Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 03

"I'm gonna lose it anyway. This way, someone can enjoy it. I can always grow more after the treatments. Please Mom, let me do this." I still see the earnest look on her face.

"I cried with her while the stylist carefully removed her beautiful locks. Even the stylist had tears in her eyes, she had to stop once just to retain composure. She kept one single lock as a reminder of what it would grow back into."

She paused, overcome for just a second.

"I have to be honest with you. Even with her improvements and remissions, she only has a thirty per cent chance of beating her disease."

"But we hope, and we pray. Her attitude has improved tremendously since she met you. When you didn't come around for awhile she moped. Finding out you were back had her bubbling. I could see the difference."

"I need a favor. I want you to spend a little time with her alone when you can. But I need to caution you, she has a huge crush on you. Please don't hurt her."

"Will you help me?"

Well, talk about dumping a load of responsibility on a kid. But I knew I was going to do it.

I talked it over with Gram, and she encouraged me while cautioning me at the same time. She knew I was still emotionally fragile. Oddly, Dad seemed to think it was a good idea.

So, The Courtship Of Kara began.

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We started hanging out on Thursdays. Gram would drive me to her house, twenty miles away, and drop me off for three hours. I never knew what she did while she waited for me. We would do what kids did. Played video games, watched TV, talked about everything. I was fourteen by then, and she was just past twelve. She probably knew more about sex than I did. Girls always seemed to be ahead of guys in these areas.

Not that we did anything remotely sexual. We were still kids. Plus, her Mom was always close. Looking back, I think she was more worried about Kara starting something than me.

She did insist on snuggling with me on the couch while we watched TV. I was uncomfortable at first, but soon it just felt natural. She also insisted I kiss her when I left. A quick peck, closed mouth. I was worried about her Mom, but she thought it was cute. She even managed to get a picture of us kissing once. Kara had it blown up to an eight by ten and displayed it on her dresser. The friends she had that still came over seemed in awe that she had caught an 'older' guy. Especially a musician who could write personal love songs.

I got a copy, wallet size. I still have it.

It was a confusing time for me. We were at the age when we first started taking a look at the opposite sex.

I was considered cute and attracted some attention from the girls. When one of them wanted to get closer and made overtures, I told her I had a girlfriend. When she asked who she was I told her she didn't go to our school. She didn't take rejection well, and had a big brother she complained to.

Kara didn't like to go out, but with my grandmother and her moms' help, I kind of forced her to. They thought it was good for her self esteem. And despite the loss of hair, she was very pretty.

We went to movies because we both liked them and no one seemed to notice her. She would get anxious once we were out in the open, and I would hold her hand. Slowly she started to relax, especially if we had one or two of her friends around us. One afternoon we were at an ice cream shop eating frozen yogurt, one of the few snacks she could have, when the girl I had rejected saw us.

The next Monday her brother ran his mouth, saying I would rather be with bald headed sickos than a real girl. I surprised everyone including myself when I tried my best to beat the shit out of him. My attack surprised him, and I had him down on the ground thumping on him pretty good before they pulled me off of him. I was still enraged, and while they held me I was screaming that if I ever heard him say another word about my girlfriend I would rip his tongue out and shove it up his ass. He must have believed me because I never heard him say another word about me or Kara. I never told Kara, but she found out somehow. The fact that I defended her got me a lot of points.

We went on like this for about four months when she suddenly took a turn for the worst. The cancer was back and more aggressive. She went in and out of the hospital for awhile. The last time she went in she never came home.

Of course I was devastated. Even though I knew it would probably happen I had the optimism of youth and thought it wouldn't. I spent every possible moment with her. The hospital staff were well used to me by now and mothered me, trying to ease my pain.

As time grew short we talked about everything, including regrets. One night, while the drugs were making her drowsy, she told me her biggest.

"I was gonna beat this, honey, and marry you. We were going to have beautiful babies with voices like angels, and we were going to live happily ever after."

I thought about this for a long time while she slept and I held her hand.

The next day I had a series of long talks with a lot of adults. Her Mom. My favorite nurse. My Dad, my Gram. Her doctor. And a Catholic priest, one of the clergy on call. They were all very surprised, but I think my earnest manner and obvious pain worked in my favor. They all agreed eventually, though the priest had to talk it over with his bishop, who gave him permission on the condition he could be a witness.

My Gram went with me to the jewelers. I picked out a sweetheart ring with a small stone for her, and a plain 'friendship' band for me.

Everyone who was in on it was at the singalong the next Saturday. After we were done, I asked everyone to stay for just a bit more, I had something I wanted to say.

Walking over to Kara, I gave the little speech I had prepared.

"You all know by now that Kara is my girlfriend, and has been for awhile. You also know why she is here. We may be running out of time so there are some things I need to say."

I dropped to my knees in front of her wheelchair.

"Kara, I love you. Will you marry me?"

There was total silence, even from the ones who knew what was going to happen, while I presented her with the ring.

She was holding her hands to her mouth, looking around in panic. Her Mom saved me.

"Answer him, honey. It's not polite to keep the man who loves you waiting, it makes him think you don't want to."

She finally gave a strangled noise that sounded like a yes, and let me slip the ring on. And she kissed me.

Not a chaste peck, but a full grown adult kiss. It set a pretty high standard for the rest of my life.

Suddenly everyone was crying, even the smaller children who didn't know what was going on.

Between Gram, her Mom, and the nurses, the wedding was planned for two weeks. Dad came forward and payed for everything, saying he wanted it done right, from the dresses to the reception.

Finally the day came. My Dad was my best man and we were in tuxes. Kara's Mom was matron of honor, her two best friends from school and two of her friends from the ward were bridesmaids, and I had my best friend and three of the older boys from the ward as ushers. We had a little four year old as the flower girl, her bald head wrapped carefully in a wreath of flowers. Another small boy from the ward was ring bearer.

We had posted an open invitation at the nurses' station, as well as a blanket invitation to the ward parents. The small hospital chapel was filled to overflowing.

Kara.

She was stunning. The simple ankle length white dress was set off by a pink sash, and small pink flowers adorned her veil. Most surprising, she had a wig on, long blond tresses flowing beneath.

Her doctor walked her down the aisle. Her father had moved across the country, lacking the moral courage to stay with a dying child and a grieving wife. I didn't know it was possible to despise someone I had never met.

The service was simple and beautiful.

The Catholic priest, flanked by his bishop, a Methodist minister, a Jewish Rabbi, and a Muslim Iman, conducted the service. It seems the entire hospital volunteer clergy staff wanted to bear witness.

"Friends, family, welcome to this day."

"When this young man came to me with his request, I was startled. Never in my career had I been faced with this situation. So I did what all men of faith do. I investigated, then prayed for guidance. I consulted, both my bishop, and my friends, all men of faith."

"We talked, we prayed, and made our decision. God saw fit to put these children together, who are we to judge?"

"After talking to their parents, care givers, and friends, I realized that I had before two of the best examples of young people I ever had the pleasure to meet. So I talked to God again, and he led me here."

"This is not a legal ceremony. It is a marriage that will be never be consummated. What it is is an expression of love between two young people who have everything but time. I have no doubt that if things were different in a few years either me or one of my contemporaries would be performing this same ceremony."

"It is not a joining of bodies but a linking of souls. We are merely here to affirm their love for each other. They have written their own vows. Please join me in listening."

Kara went first.

"Wiley, I think I loved you the first time I saw you, singing and playing your guitar for children most people had forgotten, trying to give us hope in an essentially hopeless world."

"If things were different, we would have dated, gotten educations, gone to proms, lost our virginity to each other, married, made children, and lived our lives in love and happiness."

"But, life is what it is. We don't have time, so we take what we can get. I know I love you as much as a twelve year old girl can love anyone, and no matter how much time I have left, I intend to spend it loving you."

She hadn't told me what she was going to say, and it took me a moment to get my emotions under control.

"Kara, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The fact that you wanted to spend any time at all with me honors me."

"I don't deserve your love, but crave it, and am grateful beyond words you have given it to me."

"I feel cheated. We would have been good together. I know I never told you, but you're much smarter than I will ever be. I have a feeling in the future I'm going to wish I had your wisdom to lead me many times."

"What I really want to say is I love you, Kara. No matter how many days we have have left, I will love you. And I will love you for the rest of my life, no matter what."

We exchanged rings, then knelt before the ministers as they prayed over us.

Raising us up, the priest presented us.

"Friends, let me present Wiley and Kara. Souls joined in love. Wiley, Kara, please kiss your soul mate."

And we did.

We had a photographer record the whole thing in an album. It resides in a fireproof safe with a video of Chip singing, and Dad and Dottie's wedding pictures.

We had a reception in the hospital cafeteria. Everyone had a blast. We had a DJ, and Kara and I danced the traditional first dance. I don't think I was ever as happy in my whole life as I was while I held her and swayed to the music. I danced a slow dance with her Mom, while Dad did the same with Kara. It seemed lately every where I went there was a sea of tears. The high light was when Kara threw her bouquet.

Nurse Peters, the large black woman, caught it. Her husband had died in an accident, and she was alone with three kids. I think she was surprised she caught it. She had a soft spot for me.

Once she let it slip that her birthday was the next week, so I got together with the other nurses and we got her a cake. I had the gift shop deliver some flowers to her desk. At first she thought they were for a patient, then she read the card. They said she read the card and ran into her office. When she came out she had red eyes but was smiling. She cried again when she got the cake, and nearly smothered me with a hug.

There was a reporter there following a politician dedicating the new wing, noticed the party, and investigated.

After hearing background from several different viewpoints he approached me and asked if he could do a story. We were alone, so I promised he could have the story when Kara passed, with the permission of her mother, if he turned it into a celebration of her life. He agreed immediately, giving me his card.

I still have a clipping in the safe. He was an excellent writer and treated Kara with the respect she deserved. He ended it with a statement from me, saying that if you were stirred by her story make a donation to the cancer research foundations in her honor. The story got picked up, and people sent me cards of condolence. They also gave over ninety thousand dollars to research.

Kara lasted three weeks after the wedding. I was sitting with her a week before she died when she made her last request.

"Wiley, we need to consummate this marriage. Married people are supposed to sleep together. Will you lie down on the bed with me?"

I was uneasy, both over the moral implications and because of her increasing frailty. But she was so determined that I eased onto the bed, on top of the covers.

"This is much better" she said snuggling under my arm. I lay there, hugging her until she went to sleep. Emotionally drained, I dozed off also.

I woke to see Nurse Peters standing at the door, tears falling out of her eyes. Why do people always cry when I'm around?

I started to get up but she motioned no, pulling another blanket out and covering me. She bent down and kissed my forehead, leaving without saying a word.

Kara's Mom woke me gently, telling me my grandmother was here to pick me up. They both had tears in their eyes, I was getting a complex.

I lay on the bed and held her every day afterwards until she passed.

She was buried in her wedding dress with a picture of our wedding kiss in her hands, wearing her ring. I slipped a cassette of Kara's Song into the casket. I still visit her, on our anniversary when possible.

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I continued to play for the kids in honor of Kara. One little boy showed me a picture of a minstrel out of one of the storybooks, saying it was me. I thought about that for awhile.

My friends from college helped me, and soon I had an authentic minstrel outfit. Orange tights, green boots, pantaloons, and tunic, with a red cap that had a huge feather. It was a smash. I switched from guitar to an old gourd style mandolin for dramatic effect. Side note: It didn't take me long to figure out changing at the hospital was a good idea. You get odd looks dressed as a minstrel driving a Mach 1.

Nurse Roberts remarried about nine months after Kara passed, to a doctor she met while doing volunteer work. She introduced me to him as her white son, I was truly honored. Retired now, she volunteers, becoming famous locally as a dramatic reader, making the stories come alive. After seeing my minstrel outfit, she appears now in gypsy garb, scarfs and all. We often work together. I usually go first, and introduce her as my soul mother. Some think she actually is my mother.

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I think it was about this time when I started to compartmentalize my life. I became jealous of my volunteer time and didn't want to share it. Somehow it lodged my head it was disrespectful to Kara's memory.

I was a little shell shocked, for lack of a better term. Mom died. Chip died. Kara died. I was just over fourteen and my mother, my brother, and my first love were all gone. My father was dealing with his own demons, and my grandmother was losing her health trying to bring us both back to the land of the living.

I had it in my head if I got too close to anyone they died. It took Dottie and Gram both to bring me back.

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Seeking solace in music, I studied and practiced relentlessly. My guitar instructor wanted to send a video of me to Julliard.

Life reared it's head and took that dream away too. A few of us were riding our mountain bikes around a homemade course, racing, when I tangled with my best friend and got my left hand caught in the wheels, breaking my little finger four times.

I recovered, but it left my finger weak. My instructor called after three weeks and insisted I come for my lesson. Personally, I thought it was a waste of time, but it was life altering. He introduced me to the slide. He also gave me a bass to keep my fingers limber.

My guitar teacher was an amazing guy. He was around fifty when I first met him, and had played both in big bands and early rock combos. When he met the love of his life he left the road and opened a music store, offering lessons as a sideline. Over the years he taught full time, turning the day to day operation of his store to his wife and son. His wife also taught, piano and organ. I took lessons from her, learning to love the organ.

Probably more than any other instrument, I loved playing slide guitar. After he showed me the basics I practiced constantly. In my opinion, slide is much more expressive than regular guitar. You can made it laugh or cry with you.

I studied everyone's style. In the end I developed my own. My sound was a little sharper, a little crisper than any one I emulated. Derrick Trucks, Lee Roy Parnell, Greg Allman, and most others coaxed notes out. In some of my work, it seemed like I was reaching elbow deep inside the guitar and was dragging the notes out, howling in protest. I toned it down usually, but if I got wound up that's what came out. Jimmy, the drummer, loved it when I got wound out.

Rarely with the band would I do slide work, usually when we covered the Allman Brothers. Mostly I stuck to bass, that was my role in the group.

Next to slide, I loved playing the bass. I could slap and pop with the best of the funk players, but my style evolved to the point when it often sounded like a deeper lead. It didn't work on all songs and I would tone it down when necessary.

I could sing. I had a fairly good voice, but had almost ruined it when I was young and playing in metal bands. You don't sing those songs, you scream them. Realizing what I was doing, I backed off singing lead as much, and actually studied voice to try and revive my range. I got to the point where I could do about two sets worth back to back before my voice starting going. We had a rotation in the band, there were actually three of us with good voices, and the rest did a fair job of harmonizing.

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I thought my life was going pretty good, and two things happened to alter it completely The first occurred when I met Freddie Johnson.

Most people didn't know his name, and truthfully, I didn't recognize him until he sang. But to be honest, I didn't listen to country music that often. I sold my guitars by word of mouth. If I had something, I told a few music stores I had a good relationship with, plus private collectors I had dealt with through the years. I had tried the websites, and while it got a lot of attention, few were serious and I ended up wasting a lot of time.

Freddie called and introduced himself, saying The Guitar Shop, one of the music stores I dealt with, told him I may have something he was interested in. We made plans to meet the following Monday.

He met me at the mini warehouses I owned. It was built to be a truck stop, based on inside information a developer had gotten about an interstate route coming by the location. The plan went down in flames when an investigation into a state highway official brought it all to light. The interstate route took another direction, and the property went into bankruptcy. It sat empty for eight years before the bank decided to auction it off, just to get it off the books.