Read Online The Woman in Oil Fields by Tracy Daugherty - Free Book Online

us if we knew “Bobby McGee.”
    Jackie didn’t say anything. Buoyed by the beer I said, “I could fake it.”
    â€œMother, I don’t want to sing,” Ida told Joy.
    â€œBaby, you’re so much better than what’s-her-name.”
    â€œNo I’m not.”
    â€œGravelly old voice – woman sounds like she’s barfing in a cup. You make sweet sounds.”
    â€œDavid, count her into the song,” Mrs. Waldrip said.
    I hesitated, hands above the snare, sticks trembling. “No, Mother,” Ida said. She looked directly at me.
    â€œDavid, one, two, three –”
    I tapped out a standard rock beat. Mrs. Waldrip glared at Jackie; he filled in the rhythm. Ida’s cheeks turned red.
    â€œShe’s a pistol ,” Joy said. “Let’s hear it, honey.”
    Ida’s voice was so heartbreakingly wrong for the tune, I fell in love with her instantly. So did Jackie. We didn’t speak about it then or later, but we’d both seen on each other’s faces a desire to rescue this girl from her mother, to take her away someplace, somehow, on the back of a wild horse, maybe, where there weren’t any parents or rock and roll records.
    Ida sang about Bobby’s body as though she were in church.
    I felt ashamed for her in front of these people. I wanted to sit and hold her hand. Mr. Waldrip had his arm around Joy Weaver.
    Ida broke off in the middle of the performance and ran to the kitchen. The Waldrips clapped. “Bravo, bravo,” Joy said. She poured another round of bourbon.
    I looked at Jackie. He didn’t move. I stood, jammed my sticks into my back jeans pocket, and followed Ida into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, opening a loaf of bread. “You want a peanut butter sandwich?” she said. Her eyes were wet and her face was still red.
    â€œNo thanks.”
    Jackie joined us. “You sing real well,” he said.
    Ida laughed, but kept her eyes on him. “No, really,” he told her. He looked solemn and calm. Handsome. Sometimes his sullenness made him seem older than he was, centered and important. The impression lasted only a moment, as if he felt it wasn’t his place in the world to be so assertive. He fumbled for something else to say.
    â€œThese people are nuts,” I said.
    Ida leaned away from Jackie. “God, aren’t they?” She put her hand on my arm and we laughed.
    â€œAnd the hits just keep on rollin’!” I crooned. Ida cracked up. She was so pretty. Jackie smiled. I could tell I’d hurt him by saying his folks were nuts. He’d trusted me not to say a word about them, ever.
    Jackie and I didn’t see Ida again after that night, but clearly, in his mind, I’d won her. My parents were angry when the Waldrips dropped me off at one A.M., banging and clattering my drums, and waking the neighbors. They wouldn’t let me go to Jackie’s house anymore; eventually, he stopped coming to rehearsals after school. Without him, the rest of the “Crystals” lost interest.
    I went alone to finish our English project. The workers wouldn’t talk to me as easily as they had with Jackie. I asked them about mariachi music and “La Paloma,” one of my favorite Mexican songs. I told them I was a drummer. They stood in a nervous circle, spat tobacco in the sand, and looked at me as though I were a wolf.
    Jackie never mentioned the project. I turned in the transcripts and we both got a C, with a note from the teacher, “This seems incomplete.” For weeks afterwards, I felt bad about the workers, writing their stories when they so clearly didn’t want me to. Eventually I understood that my real regret was Jackie. I hadn’t meant to be cruel about his folks – just as I hadn’t planned to anger Peggy Sue with my quarter – but I’d wanted Ida’s attention. I hadn’t fully realized, until that night, how similar love and