ILLY AND EDDIE GOT THIS CRAZY IDEA that they wanted to enter the band contest, and of course they wanted me to sing. I told them I couldn’t do that in the light of day. Billy plays guitar, and Eddie plays guitar, banjo, mandolin and fiddle, but neither of them can sing worth a damn. I can’t hold a beat, and I can’t stay on key very long, but I’m loud and I can extrude those long, high lonesome notes that Eddie likes. But only when I’m drunk.
Billy said he was semi-pissed at me because I wouldn’t sing. I told Billy that I was semi-pissed at him for putting me on the spot that way, and, on top of that, I was really pissed at him about this morning. Billy said, “What about this morning?” I said, “Damn it, Billy, when I got in the car this morning, I got in the back with Eddie, expecting Janet to be in the front seat, where she always sits, next to you, except, this morning, there was a girl up there, and it wasn’t Janet.” Billy said, “So?” I said, “Billy—I saw Janet last night, and she was talking the whole time—like she always does—about you, and how you and her are going to get married someday, like you promised. Has something happened since last night that I haven't heard about?”
Billy looked at me like he was really trying to understand what I was saying. He said, “I’m not going with Janet anymore.”
I said, “Since when?”
And he said, “Since last Saturday.”
“Does Janet know about it?”
“I was kinda hoping you'd tell her.”
For a second, I just stared at Billy’s stupid face. Then I said, “Billy—I think that’s something that you ought to tell her, yourself.”
Billy said, “I’m probably not going to see her anymore.”
I turned around and took a few steps away to collect my thoughts, and then turned back to Billy and said, “Look, if I had known this was going on, I’d never have gotten in the car, this morning.”
Billy’s lack of empathy was really starting to get me down.
I said, “Listen, you stupid shit—you may not care what Janet thinks anymore, but I do. I’ve known her a lot longer than I’ve known you—in fact, she introduced your sorry ass to me—and if she ever finds out that I was riding in a car to a blue grass festival with you and your new girlfriend, she’ll never speak to me again. Besides crying her eyes out for the rest of her life.”
Billy swung his guitar up on his hip like he was the one who was being abused. He said, “If you decide you want to sing, let me know. There’s three groups ahead of us.” And he walked back over to the tree that Eddie was standing under.
Bumble Off To Bethlehem:
by Pete McArdle