A few minutes after he sat down outside the Starbucks his phone rang. He’d driven three Starbucks away from his apartment to wait for her call.
“Sherry. Is that another throwaway phone? It sounds like crap. Why don’t you activate that Motorola and that tweaker boyfriend of yours stole from me?”
continues below
He knew she wasn’t stupid enough to take him up on it — one of the reasons she always used throwaways. Two steps ahead of the law and one step in front of the creditors.
He sipped his coffee as he held the phone to his ear. Her voice was like the quacking of some distant robotic duck. He let the sound of nearby traffic almost wash her voice away.
When she stopped talking he said, in a measured voice, “None of that matters, Sherry. I’m telling you what’s going to happen or you won’t get your sister back. She’ll never be the first one in your family to go to a real college. She’ll just end up staying here in Texas, with me, become a frumpy housewife like your mother, and maybe — after you’ve finally been caught and paid your debt to society, maybe we’ll invite you over for Sunday dinner.”
He held the phone away from his ear. How, he thought, could one person sound like three all talking at once?
“Un hunh. Look, Sherry, it might sound ingratious for me to say about, you know, my former in-laws who will — surprise — soon be my in-laws all over again, but their troubled dreams for your generation of the familiy are not my primary concern, here.
“First you kick me out to take up with a tweaker wannabe biker who doesn’t even have a freakin’ bike. Then, after I start all over from scratch, build up a nice little life for myself, you and the wild one let yourself in and empty my place. My stereo, my TV. My computer. My damn dog. And my Corvette.”
He put down the coffee. He leaned forward as though she were there in front of him.
“Let me say this once: Give me back my Stingray — and I’ll let your sister go. She followed me here — but if I’m the one who tells her, she’ll go back to your folks in Austin and start college in the fall like you all wanted.”
Before she could start talking again he quickly added, “I want my ‘Vette — and my dog Bill. Bill’s non-negotiable. He never liked you, anyway.”
[A note on this and the previous AYoS version (December 14) of Sherry: Despite the fact that I shamelessly copped the graphic from the earlier version’s post ( I never do that, but it was late and I was tired and… weak) the two musical performances could hardly be more dissimilar. Chords are changed (one’s in a major mode, the other minor), the melody is changed, tempo is wildly different — and, still, one is 2:31 in length and the other is 2:37. Anyhow, if you want a giggle, load them back to back in your player. I fell off the floor.]
Sherry
Sherry, you stole my stereo
my dog Bill, my car and my Mac
You can keep the rest of it
but I’m here to tell you
I’m gonna get that Corvette back
Give me back my Stingray
and I’ll let your sister go
She followed me from Austin
but she’ll go home
if I’m the one that tells her so…
All the way through high school
I was the one who was supposed to break your heart
then we settle down
and you get bored and
you tear our world apart
Give me back my Stingray…
I thought that we were happy
that just goes to show you what I know
I thought I changed all the locks
but I missed that one, you and your tweaker friend
took everything I owned
Give me back my Stingray
and I’ll let your sister go
She followed me from Austin
but she’ll go home
if I’m the one that tells her so…
(C)1996, TK Major
