Winner! The Writer's Cramp 2/26/21 W/C. 345
Cry, Cry, Cry
“Hey porter!” The train from Chattanooga clackety clacked down the tracks. I need a drink. My cabin’s small, dark, and I’m just as sad.
He came in an instant.
“Yes sir. How can I help you tonight?” This man stood in the doorway, all smiles. How can anyone smile on a night like tonight?
“I need a drink. Badly need a drink. You see, Delia is gone. What do you have from the bar that would fix that?”
The porter’s face changed from happy to concerned.
“Well now, sir. I don’t know much, but I do know this. No amount of likker will help with your woman goin’ away. No sir. You got to pull yourself up, get on with life. But if you must, I can give you some whiskey, some rye, some gin, or some bourbon. A night like tonight calls for something strong. I think something stronger than wine. You seem to be doin’ enough whinin’ already.”
“Hmm. Funny. Well, I guess give me some Gentleman Jack. Straight. And make it a double.” I settled back into the seat.
“Anything else I can get for you, sir?”
“Nothing else. I’ll just sit here and miss Delia.” And I did miss her. Her smell, her touch. The landscape rolled by, trees and old trucks, cows and barns. The old farms nobody wanted anymore. The ancient relics of a life no one lived anymore.
Clackety, clackety, clack. Clackety, clack. Clackety, clack, clack.
Whoo, whoo! The whistle woke me up. My whiskey sat neatly on the little side table, nestled in a cubby with a napkin.
I drank the mellow liquid and thought of Delia. We loved to go to bars and listen to the Tennessee flat top box. That guitar, and the musician who played it. His song, ‘Cry, cry, cry’.
I remembered the last lines of that song:
“You're gonna cry, cry, cry and you'll want me then
It'll hurt when you think of the fool you've been
You're gonna cry, cry, cry”
I hope she’s crying now. I know I am.
Listen to the original song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoXuGhdZijY