Wednesday, December 26, 2007

A timeless tale

So one time I was talking to some girl and made the comment "Johnny Cash...hit me with fish...tell you more later..." A couple days went by and she kept bothering me about an explanation, which resulted in the following story I found in an old email. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

So I was out shopping for cheese (Wensleydale, of course) at Smith's a couple years back. There I was, minding my own business, when I heard a loud crash from the next aisle over. I went around the corner to see what the commotion was about and what I saw made my jaw drop. There, lying on the ground in a pile of Ravioli cans, was the Woody Allen of country music himself; none other than my old nemesis Johnny Cash. My eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here," I said, in the most threatening way possible.

He scowled as he rose form the pile. Apparently, I had just interrupted one of his infamous little-kid-cart joy rides.

"None of your business, backwards hands. You'd better leave before I have to whip you."

At this, he drew the guitar from its place on his back in a fluid, threatening motion.

"You don't want to do this, Cash. Have you forgotten what happened the last time we had a duel?" my own guitar whispered from the guitar case at my hip. His scowl greased to an evil grin.

"Last time was different. You had the advantage; we were in Tiajuana, you had your freaks to help you. But not here. Here there will be no populace to cheer you, no witnesses to see! It's almost a shame no one will watch the fall of the great Trevor Kelley." He laughed wickedly.

A bead of sweat ran down the middle of my back. He was right; Juan, Alexandra and the rest of the Sunshine Burritos would not be here to cheer me on. It seemed he had me.

My fear hardened into resolve. If I was going to die here, there would be a price for my blood.

"Then let it be done."

It began.

With a twisted smile, Cash picked a wickedly fast series of notes. I responded in time with him, keeping up with ease. Back and forth the duel flew; eash of us trying to gain a foothold of some kind. Cash was playing aggresively, throwing everything he had at me all at once. I could barely keep up with the deluge of picking patterns, chord progressions and tassets which he drew from his seemingly endless musical quiver. Desperately I held on, waiting for the country music star to make a mistake. My fingers started bleeding, my vision was going dark.

The end was near.

Time slowed. Seconds turned into hours as my enemy mercilessly beat me into submission. My guitar slid from nerveless fingers as I dropped to my knees. My entire life began playing back, the memories, regrets, and dreams all flowing before me in one hopeless instant. This was it. I would die here in Smiths, alone but for the mocking laughter of my nemesis and the cold embrace of Ravioli can aluminum. A cry broke my reveree.

"What are you doing?"

I turned. At the end of the aisle stood a store manger, his hands on his hips and a puzzled look on his fat, beet-red face. Relief flooded into me. I was saved.

Cash stammered a response. "Uh... we were just..."

The manager cut him off. "You ruined that Ravioli display! Get out of the store! Now!" The manager reached for the in-store phone. Cash's look of confusion turned to one of dread.

"No!"

"Clean up on aisle 12."

The sound of rushing feet filled the store. I rose to my feet with a grunt.

"Give it up, Cash. You're through."

I started forward, reaching to grab his grubby flannel sleeve. Before I could react, a giant halibut slammed into the side of my head, sending me reeling into another carefully constructed can-pyramid. I cursed my stupidity. Johnny Cash had two arms! I stumbled to my feet, struggling to regain my bearings. I saw a flannel red shape loping off to my left. Desperately I heaved a can of olives at it. I cursed my poor aim as the can clunked harmlessly to Cash's left side. He was gone.

The sound of rushing feet suddenly filled my ears. Remembering the impending clean up crew I bolted, drawing a white ball from my guitar case. I slammed it into the linoleum covered floor and yelled, "Ninja vanish!" The ball worked its magic; I found myself once again in the comforting darkness of the Danger Cave.

"I'll get you next time, Cash. Mark my words."

See you later, space cowboy.

3 comments:

Andrea said...

A fine tale indeed. I look forward to your next encounter with Cash, which I expect will be even more epic than the last. And you are ridiculous. And I love you.

Allison said...

It's official. You're my new hero.

Gina Prisbrey ( aunt Gina) said...

OH Trevor! That was a hoot!