Sad Songs

“Is this the place you said he’d be at?” Someone in the backseat asks frustratingly. “What did I tell you before? YES!” We sit there crammed in a Geo Metro (the rare four door kind) waiting to supposedly beat someone up who keeps showing up at the hotel parking lot trying to break into our cars. He's been at it for a couple of weeks too long. And now it’s come to this. All twenty of us waiting in our cars for this kid to show up. He’s already stolen a set of golf clubs from one of us.

“Why do you always listen to sad songs, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?” Someone else questions the driver’s taste in music while showing mild sympathy.

“Nothing! Why does everything need an explanation? I like the subtle sound and the mind opening feelings that come with it, is that a crime? NOTHING HAS TO BE WRONG – I JUST LIKE IT!”

The driver shouts while the melodic spacey music continues in the background.

“Alright be cool, man. It’s just getting me down when I need to be more alive. We are about to give this guy violence of action and I can’t get in the mood with this ‘lost-memories-Julia-where-did-you-go’ stuff. What does that song mean anyway?” The same guy from the backseat asks.

“Can't you see how the songwriter is in pain from the past? He's is pleading with time to take him back and relive those happy moments, but can't. This gets me so sober and clears my head of any distractions. You know you didn’t have to sit in this car. You could’ve went to John or Steve’s car BUT NOOO, you chose this one, so deal with it.”

“What’s this album called anyways?”

“Junk,”

“Figures, rightfully said.”

“No! The album’s name is Junk, but it’s not, it’s beautiful. I bench more than you weigh, if I were you I’d –”

“There he is!” I shout to everyone. An older teenage boy is seen wearing all black with white gloves. He peaks through each car window unaware of our silent angry mob waiting for him to show up.

All the car doors quietly open up. “…okay, we’re just going to scare him, right?..right?”

“FREEZE!!! Our driver pulls out a .357 cannon like from Dirty Harry - pointed at the kid. “WHAT THE HELL?? NO NO NO! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT GUN??” I shout to him.

“IT’S MY DAD’S. HE’S GETTING AWAY!” He shouts as the kid pulls out the middle finger and runs for his car parked on the other side of the street. I reach out to lower his hand – trying to divert his aim from the kid. A shot is fired, missing him. The kid’s car turns on with the tires screeching. Two more shots fire, one of them misses and the other hits one of his tires.

“YOU SHOT HIM!” Someone shouts. “NO I DIDN’T! I SHOT HIS TIRE, BUT HE’S STILL GETTING AWAY!” Sparks fly up from the recent flat as he continues speeding away. The car leaves the street in a tilted fashion. His window is rolled down while shouting out, “I’M SUING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!”

We stand there in the parking lot looking at the shooter in shock. Some bail the scene while some of the hotel lights come on.

“…So…we need to get out of here, right now. We could drive to Waffle House while listening to more sad songs?”

“SHUT UP!”

“No I’m serious, I really am getting used to your sad songs.”