Every Saturday, my grandmother drives her brother Bill
\nalong the shoulder of 44 where sun falls into the low<\/p>\n
ginkgo\u2019s and a two-lane road emerges to a bear-sized Bright like the Lord came to Shepardsville for the songs. into wood. Flies flit in and out of coffee cans filled in a dark corner by the red curtain opening and unfurling the stage like bats. Styrofoam cups litter the grass floor. Hair, a blonde ball of spray and curl. The drum kicks in The 44 Country Band jams while the emcee leaves memory completing its dim work over the crowd. Some of us out here cry during I Will Forever Hate Roses.<\/em> Orbison always lifts my grandmother out of her chair, his wife\u2019s name is Carolyn<\/em>. After the song reel is spent, the curtains lower. Then the emcee sweeps into the crowd, What I\u2019m getting at is this: my grandmother brings The heartache music helps him remember who he is. screaming then. The feel of being hooked against the sky. out on the driveway, shook a slab of sheet metal over the paper how I traced the rim of his sleeve in search of his hand, floating the whole barn pulses with strobe light, emits clouds of dust to say her name over the drum-kicks. After the horse-tailed are removed and the band deep-bows, the tops of their heads shuffles toward the heat outside. Uncle Bill leans so I hold his other arm and we slow-step, follow the rhythm He asks if anyone remembers the way he played blackjack his back threw out. Left the casino on a gurney. He says it <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Every Saturday, my grandmother drives her brother Bill along the shoulder of 44 where sun falls into the low ginkgo\u2019s and a two-lane road emerges to a bear-sized Country Music sign, lit up by dozens of shining bulbs. Bright like the Lord came to Shepardsville for the songs. Inside the barn, framed photos of cowboys […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2211,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[67],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-4lU","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16734"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2211"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16734"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16734\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16735,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16734\/revisions\/16735"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16734"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16734"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16734"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nCountry Music<\/em> sign, lit up by dozens of shining bulbs.<\/p>\n
\nInside the barn, framed photos of cowboys are hammered<\/p>\n
\nwith donations. Pickles and popcorn are for sale<\/p>\n
\nlike a rose. Cut-outs of half notes and guitars dangle above<\/p>\n
\nEveryone sits as the emcee emerges in a crimson glitter dress.<\/p>\n
\nand everyone stands for God Bless America.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nfor a costume change. It goes on like that for a while,<\/p>\n
\nNostalgia sweeping through rows the way wind lifts clothes.<\/p>\n
\nSomeone floats through everyone\u2019s mind for Goodnight Irene<\/em>.<\/p>\n
\nand I leap too. Bill nods and smiles like he remembers<\/p>\n
\nspectators sway into the aisle where in the glowing dark,<\/p>\n
\nsaying don\u2019t you go anywhere, <\/em>one hand shaking like a tambourine.<\/p>\n
\nher brother to the country music show every weekend.<\/p>\n
\nWhen he asks for his wife I sing, the singing almost becomes<\/p>\n
\nThe Bill I knew once stood over a map of Louisville, spread<\/p>\n
\ncity, and called it Thunder Over Louisville<\/em>. I cannot explain<\/p>\n
\nup into the kingdom of song like a balloon. When he asks again,<\/p>\n
\nwith every stomp, and it\u2019s either too loud or I feel too sorry<\/p>\n
\nbow pulls across a fiddle string for the last time, after the Stetsons<\/p>\n
\nlike grass sat in for too long, the mic cuts out, and a great quiet<\/p>\n
\non my grandmother too much, forgetting his own weight<\/p>\n
\nof the world toward the car. It\u2019s 80 degrees after nine.<\/p>\n
\nin Vegas as a young man. In 1974, he gambled for so long<\/p>\n
\nevery Saturday, as though\u00a0speaking from the next room over.<\/p>\nANNA LEIGH KNOWLES<\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"