Disclaimer: I don't own either of the two songs, Cody, or Bailey, nor do I own a Ferrari 599, though I wish I did. I do, however own Michelle.
Bailey's Song
"Bailey, you'll always hold a special place in my heart."
"Cody, you as well," she began. "But, this is where we say goodbye."
"I'll always love you Bailey," I said, tears forming in my eyes. "I hope I get the chance to see you again."
"I love you, Cody. I always have and I always will," she said, tears freely flowing.
As Bailey and I embraced, the memories, beginning in tenth grade at Seven Seas High, began to flow through my mind, softening the blow of having to part with her, all the while making it harder to let go of my life's first true love.
Watching her step on the plane that would take her back to Kettlecorn, I felt as if I had lost part of my soul.
'Goodbye, Bailey.'
**Five Years Later**
My name is Cody Martin, and I am a talent scout for a major country music record label in Nashville, the name of my label doesn't matter, for unless I find a chart-topping artist in six weeks, then I'll have to go back to Harvard and find something else to do with my life. My label needs a hot new act to bolster sales and regain power before we go down in flames. I have tried everything, ballads, country-pop, country-rock, country boy bands, you name it, and I have failed with it. Now they have sent me to this small town in Kansas to have a look at this thirteen year-old "prodigy", Michelle Sanders. I'd tell you where it is, but you probably wouldn't have a clue where it is, I only thing I know is about six hours before I get to this random town in the middle of nowhere, I drive through Kettlecorn, hometown of the best three years of my life, Bailey Pickett.
I'm sorry if I am coming off as sounding a bit blunt and monotonous, but deal with it. My girlfriend of the past four years cheated on me with one of my best friends. Well, at least, he used to be a good friend of mine.
So, back to the current problem at hand, I have roughly three weeks to find a good singer, and three weeks to put them on top if the charts, or I get canned. Well, I sure hope this girl is all that she's cracked up to be or I'm toast.
Checking the GPS in my Ferrari 599, I notice I am about 6 miles from Kettlecorn, and also about 10 miles from pushing due to lack of gas.
Pulling into the one gas station in Kettlecorn, I over hear some guys talking about the annual variety show at city hall. Looking at my watch, it's 6:30; I'll pull into No-where-ville about 12:30, which is way too late to hear a thirteen-year-old sing. I guess I better find a hotel.
"Howdy," greets a deep, but friendly voice from the counter. "How are you doin' tonight?"
"I'm fine, I guess," I said. "I need a place to stay tonight, you know where I can find one?"
"Sure," comes, a thick Southern accent. "Got a few places to pick from, but the nicest is a bit on the expensive side."
"I'm driving a quarter-million dollar supercar, price is no issue."
"Wow, that is a nice car," he says, looking behind me. "Is it as smooth as the 550?"
"Smoother," I replied, a bit surprised that the man had driven a Ferrari 550.
"Well, take this road," he said, pointing to the road outside of the gas station," about a mile and you can't miss it. By the way, were you thinking of coming to the show tonight?"
"I did hear a couple of guys talking about it. Could you tell me more?"
"Sure I could." 'I wish I would have lived here before, people are much nicer here than in Boston.' "Every year about this time, we have a party and anyone who wants to sing, is welcome to. We get all kinds of music, mostly country, but some pop, rock, classical, and even some of that rap garbage."
"What time does that start?" I asked.
"'Bout seven, but you might be out of luck for the good seats."
"Ok, I think I'll manage."
"Well, good luck to ya."
"Thank you sir."
I guess I could sit through this and see if I find any good singers. I mean, what else have I got to lose.
The first ten or so people/groups are nothing special, not bad, but nowhere near good enough to hit the top of the charts. Eventually, the acts started to get better, and about 8:15 a cute woman in her mid-twenties walked up to the microphone, and the crowd started to cheer. 'This must be one of the best acts they have.'
As she started to sing, it was apparent that she was. Her pitch was good, her tone was great, but what set her apart was the feeling she put into Shania Twain's 'It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing.' By the time she had finished, there was not a dry eye in the audience. Her eyes, on the other hand, were flowing. 'Wow, that took everything out of her. That was beautiful… wait, I've seen those eyes before.'
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the MC began. "The pride of Kettlecorn, Bailey Pickett! And, isn't it a wonder, guys, she's still single."
Wow, someone had definitely been doing some growing over the past five years. She wasn't the cute eighteen-year-old girl I had let board the plane back home anymore. Bailey had grown into a beautiful woman, who was, apparently, still single.
After about twenty or so more songs and a bit of talking to myself, I decided to sing a classic song from the country legend John Denver.
I went up to the sign-in "booth" and asked if there was an acoustic guitar I could borrow.
"I don't recognize you," the woman at the booth said. "Are you from around here?"
"No, I was on my way through, and decided to stop for the night, and heard there was a bit of a show going on tonight. So, I thought I might check it out."
"Oh okay, well, welcome to Kettlecorn."
"Thank you."
"Yes, everything up on stage is for anyone to use. Are you gonna need a band?"
"No ma'am," I said. "All I am going to need is that acoustic guitar."
"Okay, sweetheart. You're up next."
"Thank you."
As the teenager on stage finished singing an original song he had written, it was my turn.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this young man is from out of town, but I want you to give him a big Kettlcorn welcome."
A few cheers rang for me as I set up a stool, grabbed the guitar, and set the microphone to the right height.
As I started picking on the guitar I heard a few gasps and a few "oooh's". Then I took a deep breath, and began to pour my heart out to the one sitting a few feet from the stage.
You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again
While I was singing first verse, a couple of older gentlemen came up on stage to play the backing instruments. I locked eyes with one of them and noticed it was the clerk from the gas station. He gave me a nod, and I continued on.
Come let me love you
Let me give my life to you
Let me drown in your laughter
Let me die in your arms
Let me lay down beside you
Let me always be with you
Come let me love you
Come love me again
As my band started humming, I looked to see Bailey, but she had gotten up. I quickly scanned the crowd, but couldn't find her. My eyes finally fell upon the woman at the sign-in booth. She held a trembling Bailey in her arms, and she was smiling at me.
Let me give my life to you
Come let me love you
Come love me again
You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again
As I finished my song, the crowd went crazy. It was comparable to the last act I had hit number one. I turned to walk off stage, and locked eyes with Bailey. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. When I got off stage, I walked over to her and put my arms around her neck, never wanting to let go. She wrapped her arms around my waist, and buried her face in my chest.
"I've missed you so much, Cody," she managed to say in between sobs.
"I've missed you too, Bailey," I said.
She stopped crying long enough to look me in the eyes and I lowered my head and kissed her, not a long passionate one, but one just to let her know that I was still there for her.
"I'm tired of waiting, hoping, and praying for you to come back."
"Bailey," I said, letting go of her and getting down on one knee. "I don't have a ring, a big speech, or anything special, but," I said, taking hold of her hand, "I love you. I have since the day you fell in the hot tub. I always have and I always will." And, summoning up all the courage in the world, "Bailey Pickett, would you marry me?"
All I got was a smile and a nod, but it was all I needed.
Taking her in my arms, I told her, "I have some business to take care of about three hundred miles down the road."
Not letting me finish, she said. "I wanna go with you, Cody. I've waited too long for this moment; I'm not letting you leave me again that easily. By the way, where are you staying?"
"I don't know," I started to say.
"You're staying with me," she said, with some finality to her voice.
The next morning, she packed up a lot of her clothes, and we went to "No-where-ville," Kansas. The "prodigy" I was sent to check out was not good, but the trip was far from futile.
"Cody," she said, as we walked up to my Nashville apartment. "I love you."
"I love you too, Bailey," I said, and, taking her in my arms under a light rain, I kissed her, and all the sadness from the past five years not having her with me, was washed away by the rain.
************
A/N: This came to me on a whim, so I took it and ran with it.
"Annie's Song" is by the great John Denver, and "It Only Hurts When I Breathe" is by Shania Twain.
As always, read and review, constructive criticism is welcomed, but flames will be used to cook my soup. Any ideas are also welcomed, and thoughtful reviews with sincere questions might even be answered.
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