( BASED ON THE SONG WAYWARD WIND )
A crowd had gathered around the old man. A stranger, a restless soul. The old man had many stories of his wondering life. He sat there on the porch of an abandoned house. The house had long been condemed. Long been vacant. It sat just this side of the railroad tracks, and wasn't considered part of the black community. The old house was said to be where the writer of the hit song Wayward Wind grew up, and lived most of her life. It is also said, the woman was black, and she wrote the song about someone she loved. A white man, who lived among the black community. The old man began to rock, he held a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand, and an old magazine in the other. The cover had a picture of a black woman standing in front of a diner, somewhere here in Mississippi. Worn with age, and pages ragged from being read over and over again. The old man takes a long sip of the whiskey, and began to tell his story.
" I never was a man to settle down, I was a drifter. I had a restless heart. I moved when the wind blew, and when the wind changed direction, I would hop on my harley and follow it."
" It was in the fifties, I was a young boy, seventeen I think. I had gotten my very first job pumping gas, and changing tires. The station is'nt there anymore, but It was just down the road there a ways. I believe a wal-mart Is there now, I'm not sure."
The crowd moved in closer, as the old man told them about the Harley Davidson motorcycle.
" I loved that bike, and was determined to have it. I worked for months, saving up to buy her. Every penny I earned, I saved to get it. After several months, I had enough. She was a little rusty, and needed some repairs, but I managed to get her fixed."
" The first time I rode the bike, I fell In love with It. It gave me the feeling of freedom, and soon I was taking her further and further. I traveled many miles on her, until she broke down for good. I called that bike Wendy. Never had another one like her."
The old man seemed really sad, as he took another drink of whiskey, and held tightly to the magazine. Someone In the crowd ask the old man about the woman on the cover.
He looked past the crowd, as If he looked straight through their soul. He raised the magazine, and starred at the cover.
" This Is Wendy." Holding her picture towards the crowd.
" Wendy? " Someone asked.
The old man placed the magazine to his heart. " Yes, she was my reason for living. I loved her so much, I named my bike after her. But I was too stupid to know what I could have had. I met Wendy at a local diner. Wendys family lived here, where I'm sitting now. They didn't live In the black community. Her mother worked for a white family. They gave Wendy a job at their diner, and rented her family this house."
The old man glanced at the picture again, and took another drink of whiskey.
" Wendy couldn't wait for me to settle down, so she married. They had two children together,a boy and a girl. I would pass through, every few years or so, just like I am now. I come here to think of what could have been, what should been."
" Do you regret It? " A voice asked.
The old man looked up, with tears In his eyes. " Every day of my life." He cried.
" Wendy had a knack for writing. She could write the most beautiful songs."
A smile came across the old mans face. " She wrote a song about me," he proudly told them.
" What was the name of It" " Someone asked.
The old man chuckled, " Wayward Wind."
The crowd looked at one another, ' Are you telling us, you knew Wendy Waters, the writer of that song."
He began to rock back and forth again.
" I would give anything to see her again. When I left that last time, I was gone many years. Now I'm back, and nobody can tell me anything."
Suddenly a man steps up on the porch, from out of the crowd, and walks over to the old man.
" Is your name Stormy? "
The old man looks at him surprised.
" Why, yes it is. How do you know that? "
" Wendy Waters was my mother. I remember her speaking of you many times." The man said.
The old man stopped rocking. " Where is your mother, young man? "
The man took Stormy's hand, " Come with me, I'll show you."
He helps the old man in his car, and they drive about a mile up the road. Stormy's heart began to beat faster, as they come to Clearwater Cemetery.
Stormy glances over at the man, " Help me out son."
They slowly made their way to Wendy's grave. Stormy kneeled at the head stone, and placed the magazine against it.
He began to cry. " I have missed you my love," as he caressed the cold marble.
The man walked back to his car to leave them alone.
Stormy gazed upon the stone as If he were gazing into Wendy's soul. " My love, how I miss you so. I'm sorry! I'm sorry I wasn't there for you In the end."
He read the words engraved In the stone. " A restless soul, that longs to wonder."
The old man knew the words were about him. But now he is too old to be restless, too old to wonder. But he'll never be too old to love...
Days later, the old mans body was found, sitting in the rocking chair. His restless heart had finally stopped. But his soul continues to wonder In the wayward wind. If you look closely, and feel the wind upon your face. Maybe, just maybe. You'll catch a glimpse of that harley. Upon It you may find, two lost loves, of what should have been. Riding the restless wind...
© Copyright 2016 angellynn. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Religion and Spirituality
Poem / Poetry
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