We drove for three and half more hours until we reached Manhattan, Kansas in the dark. I put my head against the driver’s seat window in the dark, parked at some motel. Everything looked stranger at night. What did the melodies mean? They kept returning to my mind every now and then, but then there were times when I forgot about them entirely. Joe and I did not belong to this world, this current world, and yet we did. We were there. We had been born. We were each other’s contemporaries, and everyone else’s, whether we liked it or not. And yet how could a melody in a nobody’s head belong in the world? Allie had found her place, somehow. I woke up in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark and envied her. Where was this church of the setting sun where children take your hand and lead you into the mystery? Where was that for me? I tossed it aside. Not Allie, just the envy. It wasn’t good for me. Joe was still sleeping in his motel room when I went to go watch the sky get bluer and bluer. There was a coffee shop across the street, I did it from there. What did anyone know about love? What could anyone want from anyone else except a burst of desperation in the right direction? I smiled at the sky. I smiled at my desperation. It was a melody, it always was. That feeling. That bright angel which ached right in the pit of my stomach. It was always a melody, my whole life. I only had to let it rise up. Who would hear it? Where would it be played? When written, would it leave the notebook? Would the sky listen? Joe and I hummed on into Kansas City. He was getting his breath back. From the both of us there was a deep letting go, one that would not rise to the surface and this made us feel incomplete, like we had forgotten something. It weighed on Joe’s mind. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s illogical,” he said. They were strange words coming from him. “It’s a bet either way, if you want to think about it logically,” I replied. “Allie bailed man. She fuckin’ bailed. What else is there to say? Either that or they got to her man. She’s as plucked as last year's wheat.” “There’s much more to say than that. Only, I can’t say it. Not yet. Will you cut the shit? What’s the matter with you, huh?” He was trying to break the hearts of the world by breaking his own. But he couldn’t break mine. For some reason I felt no one could, but they could try, I almost welcomed it. “Am I missing something here?” “You’re missing everything, right now. You might as well be off someplace else, looking for a roller coaster or something, MW. What are you talking about? Are you missing something? Yes! You are! For crying out loud! Have you forgotten about Tom Gettysburg?” “Tom Gettysburg. I don’t know nothing about no Tom Gettysburg.” It was all crumbling. His eyes were turning gray. I parked the car in the next town we came across, a small one with the world’s largest pecan. “I don’t think it’s real man,” Joe said. “Sure it is,” I said. I needed a cup of coffee and I knew Joe sure as heck could use a pick me up. We went into a place that did ice cream and cheesecake and sandwiches, as well as coffee. There was an older woman with gray hair behind the counter. She greeted me and asked me how we were. “Doing fine, thanks. We were hoping to get a couple cups of coffee.” “Sure thing,” she replied with a smile. A younger girl came out from the kitchen and offered her help. “Good day today?” I asked, and I meant it in the human way, as in how’s your faith in things today, but no one ever says that, not least to a stranger. “A little slow,” the older woman said. Joe took a seat in a booth and slouched his head forward. His face almost drooped onto the table. There was a far away look in his eye, as though he were losing the will to see at all. Too tired to even bother closing them. What was the use? He’d simply need more sleep when he woke. And then it happened. I spotted a guitar in the corner of the room. It was barely visible, most of it was in a shadow, but the unmistakable body shape of it peered into the light. A strange sensation befell me and I went over to it. I didn’t even ask for permission, I just took it in my hands. It was light. Old and light. The wood felt hard and played, and the strings, they still looked good for strumming. Not one shred of doubt overtook me, for I remembered playing, singing, a very long time ago, perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dark and painful one I had learned through necessity. Before I could think I was out with it. “Can I play you folks a song?” “A song? Well certainly,” said the older woman. The younger one nodded her head. And I began to play, and I could play. And I began to sing, and I could sing. “I’ve held dear certain things I’ve only felt when you were near old friend remember the time we spent…” My eyes were closed and I was somewhere half in my head and half out someplace else. It felt like reaching for the angels, balancing on some beautiful platform. Occasionally I’d lose my balance and wonder if what I was doing was ridiculous, but I kept on at it anyway and fell back into the playful mystery. When I finished I opened my eyes and all I could see were smiles. And then I looked at Joe and I could see that he was smiling. They were not smiles like you’d think. They were not ear to ear or crystal grins. These were the most genuine smiles I have ever seen in my life. For on the faces of those I had sung my song for, was the expression of a peace given. And something else too, a kind of anticipation they had for more, but not from me, perhaps from themselves. A light had poured through the song and they knew it to be the one which animated their eyes. We were given our coffees and they gave Joe a slice of raspberry cheesecake. The young woman showed me a picture of her baby. “He looks like a happy little fella,” I said and then thanked them for the coffee, for the nourishment after a lot of goings-ons. Then they asked us what we were up to. I went to speak but did not know what to say. I didn’t have to. “We’re looking for Tom Gettysburg,” Joe said and went for the door. They looked at him puzzled then returned their eyes to me. “Will you take that guitar with you?” the older woman offered. “I couldn’t.” “No one has played it in a while. Seems like a waste to me.” And I took it.