1
August 1998
The Memphis International Airport bustled with people as Ella Preston made her way to the baggage claim. Her legs were sore from walking, even in Doc Martins, and the three-hour
snooze she got on the plane only helped a bit. Yet somehow she kept going, just lucid enough to notice how busy the airport was for a Wednesday afternoon.
Where are all these people going? she wondered as she dodged stressed out families running to their respective gates. The sun beamed through the large windows, casting a heavenly
glow on her luggage, which lay on the conveyor belt.
Although Aunt Katherine had offered to pick her up, Ella insisted on taking a taxi since it was a half-hour drive into her hometown of Lakeland – one way. Making her way onto the street, she wasn’t surprised that one pulled up right away; she stood out like a coal in snow among the
other hailers. Amidst their pastel rainbow of August attire, Ella was the only person wearing black.
When the driver got out, she could see he was an African-American man; tall with a worn face, but his smile warmed her heart.
“May I help you with your bags miss?” he asked.
For a second Ella was thrown by his hospitality. She’d spent so much time in Los Angeles that she’d forgotten the ways of home.
“Yes. Thank you,” Ella replied with a small smile.
“The name’s Wes. Anything you need just let me know,” the driver said as he opened the rear passenger door. On the way in Ella caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the tinted
window. Her dirty-blonde hair fell victim to the breeze as it brushed against her naked complexion. She’d chosen glasses over contacts and the only jewelry she wore was a silver treble clef necklace. Ella usually reserved this minimal look for the privacy of night, but today her appearance was the last thing on her mind.
“4640 Riverton Drive please” she said, stating the address of her Aunt Katherine’s house.
The white one-story, with its front porch that looked out over Garner Lake, was nestled about a mile and a half from the Preston home. She spent nearly every summer there after her mother died, as that’s when her father Sam scheduled his tours. This way he managed to never miss a birthday or a school function; things that he called necessities.
Ella pictured her aunt rocking back and forth in her floral hippie smocks, thick-rimmed glasses, and the cloud of cigarette smoke that followed each swing of the chair. As a singer Ella
hated the smoke, and as Katherine’s niece she tolerated it.
The taxi rolled along the familiar streets of Memphis for a while before coming to its first stop at a red light. The beaming crimson fixture gave Ella pause as she was instantly reminded of the blinking red light on her voicemail machine only a few days before. She pressed the playback button and was met with the following messages:
The first one was from her roommate Charlotte.
Hey El, it’s me! I’ll be working late tonight. Also, could you stop and get some milk? I think ours expired. Thanks!
The next one was from Max Lamont, her manager.
Hiya, kiddo! Just wanted to tell you we reworked some of your lyrics and I think you’ll be pleased with the outcome. See you Friday!
The last one was from Aunt Katherine.
Oh jeez! Ella? I’ve been trying to call you all morning. I guess you’ve been out. It’s...it’s about your father. He had a heart attack. I’m so sorry honey...he’s gone.
Ella erased the message as soon as it finished. Like a child she wanted to believe that if she couldn’t repeat it then maybe it never existed. She was twenty-seven years old and both her
parents were gone. The thought lingered as she looked out the right rear window of the taxi and wished she hadn’t refused Charlie’s company.
“I’ll be fine,” Ella had said as her roommate’s ’92 Chevy rumbled towards LAX, unsure if her comment was out of strength or sheer pride. The truth was she needed to get away, to clear her head as best she could. Now on top of everything else, her debut blues album was due in six
months, she’d only recorded half the songs, & the album didn’t even have a title yet. Ella slowly exhaled a breath, the most she could do to keep her composure.
It was silent for a long while before Wes glanced in the rear-view mirror and asked,
“Would you like the radio on?”
Ella loved music more than the air she breathed but she knew that if Wes turned that little black knob her father’s greatest hits would flood her ears.
“No thank you.”
After a few more moments of silence, Wes turned himself around at the next red light.
“I just wanted to tell you that your father’s music made a lot of people happy, myself included,” he said.
Ella nodded and smiled. She was glad to be back home but wished it were under better circumstances. Looking over some papers she took out from her purse, she wondered if she was
ready to read the eulogy.
