Connected: Part 4 of the On The Edge Series

Chapter 34

"Any experience, in particular, push you in this direction?"

"Well, I had a pony. Her name was Lucifer," Billy began. My gaze snapped up to his face. "She broke her leg and needed shooting," he continued.

"Oh, I am so sorry," the unknowing interviewer soothed.

"I swear it hurt me more than it could've hurt her," he finished.

Tim appeared out of nowhere. "I'm sorry, but the next interview is waiting."

"Oh, of course." The young man clumsily gathered his things. "Thank you for your time; it was a real pleasure, and sorry again about your horse."

Billy gave him a dismissive smile and murmured a thank you as the interview left.

"Really?" Tim and I said in unison.

"What?" Billy sat deeper into the couch as a smile accented by his dimples spread across his face.

"That poor man feels genuinely sorry that a horse had to die, except Bob Dylan killed that fictional horse forty-five years ago," I chided.

"And if that young man had been better prepared, he could have said that, but instead, he thinks I shot a horse named Lucifer. His fault, not mine." Billy let out a satisfied sigh at his misdirection.

"It's his favorite interview pastime," Tim groaned before turning back to Billy. "And for the record, it's your fault. Not everyone has an encyclopedic knowledge of every song written etched into their brain."

"I don't have every song ever written etched into my brain, but I will take the accusation as a compliment." Billy smiled, pleased that he had misdirected a reporter and annoyed Timmy in one moment.

"Mmhmm," Timmy managed, but I could see his fingers clenching into tight balls of white fist and bone. "I'll send the next one in; try to be normal."

As Timmy left, Billy's attention turned to me. "Be good," I scolded.

"Et Tu, Brute?" Billy laughed before stifling his jovial side as a new reported entered the room.

I returned my focus to taking pictures while they settled their pleasantries.

"You've played this show annually for over a decade. Why do you keep coming back?" The young female reporter asked.

"Coming back? I live here." Billy let out a husky laugh.

The reporter nervously laughed. "Does this show hold any special place among the shows you play?"

Billy could tell his jesting was knocking the young woman's confidence. He shifted to lean forward towards her and tugged on his hair a bit to pull it from his face.

"Anytime you play your hometown, it's special. I'm happy they keep inviting me back. I grew up in the shadow of this place. Well, the DECC, at least. A little swankier these days. But I'm happy anytime I can play for nine thousand of my neighbors." Billy gave a smile that was part flirt, part shy, but still not his natural smile.

I found the camera suddenly drawn to my eye as I snapped pictures of this entity I was getting to know.

"This is a tradition for many people in Duluth. Do you have any traditions around the holidays?"

Billy leaned back and looked like he was genuinely thinking about the question. "Yeah," he absently started. "I have the usual family dinners and such at the holidays."

The reporter smiled as Billy looked through her. She paused, expecting more, as I would have, but nothing else spilled from the thoughts roaming Billy's head.