Canton Writes 2023: A Song to Stick Around For

By Canton Citizen

The Canton Citizen, a sponsor of the annual Canton Writes contest, will once again publish the winning entries as space permits. The selection below, by Abby Nelson, was the winning entry in the adult short story category.

A Song to Stick Around For
By Abby Nelson

There is an art in knowing when the party is over and it is time to go home. Yet there are those who live in denial, trying to save the dying light. I have no interest in such delusion. I know when to leave.

The paper was left under an old wristwatch and a fountain pen, the elegant kind you dream about having as a kid, engraved and everything. I briefly wondered who the fine instrument would go to, now that its owner had used its sleek body to write his last musings, leaving us to clean up what he left behind.

Why leave this note? To force whoever found him to confront their own mortality? Now I was left to ponder the final words of an old man who was sure the best days of his life had already happened.

“Is it okay for us to move the body now, officer?”

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Ya, we’ve finished our part, thanks.” What a way to end the night. I turned towards the door where my partner was waiting gloomily. He was normally a peppy guy. Clearly the note left an impression on him too.

“You alright, Charlie?” I didn’t really want to play therapist right now, but he had lost his wife a few years back and didn’t have anyone else to talk to about this.

His eyes met mine, and he looked forlorn for a moment before offering a half-smile. “I think we both need a drink after that.”

Normally, I’d decline, wanting to just go home after a long day. But tonight, being by myself didn’t sound too peaceful. I was worried the old man’s words would creep into my mind if I were alone.

So, I did something out of character and said, “Sure, I could use a drink.”

…

I took another swig of my beer,

God, if I had known it’d be this awkward, I wouldn’t have come. Charlie wasn’t even drinking, just staring down at the frothy liquid in silence.

He finally took his first sip, swallowing thickly. “Surely there must be a song.”

“Hm?” I answered quickly, thankful for anything that would fill the emptiness in the air.

“If you were leaving a party,” Charlie took a longer sip, “surely there must be a song that would make you turn back.”

I studied him for a moment. Was he taking that note literally?

“Sure, man, I guess.”

“I’m serious. Everyone’s gotta have a song that would stop them dead in their tracks and make them rush back into the party.”

I thought about my dad’s favorite cassette tape, the one we’d listen to in his junky car with the windows down.

“Stairway to Heaven,” I said decisively. I felt stupid as soon as I said it. Who plays Stairway to Heaven at a party?

Charlie smiled a toothy grin. “Good choice. I’d turn back for Zeppelin too.” He signaled the bartender for another beer. “But if you had left the party a moment sooner, you would’ve missed your chance to sing your lungs out to one of the best songs of all time. It just seems like a shame to me, missing out on what could’ve been a good time because you gave up on the party.”

I clanked our beers together in an attempt to lighten the mood. “To finding a party that closes the night with a song worth staying around for.”

…

“I’ll be right back,” Charlie muttered, dragging his feet to the bathroom. Looks like I’d be driving him home.

While I was waiting, I saw a jukebox and flipped through the songs mindlessly. There it was: Stairway to Heaven. Maybe I had been subconsciously looking for it. I pulled out a few quarters and pressed the button.

I waited. Nothing. Ain’t that the irony of the day. I finished paying the bill when Charlie reappeared with dull eyes.

I patted his back. “Let’s head out.”

The bell rang on the door as he stepped out first. But then, he suddenly halted as a familiar riff began to play.

I guess that jukebox hadn’t been broken after all. I opened my mouth to tell him I thought it had eaten my quarters. But the words died in the back of my throat when I saw his face.

He lightly brushed past me, sauntering back into the bar like a zombie. The place was mostly empty, but his eyes flashed from face to face, as if looking around for an angel on a barstool.

Then, Charlie turned to me and broke out into the widest smile I had ever seen, like he had just witnessed a miracle wrapped in magic. I couldn’t ruin that with the truth. So, instead, I matched his grin, wanting to bask in that feeling of magic too, wiping my memory of putting those quarters in.

“Well, how about that! The party isn’t over after all!” I walked back into the bar and swung an arm around him, singing, “There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold.”

The color was back in his face, rosier than ever. He joined in heartily.

“And she’s buying a stairway to heaven…”

…

We laughed all the way home.

But when we pulled up to his house, the atmosphere suddenly felt a lot heavier.

“Today’s the anniversary,” Charlie said quietly, “of Angela.”

Ah. I hadn’t known. “I’m sorry, Charlie…Would you like to stop at her grave?”

“I went this morning, but thank you buddy. I don’t think she’s there tonight anyway. I swear she was in that bar, singing about heaven.” His eyes were shining with a hope I don’t think I’d ever seen before.

When he got out of the car, I found myself rolling down the window impulsively.

“Hey! What was your song? I never asked you. What song would make you turn around?”

Charlie flashed a small smile to me.

“Well, man, tonight it was Stairway.”

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