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Even Angels Get The Blues

–The Long Journey Home Series

It was getting near midnight and the road through the swamp was dark and desolate.  It was so dark that the headlights barely lit the blacktop road.  So far, I had seen several deer, a bear, and the ghostly Carolina cougar.  I could sense that I was getting past the swamps and into the higher farmlands where cotton was king and the fields went on forever.  I had been here once before during the big snowstorm that closed I 95, and I hoped the BBQ place where I spent several snow-filled days would still be there.

In the distance, I could see the familiar neon sign blinking on and off.  The old sign still said Ray Ray’s Juke Joint BBQ, Beer And Blues.  I was told that it had closed many years ago.  The building was old and run down and slowly fading away.  As I got closer, the lights were bright lighting up the parking lot.  In truth, it was a bit run down and as I got out, I could smell the BBQ and hear an upright piano with someone playing some serious sad blues.  I knew the song by Roosevelt Sykes.

I walked into the dimly lit room, and I saw the old man playing.  The song was so sad, and I could see his tears.  He was the pitmaster when I was last there.  I walked across the scratched and worn dance floor, pulled up a chair, and asked him why he was so sad.  We sat for a while eating BBQ, sipping straight Bourbon, and sharing road stories.  Finally, he said you know it’s near midnight and I have to go, you have to go as well or you will always be here.  I told him it hurt me to know he was so sad and alone.

He gave me a smile and did a blues run on the piano and said the road we travel is sad and our memories painful.  Sometimes the song is so sad that even angels get the blues.  I left him there at the table and drove off down the road.  The sign blinked off, the building once again dark and forgotten, and I knew that I was given a few moments with an old friend to talk about the blues.

Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

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