The Road to No-Where

AThe Road to Nowhere- Tim Monzingo


The rain fell gently at first, then harder. It drizzled down my window as if to remind me of how I had hit rock bottom. I sat in my crummy little apartment in New York and looked at the few brave souls on the sidewalk. They wouldn’t be there long in this weather, I thought. I shivered in the cold of the room. The rain wasn’t helping any. I pulled my old army jacket tighter about my shoulders and rested my head on the windowpane. How did it come to this? Trying to scratch a living in the least hospitable place on earth. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. The rain continued to pound away at the thin roof over head. I was a has been. A washout. Just another lost soul in the ebb and flow of time. Another one of the lost ones. I was one of those people who rich people looked at and thought “That poor bastard. It’s a shame.” And then climbs into his Mercedes-Benz and cruises off to some party on Capitol Hill. It’s amazing how swiftly all that we know can be swept away. In a single instant, the superficial worlds that we’ve created for our selves can come crashing down around us and leave us naked to the mercy of the cold. I watch a man climb out of his Ferrari and step onto the sidewalk below my window and look up at me. Maybe he’s here to help me, I thought. For a few moments I entertained the idea. I dreamed of that man coming up the stairs into the room and telling me that the father I never knew has left me a fortune. Wake up, I said to my self. This is the real fucking world not some Hollywood flick. As this realization dawned on me, the man lowered his head, shaking it in pity for the broken whelp of a man in the dirty old window. I reached over and pick up my old guitar in the corner. I picked out a few notes, maybe now I could write the song that would save me from myself. How did I end up here? I thought, running my hand up and down the fingerboard of the guitar. But I couldn’t think. I set the guitar down again and breathed a heavy sigh. The rain was coming down in thick sheets now, and everybody scrambled to get undercover. I reached for my duffel bag and rummaged around in it for a moment. I pulled out a small pouch of tobacco, my pipe, and a matchbook. I stuffed in a wad of tobacco and lit it. I inhaled, letting the sweet smoke fill my lungs. I blew it out and watched it fade into the dark ceiling. I reached back into the bag a rummaged about. My fingers hit something cold. I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was a picture of my girlfriend, Sara, well, ex-girlfriend. When my recording label had fallen through, she left. I slipped the picture out of the little frame and rubbed it between my fingers, I can pawn the frame for a couple bucks, I thought dismally. I dropped the frame to the bag again and opened the old window. The rain and cold wind pelted me as a looked into the storm. Is this all you got? I asked the clouds. As if in answer, a boom of thunder cracked the sky, shaking the window frame. Gusts of wind swept down the flooded street. I stuck my hand out and let go of the little picture. I watched it fly down the street and into one of the storm drains. I closed the window and took another puff of the pipe. I stood up from the stool and walked to the door. I pulled out the hood on my jacket, walked down the stairs and out into the rain. There was a small coffee shop on the corner. I needed some coffee. I walked through the front door and into the virtually empty café. I walked up to the counter and dug out my wallet. “ Gimme a cup of the house coffee.” I said to the greasy little kid behind the counter. “ Please.” I added gruffly when he didn’t get up. He climbed to his feet and over to the coffee machine. I picked up a pen out of the glass jar next to the register. A minuet later the kid came back with the cup. “ That’ll be three-fifty.” He said. I pulled five bucks out of my wallet and handed it to him. He gave me my change and I dropper it into the little “Save the Children” jar. I grabbed a napkin and walked to a table in the back of the shop. I sat in the plain wooden chair and took a sip of the steaming coffee. For three dollars and fifty cents, it wasn’t bad. I pulled the pen out of my pocket and set it on the table. I’ve got to write something, I thought. I looked out the window and saw a street sign whose name had been worn off by too many years of weathering. I started there. A Road to Nowhere I scribbled on the napkin.

I let your picture go today
I’m not too sure yet
But I guess its okay
I saw it fly into the rain
And flutter down an old storm drain
Where are you?
I ask as it sails past
All I know now is its on a road to nowhere
And going there fast.

(Chorus)
It’s on a road to nowhere and going there fast
Your picture is gone
And so is our past
I’ve got a plan to let it all go
I’m callin’ just to let you know
That I’m on a road to nowhere
That’s anywhere but here.

I scribbled down the last few lines. Well, I thought, it’s a start. I swallowed the last of my coffee and stood up. I tucked the napkin away in my pocket so it wouldn’t get wet and stepped out into the rain. I walked towards my apartment, hammered by the sheets of rain. I made it back to my door and stepped into the little room again. I sat down on the stool and pulled the pen and the napkin out of my pocket. I started writing again.

In this kind of race
There isn’t any reward
For second place
I can’t talk too long
This is my final song
The one for the road
The road to nowhere that’s going there fast.

(Chorus)

I set down my pen and looked into the rain outside. Maybe I wasn’t going to be a washout after all. I picked up the pen again and started to write another verse. Before I got through the fist letter, the pen had stopped working. Crap, I thought, and looked out at the storm, here we go again. I grabbed the napkin and stuffed it into my coat pocket. I walked down the stairs and into the rain again. I didn’t have enough money to go back to the coffee house and get a cup and a pen, so I settled for the little convenience store across the street. I ran across the street and into the store. I looked around and found the pens. I slipped a package of pens into my pocket and walked into the bathroom. I walked into a stall and opened them. I stuck all four into my pocket, and walked back into the store. I found the notebooks and sat down in the isle. I took the napkin out of my pocket and transcribed the song from the napkin to a page in the notebook. I tore it and another page out and put them in my pocket. I nodded to the clerk as I stepped out to face the elements again. The rain was coming down so hard now, that I could barely see my own hand in front of my face. I stepped out into the street again. Maybe two steps out, and I was hit. A car came flying down the street and hit me, snapping my legs and hurling me to the street. I felt my skull crack on the concrete and I started to get cold. The man in the car ran towards me. “Oh my God! I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” He said. I couldn’t breathe. “Don’t worry, he said, I’ll call an ambulance.” He said, reaching for his cell phone. I grabbed his hand. “Too late…” I managed, “Here…” I dug in my pocket and pulled out the song. I handed it to him and I died. Right there in the street, the rain pouring down on me, filling my mouth and eyes. I had hit rock bottom. I was a washout.

James Aldt sat at his desk, thinking about why he was here. It had been one evening and he’d been coming home from work as usual. He was driving a little too fast, as usual. But something that wasn’t so usual had happened. A young man had stepped out into the street and right into the path of the car. James hadn’t seen him in time and he’d run smack into him. The man had handed him a piece of paper just before he died. James hadn’t known what it was until he got home a week later and saw it laying on the desk. He’d picked it up and read it. He realized it was a song. There hadn’t been any I.D. on the man, no driver’s license, no library card, nothing except for a business card for Arista Records and a guitar pick. James had taken the song to the company and they had had it published. James didn’t know the man he’d hit, so when the company had asked who wrote the song, he’d said he did. James reached over and turned on the radio on his desk. They were running an add for a supermarket. James picked up an envelope on his desk marked Arista Records. He tore it open and found a check for 180,000 dollars. He had been receiving royalties for the song for three weeks now and had already made more money than he had in his entire life. The station D.J. was back on the air. “ Hey all you listeners out there, here’s the what you’ve been waiting for, the number one hit in America right now is, yep you guessed it A Road to Nowhere!” the D.J. said. Soon the music for the song began and it was playing again. Twenty straight weeks at number one. It was the best song in the country, and everyone loved it.