Twenty-three

Alice Is Singing

Dear Alice:

Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m writing you from the Blue Diamond Café on Interstate 80, just east of Flagstaff New Mexico. I got dropped off here by Jimmy, this Mexican dude with beautiful blue eyes who picked me up this morning in Kingman, Arizona.

Because it’s really hot today, Jimmy drove with his shirt off and beads of sweat ran down his neck and into the hairs on his chest, sparkling like little jewels. He was really sexy, and I would’ve fucked him in the back of his truck if he’d asked, but he was married and faithful to his wife, or so he said.

Right before he dropped me off, he took out his wallet and showed me a picture of his four-year-old son. When I started to cry, he asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him, and I’m not sure I can tell you, either. Maybe I can, but first I want to make a list of my five all-time favorite rock-and-roll records. That’s the reason I asked the waitress for a pencil and paper in the first place. I had no idea that I was going to write you a letter.

(1) “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. This was the first record I ever bought with money I saved up from my allowance. When I got home, I played it ten straight times. Years later I met Don Everly in Los Angeles at the Whisky a Go Go. He was really sweet, and even though it wasn’t cool, I asked him for his autograph.

(2) “Lonely Teardrops” by Jackie Wilson. This record came out about the same time as the Everly Brothers song, but my dad wouldn’t let me buy the 45 when he saw Jackie’s picture on the sleeve. He hated black people. He and Charlie had that in common.

(3) “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright” by Bob Dylan. This is more folk than rock and roll, but it’s the way I lived my life—without thinking twice. There’s a lot of stuff I wish I could do over, but I can’t. I used to be bitter, depressed, insecure, and lonely. I looked creepy and acted weird. I couldn’t see the good in the world. Now I can laugh in the movies, and I can cry too. I have dreams and hopes. I guess I simply want to go on living.

(4) “I Can See For Miles” by the Who. That’s what happened when I left Cedar Rapids in 1965. The wind was blowing hard and I was definitely scared, but I could see for miles in every direction. It was a brand new beginning and the music made me feel free. And now where am I? Vm still free. Are you?

(5) “Mother and Child Reunion” by Simon and Garfunkel. This was the reason I was crying when I got out of Jimmy Santiago’s truck. I was thinking about a boy—the son of my blood—who would celebrate his third birthday in a few days, on May 16. He was born on a clear spring night in the desert. And guess what? Even though he may be the only thing I’ve ever truly loved in my life, I don’t even know his name.

Goodbye,

Alice