Feb 272010

musician playing guitarby Bill Gillard

I write a lot of lines.

A lot.

But the only one that ever

did what I wanted it to do

(i.e. got me a girl)

was this little piece of a song


about a small town girl

moving out on her own

she left in the summer night

just walked out the back door

across the yard, across the

spinach farm next door

down the gravel road

to the truck stop

on the interstate

where she waited

for an honest-looking driver

to stop in and fill up.

But it took hours

made her think hard about her life

until a storm rolled in

and my line:

turn your face into the rain

meant she learned something

important about herself that night


my band played for gas money

in these little road houses

in the corner of any bar

the tables pushed against the wall

people want to dance

that night I saw her

face framed by a beer sign

all dressed in blue

she smiled and turned away

then I sang that line

and there she was again

I could feel the heat coming off her body

as I sang that little song

in that North Country bar.


We loaded out

under the awning by the dumpster

in the cold autumn rain

and I filled the back of the van

with cymbals and drums, amps and keys

a woman in the shadows

back to the wind

turned to me

turned her face into the rain

and didn’t blink

her eyes and mine

a held note

she breathed deep

and I laughed

“you want to get some coffee?”


Okay, that’s two lines that worked.