Woman #4: White Noise

22 W. Van Buren St., Chicago, Illinois.

November 12th, 1979, 7:45 am

The sound of the train rumbled passed his room. Even on a Saturday, the trains ran early. And here he was, barely getting to sleep after another all night session.

It was one thing when the all night sessions involved music. But they hardly did anymore. This was not alright.

Elwood rolled over and covered his head with a pillow, unable to sleep.

Still, it wasn't the rumble of the tracks that bothered him. The noise didn't keep him awake. It had all become white noise by now. Even the sound of the needle, scratching, repeating at the end of the record on his phonograph melted away into white noise.

The white noise didn't bother him. What bothered him was that the noise offered nothing in return. No soul. No guts. Nothing.

Even his old records faded into the background, when he bothered to take them out of their sleeves and play them. Listening to music just wasn't the same as making it.

He mumbled words of nothing as he rolled over again, flinging the pillow to the side. His eyes were wide open as he lay there thinking.

How long had it been since he had a gig? Since he seriously picked up the harp? How long was it since he really played some music? A few breaths in an out across the metal edge? That was just going through the motions. That was nothing but white noise.

How long had it been since he spoke with anyone in the band? And what about Jake? Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who wrote letters.

Elwood's mind was racing this morning. Something was bothering him. More than usual.

Maybe it was just the lingering smell of her cheap perfume. Maybe that was it. The smell of some strange chick's perfume could keep him awake, and mess with his mind. It'd mess up anyone's routine.

Shit. He didn't even remember her name. Did he even get her name? He tried to remember a few

of the lies they swapped the night before, but he had no real memory of it. And the twenty minutes in the back of the Caddy? That, too, was a memory quickly fading. Maybe there was a phone number in his pocket. He'd check later.

Maybe.

All he remembered was that it was all too easy. Even the tried and true prepackaged top-40 pick up lines were coming up empty. Even that was white noise in the background.

"What was it that Curtis once told me? About easy women?" Elwood thought to himself.

"You see, there's two kinds of women, Elwood. The easy ones. They're the ones you can talk into anything. And then there's the tough ones... They'll stand by you, and get you through, no matter what."

Elwood chuckled, as a song came to his mind. His right foot moved as he began to keep time. He reached over to a chair that served double duty as his nightstand. He grabbed his harp, and for the first time in a long while, really started to play.

The harmonica music sang, even though no one was actually singing in the room.

"Crazy 'bout her, that hard-headed woman of mine..."

He once had it all figured out, sitting in Curtis' room at St. Helen's. It all made sense back then. The answers were all so clear. You learn to drive, play a little music... and try not to get caught with your girlie magazines. End of story.

Still, he sometimes forgot those lessons Curtis tried to teach him. Whether you're talking about women or cars, make sure you can trust her... depend upon her... fall back on her. Is she gonna stand the test of time? Who cares what the paint looks like? Check under the hood. Get to know her, inside and out. Nothing else would ever satisfy.

Elwood stared at the ceiling, in a state of shock, clarity, and self-realization.

"You stupid dick!!" Elwood mumbled to himself, as he quickly sat up. "You stupid, stupid dick.. The dames... the cars... the music!! You just can't look and listen. You gotta take her out for a drive! You gotta listen to the engine purr... listen to the music..."

He grabbed an old paper, dated from a few days before. He immediately turned to the classified ads.

- Will Buy and Sell Cars. All makes. All models. All conditions. Top dollar!

- For Sale! New and Used Musical Instruments and Stage Equipment. Professional quality

- City of Mt. Prospect Vehicle Auction. Decommissioned police vehicles. Solid. Sold as is. Auctions, every month.

Without a second thought, he jumped out of bed, and pulled a comb through his dark hair. He

grabbed his black jacket, hat, and sunglasses as he headed out the door.

An old man's voice shouted across the dark lobby of the hotel for men that Elwood called home. "You're out early, boy...!"

"Yeah-up..." Elwood walked by, barely listening anymore.

"Pick me up some Cheez Whiz?"

"Yeah-up. Always do." He jotted Cheez Whiz down on his mental list of things to get today.

"Cheez... And bread... Cheez, white bread, and a microphone."

Elwood climbed into the Caddy, parked around the corner. The music started up, as he revved the engine. He couldn't hear either one in his excitment. He quickly shifted gears and threw it into drive, only to notice he was sandwiched in between two parked cars.

"You son of a bitch..."

The fender on the Caddy was half way off, anyway. Throwing caution to the wind, as usual, Elwood cut a hard left as he pushed the ‘72 Chevy in front of him out of his way. At least the sound of metal scraping on metal was a change of pace. And at least that sound meant something.

He hit the gas and pulled out, all without even checking in the rear view mirror once.

-End-