A Green Guitar Case and a Pocket Full of Cash at a Bus Stop in Texas by Rosemary Porto

Judy and her mother, Darleen, lived in a trailer park with a revolving door of random men. Ever since Judy’s daddy left home and forgot to come back, Darleen went on a full-swing manhunt after working part-time hours at Dollar Tree in Richmond Square. A nasty string of pitiful strays paraded through the trailer during Darleen’s hunting season. Monty, Darleen’s latest pick-up won the blue ribbon for worse-in-show.

Darleen had met him at a two-step jamboree. Five days later he dragged his tweed suitcase up the stairs and tumbled into Darleen’s bed. Their booze-stink filled the trailer. Judy escaped for fresh air wearing her headphones to deaden their cringy noise.

A week later, Judy cooked Sunday breakfast while Darleen read the newspaper. Monty faced Judy, flashed her a sleezy grin, stroking his groin bulge, and licking his lips.

Judy grabbed the spatula, waved it in his face, and shouted, “Hey Man, stop rubbing your dick like you got crabs.”

Darleen looked up and said, “Stop all your nonsense. Judy, we’re hungry.” Her mother leaned over and gave Monty a kiss on the lips.

Judy knew it was time to go.

Planning her escape became Judy’s hobby. A notebook with a pink unicorn cover held her secrets— lists of clothes to pack, favorite books, and a tube of Darleen’s Red Tango lipstick, just in case she needed to look older than fifteen; a brush and comb, her lucky rabbit's foot key chain without any keys, with room for one when the occasion may arise; and her guitar, the last precious relic from her daddy.

One Christmas morning, he'd brought it home and taught her how to play. She’d hear a song on the radio one time and play it start to finish. “Child,” he said, “from now on I’m calling you Jukebox Judy.” He laughed and tussled her hair.

The one thing in Judy’s life she could count on was her guitar playing.  She intended to get plenty of practice busking on Congress Street down from the state’s capital. The day she went to Austin on a school trip, she set her sights on the big city. Dreaming of a new life far away from the trailer park in Red Lick became Judy’s survival tactic.

Monty’s tweed suitcase looked just the right size for Judy’s stuff. She found it under her mother’s bed and hid it at the back of her closet. After her mother left for work and Monty showered, Judy tip-toed into the bedroom and snatched a bill from the cash on the dresser.

Judy wasn’t greedy; she took her time. Day after day she pulled out a ten or a five without disturbing the pile, squirrelling the cash in her knee socks.

On Saturday morning, Darleen and Monty headed out to Costco, sixty miles away. This was her moment: no time to waste. Judy packed the tweed suitcase, grabbed her guitar, and left the trailer lickety-split. Out the door, she stopped for a moment. Would Darleen even notice she was gone?

Down the road, Judy passed a group of high school dropouts she recognized, playing a game of hoops. Head down, Judy avoided eye contact. A ball crashed her guitar case and knocked her sideways, tripping her.

“Hey Judy, watch your step, you clumsy cow.”

Their laughter fueled her; she picked up speed down the dirt path. She was done with this dusty town and loser boys on a career path to becoming men like Monty and his kind. Judy had high hopes for her new life in Austin.

At the bus stop, people milled around, and Judy sat on her suitcase strumming her guitar. A tall blonde lady wearing a mini dress, wedged sandals, big floppy hat, and movie star sunglasses smoked a Virginia Slim. She walked towards Judy and smiled.

            “Where’d you learn to play?” The lady spoke with a fancy accent not often heard in Red Lick.

“My daddy taught me when I was five.”

“Is that so?” The lady crushed her cigarette with wedged sandals, her red toenails sparkled in the morning sun.

“Can you play me a song?” she asked, lighting another smoke with a bedazzled Bic.

           “Sure. Name one.” Judy sounded so cocky she didn’t recognize herself.

The lady swayed back and forth, like she was trying to make up her mind. Judy’s hand started to sweat.

  “Do you know any Bonnie Raitt?”

Listening to the chords in her head, Judy began strumming Something to Talk About. A grin bloomed on the lady’s face, and she started humming. Then her full voice sang the lyrics in a gritty soprano.

People gathered around them clapping hands, keeping time. When the song ended, Judy looked up, and everyone was cheering.

“Hey, Sissy,” the lady said, “you got some talent in your bones.” She opened her big leather bag, took out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to Judy.  

“Play another,” an old lady shouted, and Judy obliged.

People hollered requests, dropping cash into her green guitar case. Jukebox Judy played one song after another until the bus pulled up and the door opened. The driver came down and shouted, “Dallas, Fort Worth.”

With a lit cigarette in her hand, the lady got in line with the others. “Miss, no smoking on board,” the driver said. She tossed her cigarette and climbed the steps.

Judy stood and waved goodbye.

“Hey Sissy,” the lady said, “what are you waiting for?”  Removing her floppy hat, she flipped her long blonde hair. “The bus is leaving. Come along.”  

Dallas wasn’t Austin, but it was a big city. The lady stood on the top step waiting. Judy stuffed the cash into her pockets and packed up her gear. Hurrying to the bus, she stumbled up the stairs and followed the lady into the cool dark.