Thursday, January 27, 2005
‘Listen to Johnny.’
That's what I whispered. But nobody was listening.
Johnny was on the stage at the time. In behind him those big, bright, blood red curtains were still swaying back and forth. Johnny was wearing his white face with his dusted pink cheeks and it made his teeth look yellow when he opened his mouth. He was standing there, right there in the middle of the stage, on that old wood floor that kept creaking cuz he was shuffling his feet all awkward like. He was trying so hard not to notice.
He was standing on the same spot where they had hanged Johnson. The same spot where old Fred had been a few minutes before. But now the spotlight was on Johnny, and dim as it was he was still doing his best to make the most of it.
The fellas that were still in the audience, who had stayed after old Fred had let his mouth flap, they weren't much interested in anything at the moment. They had seen enough for one night.
And that’s about it really. That’s about all you need to know to understand the crux of it. Poor ole Johnny, standing up there with his little cards, ready to conjure a bolt of lightning from the heavens, and he couldn't even muster a rumble from them. In a moment he’d be gone too.
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