Stealing Passion (Short Story)

[iblieve]

Stealing Passion


Gary rolled off the couch as the banging on the door vibrated loudly in his hung-over mind. “Wait just a goddamn minute. I’m coming.” Under his breath he added, “Stupid motherfucker waking me up at this hour“. If he had bothered to look at the clock he would have seen it was half past three in the afternoon.

He stumbled to his feet noticing the half empty beer sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up and finished it off in a few gulps to sooth his dry cotton mouth. He stumbled over to the door shielding his eyes as he opened it. The face staring back at him was familiar, but its identity momentarily eluded him.

“Yea, can I help you?”

“Damn the years have kicked the shit out of you my friend. How the fuck you doing?”

“Do I fucking know you?” he asked, just as a flood of recognition washed over him. “Eddie, is that you? Damn man I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Well, if I’d of kept living like I did when you knew me I probably would be. Had to quit the drugs in 84, quit drinking in 89, shit almost killed me.”

“Come on in. What brings you to my door after all these years?”

Walking into the house, Eddie shut the door behind him, then said, “I had to come back to attend my mother’s funeral, she passed away last Friday. Figured I’d stop by and see my old friend. For some reason you and Karen have been on my mind a lot lately. You know Karen’s death was a damn tragedy.”

“Man that was years ago and I don’t want to relive that.” His face suddenly seem to age fifteen years at the mention of her name.

“I’m sorry man, just damn!” He paused searching for the right words, as Gary motioned for him to take a seat on the couch. “No one ever understood what happened, I mean it has bugged me for years. You and Karen rocking out every night, your guitar and her voice. Man, I have never heard anything like it. Then damn, she leaves, she dies, and you never play in public again.” He notices the guitar case sitting in the corner of the room, “Is that the cream colored Strat?”

Gary turns doggedly to look in the corner. “Yea that’s her. I seldom play her any more.” He gets up, walking over, and then opens the case taking the guitar out almost reverently, like it was a holy relic. He walks back over, and sits down in the chair and begins strumming it.

The Music Man amp Eddie remembered from days gone by was sitting by the chair beer stained and dusty. “Man hook it up. Let me hear you play something.

Gary reluctantly plugs the cord into the guitar leading from the effect peddles lying in front of the amp with a jumble of cords connected to the amp. He slowly strums it again and then tunes it until each string rings in perfect harmony. He breaks into a riff he use to play almost every night with Karen belting out the lyrics.

Eddie wipes at his eyes becoming wet from the emotions of remembering a time when everyone was so young and happy. Damn the last thing he needed was for Gary to see the tears. “I remember that one, Barracuda by Heart. Karen and you rocked out on that song.” Eddie spoke cautiously not wanting to beat an old dog to death, especially one that hurt Gary. It was obvious he had never got over losing her.

Gary looked up with a smile finishing the last lick. “Yea, those were the good times weren‘t they,” and then in an angry voice he added, “Before everything went to shit.”

Without thinking Eddie asked, “What was that song you and Karen wrote, the one you played the night before she left.” Immediately he bit his tongue. Damn that was the wrong question to ask, but Gary didn’t seem to mind.

With a melancholy smile, that was the only way Eddie could describe it, Gary said, “This one?” He begins playing a few notes of a song that to this day haunts his nightmares and one he hasn‘t played in almost 30 years.

“Yea, that’s it.”

“It’s called “Stealing Passion.” We wrote it together. That last night was the first and last time we played it together in public.”

Gary looks over at Eddie seeing the question hidden in his eyes. Still working his way through the song he spoke in a shaky voice afraid to plow a field long barren. “Man, don’t ask me what happened. To this day I only know she decided to leave, and take the song with her.”

His mind spiraled back to that night, he couldn’t help it. The images of her talking to the stranger at the club, some guy he’d never seen before, but at the time it didn’t bother him. They both socialized freely with the patrons at the places they played, and by doing this had gained quite a following. Remembering the call the next day saying she’d be late for practice, and almost giving up on her. Seeing the haunted look in her eyes when she finally did make it and knowing something was wrong, but being afraid to ask what it was. The other band members left, and they played that song together, and finally she dropped the bomb that forever changed his life. The words burned his mind at the recalling, a flaming ghost of words that had left his heart in ashes. “I’ve decided to leave the band. I’m going to San Francisco tomorrow to sign a record deal. Eddie, I’m sorry but I’ll never get another opportunity like this.’ The memories faded as the ones too painful to remember tried to surface. The ones where he begged her to stay and asking why was she leaving if she really loved him. Questions that had never been answered as she sat and played his Strat humming the words to “Stealing Passion.”

He returned to reality quickly wiping the tears from his own eye. “I’m sorry man, damn I guess those times are still too painful to remember. She left me because of promises that agent made her. Promises of fame and fortune, probably all damn lies. Flying from San Francisco a few days later the chartered plane crashed and they were both killed. That’s about it.”

She never told you anything, I mean, man, you guys were in love? Everyone could see that the way you looked at each other on stage.”

“I asked her that night, she said that love would have to wait, her career was more important.” By this time the hurt had turned to more tears. Gary began to play the moaning guitar solo In “Stealing Passion" that was the signature of his playing and probably the best thing he’d ever written.

Eddie sat there listening stunned by what he heard, and there it was, that note that he had tried to duplicate so many time. The song had been good before but the passion with which Gary poured into it now took it to the gates of heaven. He could only stare as the fingers flowed up and down the strings, the cream colored Strat screaming out Gary‘s pain.

When Gary finished the solo and went back to the steady rhythm Eddie finally spoke. “What was that lick my friend, I call it the lost cord because I’ve never heard it before or since. Truthfully I spent many a night trying to duplicate it.

Gary stopped and hit a few licks. “Is that it?” He repeated the licks again.

Yea that’s it brother, damn, that’s beautifully.”

“Just a blues lick amped up and inspired by love’s passion.”

They sat in silence for a while both of their minds taking them down memory lane, but down slightly different paths. Afterwards they talked for awhile before Eddie excused himself. He needed to get back to the family and spend time with them before he left the next day.

When Eddie left Gary went back to the guitar and played those chords over and over. The tears streamed down his eyes, remembering things the whiskey and dope had kept blocked out for all those years. He finally stopped playing and unplugged the guitar gently laying it back in its case. He got up to walk over to the corner to put it back in the place it usually stayed. Suddenly the anger broke through the pain. All that goddamn anger at the one he loved being taken away from him, not once but twice. The first time he had convinced himself it was only temporary, and then the plane crash, and she was taken away forever.

He flung the guitar, case and all, across the room with it slamming into the wall. The impact caused it to open and the guitar fell out before it hit the floor. The lining inside the case jarred loose too and a yellowed piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

Gary was shocked by his actions standing there staring at the piece of paper remembering in that moment the time it took Karen to put the guitar up, much longer than normal, but at the time he was so hurt and overwhelmed he hadn’t noticed.

He walked over to it slowly picking it up, and then walking back to the chair. For a moment he just stared at it, tears welling up in his eyes hoping that this might be a message from a woman whose ghost had haunted him all these years. At the same time fear mixed in with all of his emotions running rampant inside him, fear that it was only something he had wrote, and put in there all those years ago.

Finally with trembling fingers he unfolded it immediately recognizing the feminine handwriting. He began to read it without breathing, his whole body frozen as the words spoke to him in the voice he remembered oh so well.

Dear Gary,

I guess I’m a coward for not saying the things that need to be said in person, but sometimes the words are just too hard to form. I know I am forsaking all our dreams selfishly thinking about myself, but this is my chance. I will always love you and I will never forget you. Maybe after I get myself established we can pick up where we left off. Never has a man’s lips burned my skin as yours does. Never have I loved so deeply or so passionately as I love you. I guess the only thing I love more is my music and my career. Please know that you will always be in my thoughts, and as soon as possible I will come back and if you want me I am yours, always and forever. If you don’t then I will understand, it is a selfish thing I do. Well my love I know this will be hard on you, but if it’s God’s will we will be together again and soon. I tried to talk Jeff into signing you too but he said there wasn’t anyway he could get that deal made with his superiors. I did try though, you have to believe me. When I return it will be your decision if you want me or not and I’ll accept it. With all my love and all my heart baby this is the hardest thing I‘ve ever had to do. Please understand I could not pass this opportunity up.

Always and forever,
Karen.

Gary sat there reading those words over and over until the tears blurred his eyes so bad he couldn’t read it anymore. Every time he read it he could hear her sweet voice speaking to him. Finally he got up, and walked into the bedroom still holding the letter. He opened up the top drawer like he had so damn many times in the past. Without a second thought or any hesitation he placed the Colt 45 to his head and pulled the trigger, his brains washing the wall a crimson red and grey. Sometimes the answers to our questions are more than we can bear.


iblieve

[mtmynd]

iblieve - a short and powerful story you put up here. well done.

[hester_prynne]

I'm with Cec, this is a good read. Powerful. I wanted it to be longer!
Nice goin!

H

[iblieve]

I thank the both of you for reading this poem, and hester it seems to be too long for most people.

[stilltrucking]

no man it just flew bye and my eyes are hurting, fastest scroll I have had to day

No idea what was coming until he opend up that drawer

thanks

[iblieve]

Thanks my friend and yes the ending just explodes on you without much warning. Thanks again for the read.

[stilltrucking]

I am one sick puppy, i almost put a



sorry, no way it is too long, perfect, in fact I say i wanted it to scroll some more

[YABYUM]

Well worth the read. I almost stopped during the beginning of Eddies visit, I don't really know why, But I caught up with the sound I created for that guitar lick and all was interesting again.
The note falling out of the case was a sweet and passionate twist.
I thought the speed and spontaneity in which Gary offed himself was well played. I just can't buy the whole plane crash as Karens means of transporting to the next world. I dig the fact that she leaves without ever giving Gary closure, and dies before she ever knows if it was worth it, but I think her death should be more.......
I don't know. I don't ever attempt to write in story form, with dialogue between other people that exclude myself. I am not an omni present writer. At least, not yet. I did enjoy this story, brother. I like heartbreak and suicide.

[stilltrucking]

Yes I like heart break and suicide too. C maybe it is just the peculiar place I am in now, but the ending is too neat. It is difficult for me the except that a musician of all people would kill himself because his girlfriend left him. But I am the biggest weirdo an creep here when it comes to love. It is just my opinion, great story weak ending. is it ok if I tell you how I feel about that?

But maybe this is a true story and I don't get it. I would think a guitar picker would have been happy to see her go if for no other reason he could get a song out of it. Well then the friend Eddie? who knocks on his door could be a metaphor for death, he goes around visiting people who are drowning and self pity and gives them a nudge.

Now the death of a child, excruciating sickness with pain, something like that I could see it, but not over a woman. I would have been dead long ago.

I still like the story but I lied to you about the ending, when i said I had no idea he was going to open the drawer and pull out a gun, I kind of went fucking stupid ending, but then I thought hay maybe this guy had a buddy who did this so shut my mouth

just a ramble cause it is lonely at the bottom when you are being shunned
I am begging doreen to pull the plug, I really would be so much happier and healthy with out it. Yes studio eight sits in my dresser drawer like a gun. Now I feel I have to put a disclaimer on my posts because I must be one hell of a writer, every one believes every thing I write, ain't that strange.

ramble ramble spontaneous gibberish,

just writting bro you know how it goes, as long as words are falling out of the ends of my fingers I am a happy camper, they say that is what killed HST he had a bad bad dry spell, he could not live unless he could write

[iblieve]

Thanks guys for the critiquing, but hey, my stories are what they are and yes people charter planes that crash all the time , look at the young black raqpper her charter plane crashed, also in defense of the ending man I have had many friends and aquaintences destroy themselves , knew a guy once caught his old lady in bed with a few guys and he went crazy trying to remove his penis, tried hitching cross country dressed as a woman and then I knew a guy who went to vietnam. We all left to get beer and weed came back he had blew his head off while we were gone and guess what he seemed to be happy. In my story I tried to convey the fact that gary had suffered because of the not knowing why she left and why she died. In the not knowing it was an agonizing existence and then he found the note and it was more than he could handle but thanks for you honesty. Still I like it and I think its as good as any thing I read, so easy to criticize but harder to create perfection one's self. "C"

[stilltrucking]

I am a sick puppy about suicide. I don't know but one guy who did it. My girfriend brought him home, a great artist and musician, a med school student. Did mescaline one time and never could put it back together. he painted pictures of his beautiful wife as a she devil. Told me aliens were after him and unless he changed his chromosomes they would make him commit suicide. I said if was me I would do it. He never asked me whow. I know yu know a lot people I don’t know that many people but with over a million miles of talking to thousands of people, I can only say it is hard for me to accept the guy killing myself because I just can’t go there, I can’t put myself in his place. That means you got a better imagination than me. That’s all you just a better writer good story. End of my story. What did you think of Eddie as a metaphor for death? Nudging people on to death?


off the subject
but
Georg Trakl have you ever read him He had a great imagination
he also thought WAR was a collossal failure of the imagination

[iblieve]

Iam ecentric myself, my characters are like a part of me, they live through me, and I live and die through them therefor I am over protective of them and their actions, lmao. Did I mention I have a big ego and hate criticism unless it is of a nurturing kind where one truly know something the other does not. See big ego, lmao still your comments are always appreciated.

Off subject, no I have never heard of the gentleman but I am sure he is someone I should know, so tell me who is he??????

Can we post erotica here I mean down and dirty sexual explicit stories?

http://akashanetweb.com/darc/viewtopic.php?t=1454

Check out the background of the poem.

"C"

[stilltrucking]

You would best doreen about what you can post, I have no idea.

Iam ecentric myself

I am bat shit crazy

and who is Imao

a charcter from othello?

seriously

I am so un hip it is a wonder my buns don't fall off

I am glad you appreciate the comments, Trakl got go

ambulance driver world war one, horrors, sensitve poet he could never get it back together again. that i could understand not about a woman, or at least a young one, now two old geezers maried seventy five years, I could see some suicide there. I am very old, a different world, take me with a boulder of salt

and keep on keeping on beautiful brother
you have a gift with words

[mtmynd]

Can we post erotica here I mean down and dirty sexual explicit stories?

well... i think that is under discussion. i posted a piece under my Sunday Streams ('I am not the Stream') this past Sunday (obvious time, eh?) and ... well, we'll see what happens.

Personally I'd like to see some well written erotica around here. It is literature IMHO, but there is something about COPPA and erotica. This place may have to go thru a chg, i.e., adult content - no one under 18 type of deal. It is in Dor's hand(le) right now...

[stilltrucking]

Yeah ten four on the pg

I am trying to get dor to do a PG-60 on my posts.

I would rather this place have not net nanny. If possible, I think a lot of parents here, but what would it matter kids see so much on tv I thought
Prof Z's comics were hot. Not sure I could stand any more technical stimulation that. I have had this one wierd sci fi story about a stud farm operated by a feminsiti. man that one goes back to when I was just a little jackster, milking machines hooked to my cock, tell me I am not sick puppy
Read one about women as farm animals, breeding stock a long time ago. I wonder if that is how St Paul saw them.

I would like this place open to kids like K&D and modern ancient, sullen girl but i don't know not my knot, I am sure Dor has a handle on it.

have you noticed that litkicks show up in google, i never google studio eight, stupid bob had a post about a danger there