White Lines Double clutchin’ like a mother, Calvin punches the presets. “Last Child, Just a punk in the streets” explodes out of his speakers, hitting his rotten molars like hot grease on fire. If only, maybe, he knew what to say when he got there and how to say it. No matter how many miles, tears, rock anthems or hookers her body haunted his sleep. Ebony was not a black haired beauty with big dark eyes like Mr.Seger said but she was just fine for Calvin. Forged in the strip mined hills by a couple of eager kids in a rusted Ford Bronco; Ebony liked everyone a little bit but trusted no one. The diner’s beer lights glowed making her skin shine. She had all the drivers wishing for a double black refill even when their back teeth were floating. Maybe lucky for Calvin, or maybe not, he was the one she poured the sugar on. Not so sweet the country boy would run away, but just enough to churn honey from buttermilk. Passing time and orange cones on the lonely interstates gave Calvin too much time to think. He wonders if maybe putting a ring on Ebony’s finger will fix the problems or just cause him more aggravation. When he gets back to town they will settle this thing; right or wrong, every story needs an ending. He hits Allentown like a tornado, only eight hours to go and they will be together again. He misses the passion her coal dark soul can create. Many nights with the wood stove turned down they shared the one lonely space left undiscovered. Memories, like frayed redundant blankets, are strewn about like Barbie’s doll clothes. Phil Lynott belts out The Boys are Back, trying Calvin’s patience as he creeps through the night. The old nowhere turnpike is one surreal place to travel when you have somewhere else to be. The bug splattered windshield provides an opaque worldview just in time for the thunderhead to explode. Along with the rain came a sense of foreboding as he eased the Peterbilt down the drive. Patience he thought, little tricky working those curves with a full load and a muddy road. Getting home was always a melancholy time. Calvin loved the road as much as he had ever loved anything. Knowing that was one of the reasons he wished Ebony would stay. You all know about the other reasons. No matter, when his feet hit the dirt it felt like chains. Never enough time to shorten the list of chores and obligations that went along with his run down double-wide. Especially now that he had a bunkmate; she wouldn’t let him slide on all that stuff like when he flew solo. He made extra sure his boots were left by the door and his wet clothes were not just flags on the kitchen chairs. That’s all he felt up to after the last run. He grabbed a High Life and turned on the ballgame. The Mudhen’s on local TV were an excellent distraction as he let his mind wander. Since Ebony’s shift at the diner ended early she ran some errands. Hard to get much done at 1am in a one horse town but she always found a way. He never worried where she was when he was on the road but sure was a jealous man when he was home. Standing in the doorway, paper bags in hand, she could see his uncomfortable silhouette in the threadbare recliner. Quietly she placed all of her purchases in their rightful places and poured 3 fingers of rye to escape the night stalking memories that filled her sleep. Pacing as she drank she wondered if all of this was worth the hassle. Maybe it’s time to go your own way or was that just Fleetwood Mac on the radio. She sat on the worn sofa and thought about what might be. After a time, undetermined when it rains, Cal wakes. He looks at Ebony, seeing clearly the tears that heartache brings. Closing his eyes again, knowing he hasn’t the courage to make a change.