The Cursed Song ~ a ghost story (pt 4)

In the spirit of October, each Monday this month has seen a new section of Erik Virtanen’s four part short story ‘The Cursed Song’. This is the last.

Death Imitates Art.

Buddy was lookin’ for his ticket outta here. He heard the rumours surroundin’ this cursed song and drove on down to Mary’s old house. Gave all he had and got hold of the music sheet Mary left behind. He was gonna get famous for his bravery. For playing a song that’d curse him ‘till death. A song that everyone else was too scared to play.

On a regular Tuesday night, Buddy took the stage, and we could see somethin’ was different. He was pale. His head hanged even lower. He played Mary’s song and his tears started flowin’. And our tears started flowin’. When he was finished, he started playin’ something else, but stopped midway and played Mary’s song again. And let me tell ya, we wanted to hear it again. We wanted to keep hearin’ it. That sad song.

When Buddy takes the stage on Tuesdays, the place stops dead. He didn’t get famous like he thought. No, Buddy’s still here. He’s gettin’ older like us. And every Tuesday he steps in and plays the cursed song, sheds a few tears, and leaves. Goes home. Waitin’ for the next Tuesday. Buddy fuckin’ Rock. And we need it.

Now he walks to the stage. Guitar in hand, he takes a seat. He closes those dead eyes and . . . Listen:

Mary’s spirit pours outta those notes. Her worries. Her fear. She was scared of dyin’. She was afraid of leavin’. Life goes on when you die, she’s sayin’. People move on when you become nothin’ but a body. When your eyes don’t see and your brain stops runnin’. Mary was scared about that. Because life keeps movin’. Memories aren’t real. Her young love, her whole life that passed – it’s no more. Every moment dies. I’m gonna die. People and things pass through you like a ghost. Sometimes I wanna grab a moment and hold it close to me and never let it go. But I can’t. We can’t. Because the moment leaves you. We can only sing about the past. We can only sing about what’s not real no more.

Mary turned herself into a ghost. That’s what music does: it makes a ghost of us. People and feelin’s that flow from mouths and fingertips. Phantoms. That’s why music is so powerful. Because it’s real. You an’ I are just spectral selves passin’ through. Music is ghostly. Music is real.

Those are the thoughts that chill my soul during Mary’s song. A few minutes to face reality. It ain’t the song that matters so much, but where it takes your mind.

Now Buddy’s finished. His tears are flowin’. His shakin’ hands take their place on his guitar and he puts his mouth to the microphone.

To sing Mary’s song again.

©2007, Erik Virtanen