The Jukebox - Creative Non-Fiction

Based on a true story. 

The Shooting Star Saloon - Huntsville Utah



 

“One, two, three, four, five…one, two, three, four, five…”  I said to myself, while putting the nickels in columns.  This job never seems to end.  “One, two, three, four, five…”

“What are you doing?”  Naomi asked.

“I’ve got to stack these nickels in columns of five.”

“Why do you have to do that?”

“It’s just something I do, I guess.”

“Come on, Hogan.  Can’t we go early tonight and have a little fun?”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”  I asked, looking up at Naomi who was sitting across the counter on a barstool.

“You work too hard.  If you keep this up, there won’t be anything else for me to love but a memory.”

“Well, what do you expect?”  I said, getting slightly irritated.  “Someone’s got to take care of this place, and I sure as hell can’t let anyone else do it.  If you want a job done right, you got to do it yourself, right?”

“Do you love me?”

I immediately stopped stacking the nickels and looked her in the eyes.  They were beautiful crystal blue eyes that could take you to magical places, where there are no worries, but now, there was sadness and sorrow.

“Of course I love you, Naomi.  Why do you insist on putting me through all this again?”

“Because I never know if you truly love me or if it’s this Saloon you love.”  She lowered her head.  “With all the time you spend here.”

“You know I love you, and that I would do anything for you.”

“Why then do you insist on sitting here and counting the money and stacking these damn nickels?”

“I can’t help it.  Why are you asking me to change?  Have I not always been there for you?”

“You have changed Hogan, you have become obsessed with this hole in the wall saloon, and little to show for it.”

“I haven’t changed!  I still love you, I still take care of you don’t I?”

“Then let’s go.  Let’s runaway to some romantic place for awhile and fall in love all over again.”

“Who’s going to take care of the saloon?  Jimmy?  Aaron?  They can barely take care of themselves.  I can’t just up and take off Naomi, I have to plan these things out, make sure everything is taken care of.”

“Like stacking your damn nickels?”  Warm tears fell quickly down her check.  “Then it’s true then, all you care about is your Saloon and your nickels.”

“Naomi,” I said as I moved around the bar, and put my arm around her, “I love you.”

“Don’t touch me,” she said, moving quickly out of the way.  “Don’t lie to me.  This saloon, and your stupid war stories from the great world war are the only things you care about.  You don’t love me.  You don’t even know what love is.  You’re so wrapped up in yourself and this bar that you are dead to the rest of the world.  All you care about is yourself.”

“That’s not true.”  But unfortunately, I knew it was.  This night had been eleven years in the making, ever since the fall of 1918 when I returned home from Europe.

“Yes, it is, and you know it.  Get away from me!”  She then turned and ran out the door.  I ran after, but only made it to the door.

“Naomi!  Naomi!  Come on Naomi!  Come back!”  But it was useless.  I knew it was.  All I could do was stand and watch her run away.  The only woman I had ever loved was now leaving me because I hadn’t the courage to love her enough.

As I walked back into the saloon, I sat down on the barstool and let my head fall to the counter.  After a few minutes I heard the jukebox switch tracks, and start playing mine and Naomi’s song, Forever Nights, and I broke down and started bawling.  I had loved her, I just didn’t know how to show it.

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            Jimmy, my right hand man since even before World War One, had been pretty quiet.  In fact, come to think of it, he had been pretty quiet for some time.  We had been partners of this saloon since 1902.  We were only twenty five then.  It seemed only like yesterday.  I tried to get him to talk to me for awhile, to get through to him, but gave up after a few weeks.  A lot of things seemed to change since the accident. 

            “How are you doing tonight?”  I asked a young man as he came in to the saloon.  He ignored me and kept walking to the tables in the back.  A little baffled at his unresponsiveness I decided to keep an open ear.  Almost immediately after he sat down, the door to the saloon opened again, and in walked a young woman that by the looks of it, could have any man she wanted.  She had the deep Mediterranean look, with the black hair, nicely tanned skin, and curves that would drive any man wild.

            “Did a man just come in here?” the woman asked.  “About five-nine, black hair, nicely dressed?”

“Sandra?”  The man at the table said with surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

            “Robert,” she sighed.  “we need to talk.  It’s about your kid brother.”

            As the minutes turned into hours, I overheard the sad, sad story of how this young mans brother, who was drafted into the army only nine months earlier had died at Normandy beach.  As I periodically walked by to gather supplies for the bar, I noticed the glassy eyes of the gentleman and realized it was all he could do, to hold back the tears.  I didn’t know how to comfort these two, but I knew that I wanted to do something.

            I decided to play a song on the jukebox that could maybe help ease this young man’s pain.  After much thought, I managed to pick, God Bless America.  It seemed only fitting to play that song in honor of a fallen soldier.

            When the couple started to leave, the young man stopped, and looked at Jimmy, “Thank you so much for playing that song awhile back.  It meant to so much to me.  You don’t know what I have been through lately.”

            “What song?  I didn’t play any song.”

            “You didn’t select the jukebox to play God Bless America?”

            “No, I didn’t.  But I’m glad it helped.  Hope you two have a good night.”

            “Thank you, sir.” 

            -------------------------

 
            “No, no, no.  All I’m saying is that some weird things have been going on.”  Marcus explained.  “Every morning when I come in, all the nickels are stacked in neat rows of five.” 

“How do we know you ain’t just pulling our legs?” the man sitting on the barstool asked.

“Come on, I’m the last one to leave at night, and the first one to get here in the morning, and the only one with the key.  How else would you explain it?”

“Hey, enough of the chatter, flip it to channel five, Reagan’s Funeral is starting.” one of the other men sitting at the bar said.  Marcus turned and flipped the small T.V. set on, and adjusted it to channel five.  Marcus had taken over the saloon when Jimmy died a few years back.  Jimmy was ninety-eight when he passed away, and still went at it like he was twenty.

The sound of static, followed by three little pops, as Marcus changed the dials filled the otherwise silent bar.  Just like the man said, the televised funeral of the former President and actor was on.

            The funeral coverage on T.V. lasted for about two hours.  Everyone kept pretty much to themselves, not saying much, and when it ended, everyone at the bar seemed a little more somber than usual.  We needed something to cheer us up. 

I walked over to the jukebox and stared at the list of songs for a moment.  I clicked the numbers 0659, the National Anthem.  It seemed only appropriate to play a song for such a loved president.

            “That’s odd.” the man nearest to the T.V. said.

            “What is?”  Marcus said.

            “That the jukebox started playing the National Anthem, after Reagan’s funeral.”

            Hearing it, Marcus walked over to the jukebox and stared at it in disbelief.  It was in fact playing the National Anthem, but that wasn’t what amazed him.  What amazed Marcus was in fact, that the jukebox was unplugged.