This week’s writing prompt provided by Stories From The Jukebox (link below).
Submissions this week are inspired by the song Turn The Page, written by Bob Segar.
Picture taken from Wikipedia.
I saw you at he reception desk. That cheeky smile, the blue eyes, and the nervousness. You couldn’t keep still. Our eyes met. That intake of breath, atmosphere you could cut with a knife. Then you were called away.
A few weeks later walking the shop floor there you were. Smiling still that nervousness about you but your eyes, beaming. We greeted; I remembered your little laugh. The day you brought me breakfast from the canteen into my office. Well, we knew that this could continue.
I suppose after reviewing, we rushed things. My parents were not happy at all. My dad just sat in his chair quite bewildered his daughter had chosen someone that was really not in her league. You see parents know. My dad certainly knew his daughter. But he never questioned my choice.
My mom. My precious sweet mom. She let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the road with this guy would be short, messy, and filled with tears. Of course I pooh pahed it. She didn’t know him like I did. The laughter, the fun. His endearing ways, those funny times together at the racing track.
Marriage that everlasting bond you make when you put the ring oh his finger. Those vows and pledges, the words tripping easily off your lips. Hours spent refining, them to ensure that they came out exactly right. To love, honour to cherish. Blah Blah Blah.
The days spent together catching the sunsets. Drinking schnapps and beer. Dreaming dreams that can or won’t be believable. Driving for hours, the road vanishing the music blaring out Bob Segar and The Silver Bullet Band. Pure joy. Days pass by in a haze of booze and music.
Time passes and life goes on. Work life balance, friends, parties and miles and miles to travel. Oh, it was joy to be with this wild beast of a man. Bob still plays on the CD but not as often. Days are quieter, moods lighter. Chats harder.
Routines – habits, small chats and hugs started to fade. Those little moments that seemed to shape our marriage disappeared. Gruff voices, backs turned in bed, no spark. Driving to work was agony. No words passed between us, stopping at the off licence became a daily thing after work. Schnapps, beer, and biltong.
Then, those subtleties. The repeated name. The overtime. Weekends working. No more visiting friends and families. Disappearances for hours. A mind works overtime. Trying to believe that he is working was a mistake. The day he brought home a hundred baby chickens I thought he was mad.
Times had changed. The family he distanced were his friends now. He spent hours there on weekends, coming home motherless. Laughing like an idiot. Silly grin on his face. I knew then that things would never be the same.
The day he wrote “Lorna” on the condensation of the beer bottle, I knew. He looked at me and rubbed it off. I broke.
Did something I will regret. I hit him. He head butted me in the nose. I slipped down the door and sat there stupefied. Blood pouring and his words. “Did you think I would stand still?” I moved out and into my mother’s flat. Then, the phone calls. I need to borrow your car….. I need money…..
Then that day, we arranged to meet at a shopping mall because he had a date, I had the car. I sat and waited. Hours went by and I drove back to my mom’s flat. That phone call, horrible. Fetch me or else. Drove back and hour and a half. He was so annoyed. Dropped him at his sisters. Then I knew. Time was up. The marriage over.
Bob Segar no long plays. The CD stayed with him. Every now and then I can hear “Like a Rock” or “turn the Page” on the radio. I just shake my head. If only Bob knew,
The phone call. Can I please borrow the Honda. Funeral. Like a fool the answer was always yes. Deep within me I believed maybe…. But then the blood nose, the bruised eyes. When he dropped the car off at my mom’s flat he looked at me. I wanted to sob. There before me was a man I thought that would be my life’s partner.
I found a telephone number on the passenger seat the next morning. It bothered me and I thought it may be important. When I queried, he said it was the “Englishmen’s,” Lorna’s ex. Oh so he was seeing her. News to me. I kept it.
One Sunday, actually my mother’s birthday, I called the number. Yes, stupid but my soft side wondered how the “Englishman” was coping. The phone was picked up, said who I was. He invited me over. I went. We spoke about our marriages, the break-up, the reason. He invited me to dinner and our relationship developed. I spent time with him at his home.
Living with my mother was an issue. My dad had passed away shortly after marrying ‘him.’ His health was bad and his smoking caused problems with his lungs. Mom was lovely but still treated me as a teenager. Things got messy with her and I needed to find a place of my own.
That is when I moved in with David. Life was smooth. Unhurried, and quiet. We were listening to the radio on the way from shopping one day. He turned it off, and I asked why. I hate Bob Segar. I just laughed. That is when we realised – we truly were “swinging” just without the keys.
Good old Bob – Turn the Page – if only he knew how this song brought a new life, one that I adore as messy as it is. I am glad I turned the page.
Names changed for privacy.
Beautiful story 😍
Fabulously written, you’ve done the song title proud. A difficult read in places, but an authentic one.