Gravel crunched under the tires of Boyd McCall's pickup as he pulled into the parking lot of Ray's Roadhouse. Boyd parked in the row of pickups along the front of the long cinderblock building and shut off the engine. He switched the key to the "accessory" position, until Hank Williams finished singing Your Cheatin' Heart, because, as everybody knows, You don't turn Hank off in the middle of a song.

It was early. Ray's kitchen was still open, so Boyd ordered a cheeseburger and some onion rings to go along with his beer. The onion rings tasted so good, he ordered another batch and washed them down with another beer. Why not? Boyd's wife, Mary, had gone up to Springfield to help with her sister's new baby. This was Boyd's big chance to go out with the boys and have a good time -- just like in the good old days.

After he finished eating, Boyd ordered another beer and looked the place over to see if any of his old drinking buddies were around. The only person he recognized was Earl "what's-his-name," who had been a permanent fixture at Ray's for as long as Boyd could remember. Earl sat at his usual place at the bar, asleep, with his head resting on his folded arms. Boyd had always assumed Earl was drunk, since on the rare occasions that Earl had actually raised his head and spoke, it was unintelligible. Boyd wasn't sure how Earl ever managed to get drunk, since he had never actually seen Earl take a drink. Earl just always seemed to be there, asleep at the bar.

Boyd walked down the hall, past the restrooms, to use the pay phone. He made some calls; trying to round up some old drinking buddies, but didn't have any luck. Gary Bowers had to start work early tomorrow, Lyle Albers was babysitting, and Dave Freeman's wife wouldn't even let Boyd talk to him. Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do, Boyd thought, but he was determined not to let this little setback spoil his big night on the town -- so he ordered another beer.

By 8 p.m., the place was full of people and smoke. A live band was scheduled to start at 10 p.m., but for now, a jukebox provided the music for the few couples who circulated around the big dance floor.

When the jukebox fell silent for a few moments, Boyd picked up his fourth beer and went over to check it out. Ray's jukebox didn't have any of that "New Country" crap on it. It had nothing but the classics: Hank Williams, George Jones, Tammy Wynette, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn -- in other words: "Real" Country.

A young blonde woman came over to the jukebox and brushed up against Boyd's arm. Her hair was too blonde and looked like straw, but she smelled real good.

"How about J-19?" she said. Boyd checked J-19. It was Stand by Your Man by Tammy Wynette. Good taste, he thought.

"So, you want to dance to that?" Boyd asked.

"Sure," she said.

Boyd dropped a quarter in the jukebox and punched in J-19. He and the blonde walked to the middle of the dance floor and waited for the song to start. Her name was Jennifer "something-or-other," and she was a student at the local junior college. They danced and made small talk, then went back over to the jukebox and picked out a couple more songs: Almost Persuaded by David Houston and I Got A Tiger By The Tail by Buck Owens. The faster tempo of the second song gave Boyd the opportunity to show off a little of his clog-dancing style. Jennifer seemed to get a real kick out of Boyd's clogging. She laughed with her hand over her mouth; and the more she laughed, the faster Boyd danced.

When the song ended, Jennifer dragged Boyd back to her table and introduced him to her cousin, Michelle. Boyd offered to buy them a drink. They both requested a "Singapore Sling" and excused themselves to the ladies' room.

Boyd went to the bar and ordered three Singapore Slings. He wasn't exactly sure what a Singapore Sling was, but Nobody could say Boyd McCall wasn't willing to try something new. It tasted pretty good -- real fruity, but it didn't seem to pack much of a punch, so he had another one. There was still no punch -- so Boyd ordered another beer.

In between dances and drinks, Michelle lit a cigarette, and Boyd bummed one. Boyd had not had a cigarette for one year, two months, eighteen days, and four hours; but who was counting? One cigarette isn't going to kill anybody, he figured. Boyd took a long drag, deep into his lungs. Within seconds, he felt lightheaded, and his arms and legs tingled. A couple more puffs, and Boyd's whole body seemed to be tingling.

Boyd smoked the cigarette down a ways, and then attempted to show the girls how he could flip a cigarette around on his tongue and make it disappear into his mouth; but the burning end of the cigarette touched against the roof of his mouth. Boyd convulsed forward, spitting out the wet cigarette butt and knocking over his beer, a couple of empty bottles and Jennifer's drink in the process. The girls excused themselves to the restroom again, and Boyd went to the bar to order another beer.

When Boyd returned to the table, the spilled drinks had been cleaned up and the girls were still gone. Boyd figured he better hit the john again because his bladder was full, and he didn't feel so good.

Standing at the urinal, Boyd took a couple of deep breaths, but it didn't make him feel any better. He felt nauseous, so he stepped into an empty booth, dropped to his knees and threw up. Maybe that second order of onion rings wasn't such a good idea, he thought, or maybe he shouldn't have mixed beer with mixed drinks. What was in those Singapore Slings anyway?

Someone entered the restroom, and the baritone voice of Jim Reeves, singing Distant Drums drifted in... "So, Mary, marry me. Let's not wait . . . " Hey! Boyd thought. My wife's name is Mary. What the hell am I doing here, dancing with some college girl? Boyd went back to the table to say a polite goodbye, but the girls were gone and someone else was sitting at the table.

Boyd stepped out the front door of Ray's Roadhouse and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Above his head, moths swirled around Ray's brightly lit neon sign, beating themselves against the lights, over and over again, until they fell to the sidewalk below.

The cool breeze felt good on Boyd's face, and alerted him that his fly was open. He zipped up and stumbled over to his pickup. The live band started playing, just as Boyd pulled out onto the highway.

Boyd pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine, switching the key to accessory because Hank Williams was singing I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, and everybody knows -- You don't turn Hank off in the middle of a song. The glare of the pickup's headlights reflecting off the white garage door made Boyd's eyes hurt, so he folded his forearms across the steering wheel and laid his head down to listen while Hank finished his song.

Boyd didn't wake until shortly after sunrise. He had a terrific hangover. His truck's battery was dead, and he needed a cigarette. It was just like the good old days.

Michael L. Youther

Department of Physiology -- retired

2nd place prose