o’ the road.

“You stay put,” Casey instructed me as he an’ the men all filed outta the car, but it got to be that I coulden breathe right from all the smoke, so I stepped out. The hood was up an’ they was all arguin’ over what was wrong with the engine an’ whose fault this was an’ how we was s’pose to get away.

On one side o’ the road was dense dark woods, an’ on the other was wide open plains with a railroad cuttin’ through like a scar. I looked upon Casey, face beset with rage an’ sweat, ‘is plans upset, an old god full ov ire. The reason for their haste lay on the floor o’ the car, duffel bags most ov’ ‘em, an’ some as small as a paper grocery bag.

But then I heard a sound. It was a low rumble, quiet, distant, but drawin’ nearer. A train was approachin’, one o’ those freight trains that seem to transport at least a mile o’ cargo. The men was too caught up in their disagreements to notice, takin’ turns at pokin’ around at the engine. For a long minute I stood there watchin’ the great serpent slowly slither on an’ on, fearin’ how this was goin’ to end, thinkin’ ‘bout the life I’d be returnin’ to if I did escape, when a thought came to me: ‘That train’s my ticket outta here.’

I reached into the open door, grabbed two o’ the smaller bags an’ dashed t’wards the train. The men stopped bickerin’ an’ I heard my name bein’ called, first in confusion, then in anger. “You git back here right now!”

I could hear ‘im runnin’ after me, ‘is heavy feet slappin’ the earth. “Janey, dontchu dare!” I held the bags in one hand an’ reached out with the other to grab onto one o’ the railcar door handles. Once my hand had a good grip, I jumped an’ pulled myself up onto the side, but then the handle turned an’ I slipped as the door slid open. Mercifully I caught myself, an’ managed to swing my body into the railcar. The shoutin’ faded into the distance.

By mornin’ I was in Nashville. I rented myself an apartment, bought a guitar, an’ the rest is history. Never heard from Momma again. Don’t know what happened to Casey McNally neither. An’ that’s how I got away with twenny grand in my pockets.