white trash grace: chapter four
by sally duryea

The night Skippy changed her tune was the night Sonny had her epiphany.

It was actually early morning, just as the lights of the Mary faded into the dawn. Skippy was still going. The radio vibes that had usually gone down with the sun were still going. Skippy was pioneering new territory with her all-night broadcast. She had for the first time started taking requests.

Of course Blue was behind the logistics of the switch over. If a trucker could hum a tune, that would be Skippy’s cue to send it “Right backatcha”. The sound waves were rolling with all of the songs that had the name Sally in them. Fact is, there are more songs with that name than any other, so the evening just wore on into the morning.

Sonny was drifting off to sleep when she noticed the red light go on, signaling the end of the WT broadcast. The last notes of Mustang Sally lingered in the air the way the dust would had a real herd of horses passed by. The stop button caught Sonny red- handed. The light passed over her lap just enough for the creation in her lap to come into view. All night she had been snipping bits of the postcards from the engine well, piecing them into a collage, her last entry being a picture of mustangs racing across an open land. The card had been the boy's way of letting her know their quest was going strong, wild and free.

What Sonny saw looking back at her was none other than the cover she had imagined all along. What could easily be the next cover of the Watchtower presented itself. Could be, if Sonny could get it to the publisher in time. Reaching for the glue she muttered “Oh Lord grant me speed.”

Her hands never made it to the glue though. They went in a different direction all together. Blue would say Sonny was getting a little side-tracked, but she let her be, knowing that things always worked out for Sonny. They just would take so much longer. Blue would have just sent in the poster right then and there, horses and all, and claimed the fame. Sonny felt morally disposed to the paper to only send a cover that was actually happening. She was motivated by the evening events not to snip and glue the bits of photos, but to bring them to actuality.

This would be a big stretch for her. The images she had pieced together were pretty adventurous for Sonny. As she placed the mustangs into the puzzle, she saw why. The songs were looking back at her. An illustrated legacy to the night, each song with its corresponding bit of paper. This notion was confirmed as the last notes to Mustang Sally faded beyond reach, leaving the picture in its place.

Sonny saw the pictures as street signs from God. Clues to the life. A way to move. She had to have the horses before she felt right about sending the cover. She liked to think the other covers were the same. Actual trials, real efforts, something she could model her hopes on. ”Lions and Lambs! Oh my!”

The songs and pictures encouraged her to let her hair hang low, and just Sally free and easy.

While Sonny was being so easy, Blue did get the artwork done and got that poster put together in plenty of time for the next issue. It was not long before the next Watchtower arrived , the cover mirroring every hope and dream felt in the cove. The cover represented a new freedom for Blue. This would be the break that would get Skippy on the road and away from this mongrel land. Skippy was, after all, the voice of the angel that first actualized the events pasted in harmony and now presented to the world.

When Sonny was presented with the issue, she was speechless. She took the paper in and out of her pocket several times a day to gaze at the luckiest thing she had ever come to have. The cover that looked right “backatcha” became worn from running her hand over it like a touchstone. The cover was her watchtower, her guiding light... It was her life.

Sonny was in a Sally. Sally. In the dictionary the word is followed by the past present and future tense. “ Sally: -lied, -lying, -lies.....to rush out or leap forth from a besieged position”. Sonny had come to a dead end, a besieged position, and was now ready to make her move. Sonny was in mid flight of a leap of faith.

When Blue first met Sonny and saw the lies, it was because she was looking clear through Sonny. Her sight had landed on the bank Sonny was in the process of putting far behind her. Her whole life Sonny had felt she had a grip on God, a handle on the mystery if nothing else. When her boy died, she just let go. Blue knew Sonny missed her boy, she could see that. What she could not imagine was Sonny missing God. The bit of paper, rubbed thin by Sonny, held the clues she would need to get her grip back. She started once again to move the little bits of her day, putting the ground back beneath her feet.

Skippy had presented her a voice she could have faith in. Skippy crooning was a ride for her. The truckers felt it too. They were rolling down the highways in new directions. Sonny was back on the roof of the Spartan, adjusting the mini me antenna; she wanted more. The antenna was ten feet high with many arms of equal length stretching out in all directions. Sonny spent the whole day twisting those arms. By the time sunset had rolled in, Sonny looked down from the hill and saw what appeared to be a Shiva sitting on the roof of the trailer, the holy one seated in restful repose, the eight arms reaching in prayer to the four directions.

From inside the trailer, Sonny was adjusting the direction of those arms, a little turn here, another back, when the last ray of light flowed down the antenna and brushed across her hand. It was at that moment that she felt it—the tiniest bit of reception. When she pressed the green button to the CB, she heard it loud and clear, like a bell buoy in the fog: the voice of John Lennon, as if he were right there with her, boomed in. Blue just looked at Sonny with her eyes wet to the stars, not willing to miss a breath or beat, and went full steam ahead with what she could make of the broadcast.

Business— Big business, music business. Blue figured out how to route the broadcast through a recorder getting every nuance down on tapes, the Song of Solomon via the Beatles. That would be what Sonny believed, that it was really God coming through the patient one on the roof.

Once she had imagined the voice of God. It was on one of her late night treks home, the burly voices of Hollywood were quiet and Sonny was left to hear what she wanted to hear. That is when she came up with the Beatles. They would be her favorite God voice; she could listen to them all day and night.

When they came through the Shiva, that is just what Sonny did, sometimes singing along. Like Skippy, Sonny was learning to croon. At night she would look out the skylight and with total abandon, let het voice join in “You may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one”.

Timing is every thing in the business world. Blue was anxious to get the show on the road. She had her famed poster, she had the music of the spheres on tapes stacked to the roof of her truck, and she had Skippy ready to perform the music in tents all along the strip. The Skippy review was recieved with overwhelming response. Truck stops bought up the Skippy tapes as fast as Blue could make them. Skippy got fancier outfits and fit right into the life on the road. Sonny recieved postcards from as far away a New orleans where the evangilistic duo found their niche. It was a good thing Blue did move so fast with the show because it was not long before the picture changed. In fact, the picture never did turn out. Skippy was the poster dog but you could not find her in the collage. She also could not be found in any of the hundreds of photos adoring fans had taken of her. By the time the majority of her fans were feeling a little ripped off, Blue had already discovered a part of the country where seeing was not believing. Those two had found a population that would just as soon conjure up what was not obvious to the naked eye. A city full of clairvoyance, a city that belived in angels, a land so close to the source anyting seemed possible. These people had no problem with Skippy being elusive on film. They could find her with their eyes closed. It was behind closed doors, with shades drawn , at century old tables, that Blue found herself holding hands once more. She had found her true calling at the seance tables, transmitting as clearly as the Shiva. Skippy, glad to be out of the spotlight for awhile had found her true calling too. It was all that Jazz.

TO BE CONTINUED