For the Love of Patsy Cline

entered in a previous contest that required the use of four specific words. The words chosen were Cuyahoga, Ellen, clock, and snow

Somehow I didn’t think I would end up in a holding cell while the county figured out where to put me. The lady sitting next to me has an unpleasant aroma about her and it made it increasingly hard to breathe as I sat on that bench.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

Being born in Cleveland, Ohio gives a music lover plenty of opportunity to wallow in their obsession. Unless their obsession is Patsy Cline.

I guess my obsession with Patsy Cline began when I was a baby. My mom would rock me to sleep singing, “Walking After Midnight.” When I got older, she would sing “Crazy” as I came home from school because she was lonely all day without me.

I asked her once why she loved Patsy. She hugged me close and said, “Well, Ellen honey, no other singer was able to portray an emotion quite as smoothly and as clearly as she did. This woman knew what pain was and you feel what she felt when you listen to her.”

One afternoon when I was 8 years old, my mom and I were walking down Ninth Ave when I saw a building I had never seen before. “Mom, what is that?”

“That’s the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, sweetie. The greatest people in music are honored there.”

I remembered all of this the day of her funeral. I was 10 when she died of a massive stroke. I guess I became obsessed with Patsy Cline as a remembrance of my mother.

As I grew older, the first day the new list came out I read who was inducted into the Hall of Fame. Patsy was never on the list. Each year it seemed that my anger grew. It was a slow burn that built each time I read that dang list.

On the day of my 27th birthday, I could contain it no longer. The argument was that she was a country singer, not Rock and Roll. Well, Hank Williams was in the Hall of Fame. Johnny Cash was inducted too. They weren’t rock and roll! Who was making these decisions?!

I made my plan. I needed to tell someone what a mistake they were making. Someone needed to know.

That night, I was ready. I looked at the clock and knew it was time. I pulled on my boots and my parka and trudged my way through the snow and stood before the massive Hall of Fame.

I snuck around to the employee parking lot and waited. Finally someone came out in a suit and I followed him to his car. I stuck my finger in his back and said, “Do what I say and no one will get hurt. Get in your car, we’re going for a ride.”

We got into his car and he asked where my gun went. “Listen, Mac, it’s in my pocket and don’t think I won’t hesitate to take it out and use it. I want to talk to you about a terrible mistake and injustice this Hall of Fame is making.”

The look of shock on his face was almost charming. “Listen, I’m just an accountant.”

“Whatever! I know you can do something! Pasty Cline deserves to be in the Hall of Fame! Why won’t you let her in?!”

“Seriously, I’m just an accountant.”

“LIAR!” I felt my left eye twitch a little. “YOU…ARE…KEEPING…HER…OUT…ON…PURPOSE!!!”

Suddenly his elbow came flying for my face. It made contact. My nose immediately started bleeding and my eyes started watering.

Did I mention that I faint at the sight of blood?

I took a ride that night. But instead of fulfilling my obligation to Patsy, Daniel, as I later learned his name, decided to drive me to the Cuyahoga County jail to press charges.

Sharon, the odiferous one next to me turns and asks, “I’m here for shoplifting. What you in for?”

“I’m in for the love of Patsy Cline.”