“Mmmhumm,” she replied with her mouth full. “What is the sauce on this sandwich? God, it’s so good!”
He chuckled watching her. “It’s some kind of green peppercorn sauce. It’s my favorite.”
They enjoyed a trio of musicians in the corner playing classic bluegrass, tapping their feet and clapping after each song. It was so comfortable being with Clay. She had never had this much fun with a man, and this was just the first night.
After another round of drinks, Clay signed the check and offered his hand to help her out of her seat. They strolled back toward his place, taking in the southern nightlife. Even though it was close to midnight, the lower Broadway bars were hopping. Katie held his arm tightly as they navigated around out-the-door lines at Tootsies, Layla’s, and Tequila Cowboy. Many of the younger women were decked out in Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots; the men clad in denim, some sporting cowboy hats. Music hung in the thick air like perfume. Several distinct styles echoed in the night from classic, twangy country, to bluegrass, and honky-tonk. Clay pulled her across the street and turned the corner where the sights and sounds faded. She thought he might be taking a shortcut back to his place. Stopping at an open park bench along the sidewalk, Clay waved his hand for her to sit. When they were both situated, Katie sighed happily.
“That’s a beautiful old church,” she whispered contentedly, staring at the large building across the street.
Clay rested his elbows on his knees and palmed his hands looking up at the building. “That’s the Mother Church of country music, Katie. That’s the Ryman.”
She inhaled quickly and stared at the century-old building with stained-glass windows. Dramatic up-lighting highlighted the brick structure making it look regal and essential, which Katie knew it was. She also knew she needed to get Clay to open up about his past.
“Why won’t you play there?” she asked softly, staring at the structure. She turned and admired his handsome profile. “What happened? Please tell me, Clay.”
He ran his hand down his chin as if struggling to find the words. She watched him stand and pace a few feet before stopping and shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
“When I was a little boy…I didn’t talk.”
Katie furrowed her brow. “What do you mean you didn’t talk?”
He sighed. “I had a real bad speech impediment. I stuttered.”
Flashes of Clay as a young child not speaking made her heart clench. She gripped her hands in her lap determined to understand. “Go on…”
“Mama and Daddy were beside themselves with worry. I was picked on and bullied at school. It was terrible. They didn’t know what to do.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the Ryman. “Daddy was a huge fan of the Grand Ole Opry. Used to watch or listen to the broadcasts when he wasn’t on the road. There was this one time he saw a country fella by the name of Mel Tillis. Ever heard of him?” He turned to her and waited for a response.
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”
He nodded and continued. “Well, this guy, Mel, was a singer-songwriter. He wrote country hits for Kenny Rogers and Waylon Jennings. He had a huge hit in the seventies called, “Coca-Cola Cowboy.” Daddy saw him on the Opry, and when he spoke, he stuttered. It was crazy because his speech impediment didn’t affect his singing voice at all, just his speaking voice. Daddy got an idea and went out the next day to the local pawn shop and bought me my first guitar.”
Katie could feel her heart thumping with love for Clay’s daddy, whom she had never met. The way he talked about him and what he did for his only child was a precious gift.
“I wrote my first song when I was eight years old. My parents paid for guitar lessons and found a speech therapist in every town we ever lived in. They sacrificed having a home of their own to help me succeed as a human being.”
Clay turned his head away from Katie, and she noticed him swipe his hand across his cheek. Tears pricked her own eyes as she realized he was crying.
“I got better, Katie. Thanks to music. It saved my life.” He shifted and looked right at her. “It would mean more to me than anything in the world to play on the Ryman stage—to honor my mother and father for the sacrifices they’ve made.”
His expression was pained and filled with anguish. Katie reached her hand to him. He took it, and she pulled him back on the bench, clutching his fingers in her own. “Then, why don’t you?”
She watched him stare at their intertwined hands for a few seconds. “I don’t want to lose control. I’ve had setbacks in the past, usually when I’m under a lot of stress or when I’m anxious or nervous. Believe me, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to perform on the big stages—to be a real touring artist. I’ve always shoved those thoughts in the back of my mind thinking I could never do it. My feelings have changed the older I get. Sometimes I feel like I’m ready, but then…” He stared off at the illuminated church. “God, this would be such a big deal. Playing at the Ryman Auditorium—the place my daddy always dreamed I’d play.” He paused and looked at her with frightened eyes. “ I…I just don’t know if I could handle it.”
