Driving Home for Christmas...Finally
Driving home for Christmas, Well I’m moving down that line.
And it’s been so long but I’ll be there,
I sing this song to pass the time away…
Driving in my car,
Driving home for Christmas
—Chris Rea
“You can’t do a gig in Georgia, Blake—It’s Christmas.”
“I know Babe, but this a chance of a lifetime—playing with Sonny Wade’s band.”
“You’ve done a lot of lame-ass things over the years, Blake, but you’ve never dumped me at Christmas.”
“I’m not dumping you, Carly—I’ll be back for New Years and maybe with enough dough to get married.”
She shakes her head, tossing her soft brown hair—I hate it when she does that because I lose track of what I’m thinking.
“That’s one, beautiful lady, “ Sonny said when he saw her picture.
Well, I know what I got, and she probably deserves better. But that’s why I need to do this for us—for our future.
“I’ve put up with a lot, Blake—I know what happens on those road trips. I don’t think I can take another.”
I hang my head. Last time I was in West Virginia and drunk—feeling sorry for myself—and took up with a local girl. My mistake.
When I ditched that town I never expected to hear from that chick again, but she must have gotten hold of my cell phone somehow and my list of contacts—gave Carly quite an earful—nothing compared to what I got when I came home.
Carly actually threatened to go back with Jess Mayer, her old boyfriend. It took me weeks to put out that fire.
“Stupid me,” she says, “always waiting for you when you get back—and you’ve come to expect it—but not this time, Blake—not this time.”
I reach out to soothe her.
“Don’t touch me!” she bristles.
Look, Babe—I’m heading out tonight—let’s not leave it this way.”
“Tonight?” she says shrilly. “What were you planning to do if you didn’t see me—phone me from a truck stop—give me the good news?”
“No, Babe—it’s not like that. I wouldn’t leave until I saw you.”
She’s back to shaking her curls again and biting her lower lip. Now, I really don’t want to go, but it’s too late.
“Go—get it out of your system. I guess a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Ouch! That’s a low blow. That was my lame explanation for what happened in West Virginia. I’ll probably be hearing that the rest of my life.
“Go do your thing,” she says sullenly. “I guess I’ll end up going to the Christmas tree lighting with Jess—at least, he’s someone who actually cares for me—and wants to be with me.”
“Yeah, I know what ole Jess wants and it’s got nothing to do with Christmas tree lightings.”
“Yeah, well at least he appreciates me—go do your thing—but I won’t be here when you get back.”
She slams the front door of her house, leaving me on the snowy verandah, stuck with an illuminated snowman waving me goodbye.
Two hours later I’m across the border and heading south on I-75. If I drive all night and most of tomorrow, I’ll make it to Atlanta in time for the evening gig.
I make up my mind to let Carly calm down. I’ll call her tomorrow night before I go on stage.
I try to put her out of my mind, but it’s impossible. She haunts me like a sad wraith.
Her eyes fill the road before me—dark hair swaying softly, like the stand of fir trees on the hillside, moving against the sky.
I try to force away her image, but then another intrudes—Jess Mayer’s face—laughing like a wolf. My stomach turns, and it takes all the willpower I have not to turn back.
In time, I get into the rhythm of the drive, stopping every two hours at a gas bar to fill the F150, eating on the go, and drinking way too much bad coffee.
I take the less mountainous route because the weather is threatening. It takes about an hour more to drive, but finally, after twelve long hours, I’m pulling into the parking lot at the motel where I stayed last time in West Virginia.
There’s a good restaurant across the street and the manager promised me a room next time I was down since I pre-paid and left one day early last time.
Mind you, avoiding that chick was my top priority then—but now, it’s not even on my radar.
Jake, the manager, remembers me and gives me the same room—lucky me. I’m just planning to crash for two hours, grab a bite to eat and then drive straight through to Atlanta.
It’ll be another six and a half hour drive, but I’ll arrive in lots of time for the nine pm gig.
I decide to go across the street for lunch first and sleep later. If I leave the motel at one o’clock, I’ll be fine.
I’m sitting at a window both staring out at the highway when a girl slides in beside me.
“Hey there, cowboy—remember me?”
My jaw drops. It’s Hailley—the chick who nearly ruined my life.
She’s wearing a short green dress with cowboy boots and with her long blonde hair she’s looking very sexy and dangerous.
“You still talking to me?”
She tilts her head to one side, letting her blond hair sway gently. She smiles seductively. “Sure—Why not? We were good together.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
She leans in close so I can inhale the powdery scent of her perfume. “You can buy me lunch—I’ll have what you’re having.”
I signal the waitress, but all the while my mind’s racing. Am I just placating her, or allowing myself to walk on the edge again?
“Sorry about phoning your girlfriend, but I was really pissed the way you dumped me. You shoulda just told me—I’d understand.”
“I didn’t think you would,” I say frankly.
She reaches over and pulls the peak of my Jay’s cap down on my forehead. “Well, you just don’t know me. I’m a free spirit. Any time you come through, I’ll be here.”
I hear Carly’s words echoing inside my head.
Always waiting when you get back—but not this time, Blake—not this time.
For all I know, she’s already out somewhere having coffee with Jess—maybe lunch.
“Saw your pickup outside the motel. You staying in the same room as last time?”
I nod. The memory is so vivid, I can barely breathe. I feel a tingle of excitement pass through me and the gleam in her eye tells me she’s thinking the same thing.
“So, where’s your gig this time?”
“Atlanta,” I tell her.
“Really? Another roadside bar?”
“Naw—playing Terminal West with Sonny Wade.”
Her eyes go huge. “No kidding! That’s big time. How did you swing that?”
I shrug, feigning indifference, but soaking up the adulation. “Seems Sonny caught my act when he was passing through—called me up in Toronto and asked me to come down—said it may even turn into New Years Eve too.”
I know I lied about that part to Carly, but opted for telling her on a need-to-know basis—and that will not include this little tete-a-tete with Hailley.
“Wow! I’d sure like to catch your show at Terminal West.”
“Well, play your cards right, and we’ll see what happens.”
The waitress drops our meals and retreats.
“In that case,” Hailley grins, “ maybe I shouldn’t ask for dessert.”
My stomach turns. I don’t know why I’m playing this game of seduction. Suddenly I’ve lost all appetite for everything—the food, Hailley, the gig. I just want to go home.
I throw two twenties on the table. Hailley looks up at me, surprised.
“You that eager?” she smirks.
“No, frankly I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I don’t want to go to Atlanta. I shouldn’t be here leading you on again. I just want to go home to Carly.”
“You’re not leading me on, Blake. I’m a big girl—I don’t mind sharing you.”
“Maybe, that’s true,” I sigh. She’s so appealing, I’m wondering if I’ve lost my senses or finally came to them.
“Look,” she reasons, “You’re a good-looking guy—we make a good couple. We’re good together.”
I stand up. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, Hailley—it certainly wouldn’t be fair to Carly—and hell—it wouldn’t be fair to me.”
She pouts. “Well, go have your great safe life, if that’s really what you want.”
“You know what? I think that’s exactly what I want.”
I walk back across the highway and grab my stuff from the motel. I toss the keys to Jake the manager and tell him I changed my mind.
Within minutes, I’m heading north, Home punched into my GPS
Sonny doesn’t need me—he can always find another partner—Hailley too. For that matter, so can Carly, but I hope she doesn’t, because I just discovered I really need her, probably more than she needs me.
I flick on the satellite radio and punch in Holly.
A car Christmas carol comes on with a steady back beat that matches the rhythm of the tires on the road.
I sing along. I’m just a shmuck like every other guy on this road—from the guy in the 18 wheeler to the salesman in the Honda next to me.
So I sing for you
Though you can’t hear me,
When I get through
And feel you near me,
I look at the driver next to me
He’s just the same…
Just the same...
And we’re driving home for Christmas.
story based on Chris Rea song video, Driving Home for Christmas:
Now the question is: Did Carly wait for him? Hmm....
True love always waits and real love always returns :)
Nice.
The road in that video looks mighty cold... ;)
I think I've driven that road so many times...
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