Epilogue
The spotlight was fixed on me. Topsy Turvey was a popular Nashville nightclub. It was standing room. The space was sold out, filled to capacity with people all here to see me. Six months passed since the Whiskey Wild split, and I’d pretty much kept a low profile with Edison in Hume.
Living with Edison was quite different from my life in LA. For starters everything was simpler, the days didn’t fly by, so you had a chance to appreciate every moment. Edison established routine became mine. Up with the sun, feeding and caring for the animals before getting ready for an honest day’s work at Figs and Twine. While he was working, I’d write songs and have long conversations with my new manager. The record label agreed to sign me on as a solo artist. Which was both scary and exciting as hell.
On most days I’d hole myself up in the tricked out shed and try to write a hit. Humming softly, I’d jotted down lyrics about the carefree nature of love. Recently all I could pen were songs about immense love and longing. I think Edison was solely responsible for that. Every time I sat down to write, the only emotion I wanted to express was pure happiness. No one was going to want to listen to an album solely about the joys of love. Listeners always wanted a little heartbreak mixed in.
The label lined up a showcase at Topsy Turvy so I could perform some old hits and present some of the new songs I’d been working on. This was a first, I’d never performed alone, Darla had always been faithfully by my side. I can’t tell you how many nights I fussed about this show and the set list like it was my first. Which I guess technically it was.
One of the things I loved the most about Edison was how supportive he was and when he critiqued my music, it was always coming from a place of genuine interest. Unlike Chap, his feedback was never laced with insults. When you know better you do better, and I learned I deserved more than scraps of affection. It took Edison’s unique brand of love to help me realize it.
After singing a few well-known favorites, I performed a new song and to my relief, the crowd was fixated on me. My momma said I could sing the alphabet and people would line up for miles. Maybe she was right. The third time I sang the chorus on the mid-tempo tune, several in the audience were singing along, even though they were hearing this new song for the first time.
My heart swelled and my voice grew shaky as I tried to hold back tears. Stepping out of the shadow of Whiskey Wild was terrifying, but the crowd swaying side to side and all the flashing cameras made it less so.
Addressing the audience, I said, “I have time for one last song. And I’d like to bring out a special guest, if that’s okay?”
The crowd whooped and hollered at my request. Pointing to the side of the stage, I signaled Edison to come out. His stride was timid as he stepped into the spotlight. The fact he was on this stage at all was a testament to his love for me.
“This is my boyfriend, Edison. So don’t none of you get any ideas.” Adjusting the microphone stand, I positioned one in front of him. “Since I’m in my home state. I thought I would bring out my hometown hero and my favorite music partner to accompany me.” The crowd cheered. “Edison, this is just a few hundred of my closest friends.”
“Hi.” With a bashful wave, he slung his guitar across his shoulders.
I could make out our families in the front row. Even Dial showed up to support me.
“Friends this …” I pointed to Edison. “This is my heart and my soul and the love of my life.”
The crowd yelled, “Hey Edison.” Which I’m sure made him blush.
“We’re going to play a stripped-down version of ‘Back Road Trails.’ Fun fact: I wrote this song with Edison years ago. We were fresh out of high school, and everything seemed possible. And for a long time, I stopped believing in the wonder of life. I got a bit caught up and it almost felt like I was living but I wasn’t soaking anything in. I didn’t linger in the special moments long enough to appreciate them.
The Grammy’s, the Country Music Awards, performing on Saturday Night Live. They were all pivotal, important milestones I neglected to savor. Because of Edison I learned to slow down and appreciate the moments that quickly turn into memories. So, I want to thank you for sharing this moment in time with me and Edison.”
Edison counted us off starting the melodic intro to “Back Road Trails.” And I couldn’t help but stare. As his biggest fan, I knew I was lucky to be able to call him mine. I could wake up every day and love this man. For a long time I thought I wanted fireworks, a love that was big and obnoxious. Edison was more of a sparkler, he burned slowly and while doing so, he radiated a bright, fierce flame that flickered and popped.
I started to sing the first verse about second chances and finding something you didn’t even know you were searching for. The song was about the things that made Hume special … family, friends, and that person who makes even the most mundane day a bit brighter. I’d sung this song a hundred times with Darla, but tonight it felt different because this song was always intended for Edison and me. This song was about our love for one another before we were able to admit it.
When I reached the chorus, Edison joined in, giving the song a rich and more complex tone. A small part of me wished Edison was a little less humble and interested in showing the world his talent. I would love the opportunity to perform alongside the man I love every night.
Our voices intermixed in a steady melody, the mid-tempo tune picking up speed. At the bridge we nixed the words, instead locking eyes and letting our guitars do the talking. My fingers strummed a fiery rhythm while Edison performed a sharp lick that ignited a ripple of cheers from the crowd. We playfully challenged one another, feeding off the energy from the crowd as they clapped along. The beat pulsed like a heartbeat as our instruments carried on a wild conversation. With a final slide up the neck of my guitar, we landed on the same chord. Ambling closer to Edison, we sang the final stanza into his microphone.
The crowd rewarded our efforts with loud applause. All the adulation forced Edison to duck his head. Praise embarrassed him, no matter how well deserved.
“Thank you so much for coming out. I’m Fancy Palmer and this fine fella is Edison Birch.” We walked off the stage hand in hand.
“I hope I was able to hold my own out there,” Edison said.
“Are you kidding me. Do you hear them?” I pointed to the stage and the crowd who were still giving us our flowers. “You were amazing.”
“It’s a lot harder than karaoke,” he joked.
“Luckily, we make the perfect team.” I draped my arms over his shoulder.
The stage was addictive. Who didn’t want enthusiastic fans eating out of the palm of your hand? There was a time when all I wanted was to be on the road entertaining the masses. Hotel hopping, eating out of to-go containers. Never stopping long enough to catch my breath or collect my thoughts. But now I would gladly settle for my weekend concerts on the farm alongside Edison.
The sound of our goats demanding their breakfast. Katt stopping by to confirm we were still alive. And the warmth of the sun while we enjoyed our first cup of coffee on the porch. Wildflowers were lacing their vines through my toes as I contently settled in. Others raced through life hopping on the expressway to get to the next big thing. Edison and I were taking the scenic route, stopping to skinny dip in lakes, picking flowers in fields, and appreciating the open road ahead.
Just the two of us.