Meet Me In Memphis

***Legal Disclaimer***

The following is entirely a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, alive or deceased, including but not limited to names and/or personal descriptions is purely coincidental. Nothing in this story is intended to be defamatory or metaphorical. This work was produced entirely with the intent to entertain the reader. Nothing more. All characters in this story are assumed to be at least 18 years old at the time the story takes place. This is an original work of fiction and the author retains all rights to it. Limited license is granted to 'Literotica' for publication according to their requirements and conditions. Copyright © 2022 by Scottish Texan. In an unprecedented move, I chose to forego with submitting this work to my crew of Beta Readers. I proofread and edited this entirely on my own, so any mistakes that were made are purely on my own shoulders. This is strictly a romance short story without any explicit sex scenes in it. If you want to jerk off, you probably should skip this one.

Preface

I was inspired to write this one by two different songs. My main inspiration comes from the Jimmy Buffett song by the same name. It first appeared on the Floridays album as track number 4. I fell in love with the song the very first time that I heard it. As for myself, I have been a loyal Parrothead since 1973 when 'Come Monday' hit the charts.

I liked 'Margaritaville' when it first came out as well, but I quickly grew extremely tired of it because when it went to number one, the radio stations played it far too often causing me to quickly get burned out on it. It took about ten years to get that worked out of my system and acquire a new appreciation for it. Only a true Parrothead knows that there is a missing verse written for 'Margaritaville'. What everyone assumes is Verse 3 is actually Verse 4. The actual Verse 3 can be easily found if you know where to look. It starts out with the phrase "Old men in tank tops,". Jimmy's next big hit was 'Cheeseburger In Paradise' and even though it was played very often too, I never grew tired of it. Anyway, having drifted too far off topic I digress.

The second song that provides inspiration for this is 'Walking In Memphis' by Marc Cohn. I often pull these two songs up and listen to them back to back. For some strange reason, they just seem to fit together really well for me. But maybe not so much for other people.

Jimmy Buffett has already addressed his vision for 'Meet Me In Memphis' as a short story in one of his books. I read it and enjoyed it, but it just didn't fit the song correctly or hit the same resonate chord in me as the song did (pardon the pun). When I heard the song, I envisioned two high school sweethearts who ended up on differing paths but never lost their love for each other. So that is what I have to share with you here.

For visual references, picture Anthony Edwards in his Top Gun days for Eric and Jennifer Nettles in the music video 'Who Says You Can't Go Home' for Erin. Jennifer has a total Amanda Bynes vibe going in that video.

Chapter One

Eric Martin paddled his canoe slowly down Dusenbury Creek. It was still mid-morning when he had departed from his shack in the 800 block of Narragansett Lane on Key Largo. When people asked Eric what he did for a living, he would laugh and tell them that he was self-unemployed. Truth be told however, Eric had numerous open doors just waiting on him to walk through them. Southwest Airlines was his last employer and they eagerly wanted him to return to them as a Captain. No one but Eric and God Himself knew why he had suddenly walked out the door when they had offered him the promotion from First Officer to Captain. Now he worked as a fishing guide part time for cash off of the books.

He spotted the empty one gallon milk jug floating up ahead easily enough. It was far enough back in the mangrove roots so as not to be too obvious. To anyone else, it was just trash that had floated in there and become entangled in the roots. But for Eric, it marked his favorite fishing spot. For some reason, Gray Snapper flocked to this particular spot in huge schools, albeit sporadically. Still, it was an easy way to put meat on the table cheaply enough. Eric's electric bill was his biggest expense at roughly $200.00 a month during the summer.

Eric wasn't living off of the grid exactly. But he had no mortgage payments since he totally owned the property where he lived outright, so his only expense was his yearly taxes. His grandfather had left him a substantial amount of money by buying several whole life insurance policies over the years. The man had named each one of his grandchildren individually as the beneficiary of each $250,000.00 policy. Eric's Mom had inherited all of the real estate in San Leon, Texas and her brother James had received the shrimping business with the five boats and property on Offatts Bayou.

Eric reached over the side of his canoe, about a foot below the surface easily locating the trout line where he had tied it onto the root of a mangrove the previous evening, and began his run. His hooks were placed on foot long leaders and spaced about eighteen inches apart. When he reached the far end, he had his legal limit of fish for the day so he untied it and gathered it back up. No sense in giving a game warden any reasons to realize that he had been working that area. It was why he had not been hassled about it so far. He was actually good close friends with the local warden, Nicholas Gomez. They had a favorite bar that they both frequented and so it was pretty much inevitable that they would meet and hang out together.

Nick and his wife Samantha would frequently invite Eric around for dinners on Saturday Nights. They had tried several times without success to set up Eric on blind dates with single ladies that they called friends. The closest that they had come to hooking Eric up into a permanent relationship was with Jane Woods. Jane and Sam had grown up together as neighbors. Jane's family had moved from Savanna, Georgia to South Carolina when the two girls had finished 8^th grade, but the two girls stayed in close touch and called each other regularly to maintain their friendship. They were separated only by a distance of less than a hundred miles, so it worked out well enough.

Eric and Jane could have become an item if it weren't for two big hurdles that the couple faced. First, Eric was very adamant about not selling his Key Largo property to move north to South Carolina. Jane was equally adamant about not leaving Charleston to live in Key Largo year round. Second, Eric's heart already belonged to another. Just like the title to the song written by Cat Stevens says, the first cut is the deepest. So Jane and Eric enjoyed a 'NSA' fuck-buddy relationship wherein they hooked up three or four times a year at best.

After Eric arrived back at his shack and cleaned his catch, he turned on his hot plate and got out the blackened Lodge® cast iron skillet that had been handed down to him from his Paternal Grandmother. Tossing a little bit of margarine into it, he prepared to fry up part of his catch.

It was about then that the bicycle bell that he had mounted on the post next to his mailbox tinkled. Dave, the mailman was another good friend who always announced his arrival by ringing the bell for Eric. Something that he would not have normally done for anyone else on his route. But he didn't really mind taking the extra step for Eric since he only came by about once every two weeks or so. Bills were about the only mail that Eric received. Dave knew not to bother with delivering the circulars because Eric would only let them sit in the mailbox until it overflowed.

Eric stepped out of the front door and walked down the sidewalk. Dave normally just dropped the mail into the box, rang the bell, then moved on to his next stop on the route, but not today. Today Dave stood by the mailbox with a goofy look on his face. He fanned himself with an envelope made from a rose colored stationery. Just before Eric reached him, he drew the envelope along under his nose and sigh out loudly, "Hmmmm!"

"Don't you have some kind of oath to respect the privacy of the citizens who reside on your route?" Eric asked as he approached his buddy and reached for the missive.

"A postman's version of the Hippocratic oath?" Dave chuckled heartily. "Sorry, buddy, but no. But I have to admit that my curiosity is piqued. This is loaded with so much perfume that it just HAS to be a love letter of some sort. But there's no return address. Only the Memphis, Tennessee postmark and the initials E.C. on the corner."

"OH FUCK ME!" Eric gasped, his hand freezing halfway to its target. He let his hand drop to his side without accepting the envelope from Dave. He only stood there stunned and speechless.

"Wow!" Dave exclaimed. "That was NOT the response that I was expecting to get from you. You obviously know who this E.C. person is from your reaction."

"Unless I am mistaken, it would be Erin Carter. My ex-fiancee. It's been three years ago that we broke up. I should have recognized the stationery. That looks like the same paper that she wrote her 'Dear John' letter to me on."

"Wait a minute...three years? That means that you moved here right after you two broke up."

"Way to go, Sherlock. Nothing escapes from you today." Eric raised his hand once more and accepted the mail from the postman. "Anything else in the bag for me today? Or was this it?"

"Nope. Just that one item. Look, I know that you and I are not really close friends or anything. But if you do need someone to talk to, leave the flag up on your mailbox. If the flag is up and the box is empty, then I know to come knock on your door and check on you. Okay?"

"You're a good man, Dave. I don't care what Margaret says about you."

Dave chuckled, "That old biddy? She hates everyone. I've never heard her say anything good or nice about anyone."

"Well, at least she isn't prejudiced. She hates everyone equally, right?" They both shared a mutual laugh as Eric turned and went back inside his hovel. He casually tossed the letter onto his double pedestal desk and returned to what passed as the kitchen in the three room shack. He served up his fish on a bed of white rice with buttered sweet peas and Brussels sprouts with garlic for sides.

Once the meal was finished, the dirty dishes washed and placed into the rack to dry, Eric sat at his desk and studied the letter that had arrived today. The pleasant aroma of Avon's Foxfire wafted up to his olfactory nerves from its surface. His memories of Erin easily flooded his consciousness inspired by the scent the filled the room. His thoughts drifted back to the first month of their tenth grade year.

Chapter Two

It was the first week of school and the beginning of their senior year. Eric stared across the room at his friend Erin. They had known each other since Kindergarten at Stewart Elementary School in Hitchcock, Texas. She had always been something of a tomboy. In those early years, she had hung out with the boys on the playground more than she had played with the other girls. If there was a sandlot baseball game going on, she would take her turn at the plate with the other guys. She and Eric gravitated together for some unknown reason and became close best friends.

Eric had both an older brother and a younger sister, but he discovered that there was absolutely nothing that he could not share with Erin. All of his dreams, hopes, and fears. He unburdened himself to her and she did the same in return. He knew her even better than he knew his own baby sister. They grew up together and shared everything. Saturdays usually found them at one house or the other. Saturday Movie Matinee was a regular thing for them, especially during the summer months when they were out of school.

During their Junior High School days at Crosby Middle School, Erin had taken up playing the French Horn and joined the school band. During the summer months between 5^th and 6^th grades, she had tried to encourage Eric to take up the French Horn with her, but he felt funny with his fist stuffed up inside of the bell of the instrument.

Eric discovered that the Baritone with its larger mouthpiece was much more to his liking. In 9^th grade they had both made the transition to Marching Band at Hitchcock High School. Eric continued to play Baritone with the marching version that looked like an oversized Flugelhorn. In the Symphonic Band, he used a standard Baritone. In Jazz Band, he used a Valve Trombone that he had stumbled across one day in a band hall storeroom at the school.

Eric absolutely loved Jazz Ensemble. The first song that they learned to play was '(Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay' by Otis Redding and Steve Cropper. For those people who don't really pay much attention to the backstage scene, Steve Cropper is virtually unknown. But Eric knew very well just how much influence Steve Cropper and his close friend, the late Donald 'Duck' Dunn had in the industry. Knowing that Steve had written the nearly all of the lyrics to this song was part of the reason that Eric loved it so much. But it also brought back memories of being on a shrimp boat and watching the ships sailing in and heading out of Bolivar Roads.

Michael Bolton had done a cover of the same song along with a music video too. Eric had watched the video and found it extremely ironic that the kitchen in the shack in the video was a virtual twin to his own. But Bolton's performance had seemed 'forced' to Eric. It felt to Eric like Bolton was trying too hard to imitate a black man singing instead of using his own natural voice. It also didn't have the whistling of the melody in the outro like the original and that impacted it very negatively. Otis Redding's widow had called Bolton's version her favorite, even over her own husband's. But Eric politely disagreed.

During their High School performances of the song, the director had paired Eric with Bobby McLennan. Bobby sang in the choir and had a perfect pitch whistle that was loud and strong, even better than Otis Redding's. The rest of the ensemble would go totally silent while Eric and Bobby performed the outro once through. Then Eric would lower his horn and Bobby would whistle the final notes all alone. When they finished, the audience was stunned into silence. Quite a few members of the audience and the ensemble would be rubbing their eyes to hold back the tears. Then came the standing ovation. It was pure pandemonium and was a very moving moment for Eric.

Eric and Erin were around each other so much that their classmates joked about them being twins joined at the hip. The similarity of their names had not helped matters any because it only added more fuel to the fire. The two were christened "The 'E' Twins" by their classmates. It was actually an appellation used with friendly affection by their peers. But being in close proximity with his best friend and seeing her on an every day basis had its disadvantages as well. When Erin's body began filling out during puberty, Eric didn't really notice the changes that brought out her sexiness, at least not until they had both turned 18 years old.

Then came the first day of 12^th grade when everything suddenly changed. Staring across the room at Erin during their first period trigonometry class, Eric found himself dealing with something that he had never felt before. A fellow student named Robert Foster was showing an inordinate amount of attention to Erin and flirting with her. For the first time, Eric looked at Erin through the eyes of a man and not the eyes of her best friend. He was overwhelmed by two emotions.

First, he suddenly felt butterflies in his stomach and love filling his heart. Until this very moment, he had never harboured any romantic interest towards his best friend. He saw her cute little smirk as utterly adorable for the first time ever. The way that she tossed her dirty blonde hair all to one side and over her shoulder was attractive as hell. Her green eyes saw right through him and deep into his soul. He longed to wrap her up in his arms, hold her tight, and never again let her get more than three feet away from him.

Second, he felt jealousy and rage. If looks could kill, Robert Foster was a dead man walking. It wasn't until his palms started hurting from his own fingernails digging deep furrows into them that he realized what he was thinking. He had balled his fists up so tightly that his knuckles had turned blanch white as he began contemplating ways to hurt Robert and hurt him badly. Regaining a measure of self control, Eric returned to his lessons determined to speak with Erin at length during their shared lunch period. They didn't have a shared class during second and third periods. But they always ate lunch together before their fourth period which was music theory and band.

As soon as lunchtime arrived, Eric waited at the cafeteria entrance that he knew Erin always used. As soon as she stepped inside, he quickly gathered up her hand in his own and hustled her outside. Erin was startled, but she didn't protest. She knew that she was ALWAYS safe when Eric was nearby. Once outside and around a corner where a little privacy could be had, Eric pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Erin was so startled at first that she didn't know how to react other than trying to catch her breath with heavy breathing through her nose and pushing against Eric to gain some room. But once she was clearly cognizant of what her best friend in all of the world was doing, she melted into his arms and parted her own lips. Eric's lips were still closed so she gently probed with her tongue licking from one side to the other. Eric parted his lips in response and the two began frenching in earnest, tongues gently caressing each other in their shared passion. Several minutes passed before they finally came up for air.

"It's about damn time, Pilgrim!" Erin tried to do her best female impersonation of John Wayne's drawl while gasping and trying in vain to catch her breath. "It surely took you long enough to make a move! I've been dropping subtle hints for months that I wanted to kiss you!"

"You should have been less subtle. I'm a guy and I'm hardheaded to boot."

"Okay then, mister how about I try a more direct approach. I have had guys hitting on me since eighth grade. I shot Robert down this morning as gently as I could. I'm getting really good at it because I have shot down dozens and dozens of them while I waited for you to finally get your shit together!"

"Whew! For a second there I thought you were leading into a tirade that would end with ME getting shot down. But then you qualified it by saying that you were waiting for me, so I'm guessing that it is safe to assume that I can play tonsil hockey with you again soon?"

Erin giggled. "You're not so dense as you think you are, hun."

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss once more. Just as they opened their mouths and their lips brushed together, Luisa Hernandez, a fellow band-mate walked around the corner and nearly stumbled into the couple as she came to a halt. (For the curious readers out there, Luisa plays Clarinet.)

"Oh hell yeah!" Luisa exclaimed. "It is about time the two of you stopped pretending like you're not in love with each other!" Sticking her thumb and index finger into her mouth, she blew an incredibly loud wolf whistle.

The 'E' twins laughed into each other's mouths causing slobber to splatter their lower faces and chins. Eric quickly grabbed a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped Erin's face clean before cleaning his own.