Chapter 1 - Off the Beaten Track

Mike woke up suddenly and was met by the sight of scratched plexiglass. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the plane landed. He gazed out the window and smiled to himself as the white wisps of clouds swirled around below the plane, creating pictures that existed only for a moment before being blown into some other shape. What a good image. Mike pulled a little notepad out of his pocket and jotted down a few lines, hoping that they would contribute to a song later on.

“Attention all passengers. The plane will be landing in a few minutes. Please remain seated until the plane comes to a complete stop.”

Tucking his notebook back in his pocket, Mike sat back and sighed. A week, a whole week away from the hectic filming and recording. A whole week with nowhere to be, nowhere to go, and nothing to do but be creative. Where the time had come from, Mike wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t one to question something like a whole week off.

“Hey, Mike!” Mike was greeted warmly by a heavyset man in his mid-forties when he finally got to the town.

“Hi there, Finn,” Mike returned the greeting and put down his luggage to accept Finn’s oncoming hug.

“It’s been a long time, boy. What have you been up to?” Finn asked with a sly grin.

“Oh, you know, makin’ a TV show, watchin’ other people record hit records, that sort of thing,” Mike replied, also grinning.

“Well, I don’t know how exciting you’ll find it around here, ‘cause I can assure you that absolutely nothing has changed,” Finn laughed, running a hand through his thinning blonde hair, “Can I help you carry anything?”

“This one’s a handful,” Mike replied, gesturing to the larger of his two suitcases. Finn hoisted it and pointed down the street to his right.

“The house is down there and everything’s all set. You can go right on in.”

“Thanks,” Mike picked up the other luggage and the two started to walk towards the small house he had rented for the week, “You know, I really appreciate this, Finn, you holding the house and all.”

“It’s no problem,” Finn assured him, “We’re all friends here, you know that.”

Mike had to smile. He knew all about the small town atmosphere; he hadn’t been to the little town for years, but if Finn remembered him so well, he could be sure that everyone else would, too. After all, Finn was the kind of person who, whether he liked you or not, would talk about you all the time. It wasn’t that he was a gossip, he was just a very good judge of character, and everyone in the town trusted his opinion.

“Here we are,” Finn pushed open the door to a cozy old house at the end of the town’s main street, “Your home sweet home for a week.”

“Thanks again, Finn.” Mike took his second suitcase from Finn and went inside, letting the door close behind him. He remembered a lot about the house from his last trip to the town, which had been when he was a teenager. He couldn’t remember why he’d come then, but he knew that he’d liked it. And the house…what a place it was.

The first floor was technically all one room. The front door opened into a high-ceilinged living room, and the only thing that separated it from the kitchen was a sort of black iron balustrade. In the far left corner, there was a dark, maple staircase with a bathroom built into the space underneath. Mike climbed this and came to a dimly lit hallway with three doors: two on the right and one on the left. The one on the left was another bathroom, and the ones on the right led to a bedroom and a study. Mike opened the door to the bedroom and dumped his things on the bed. What was so great about the house was that everything was wood. The previous owners had flaunted this fact by never putting in any carpets or throw rugs, and Mike thanked them for it. It gave the whole place a rustic feel.

After making sure that he did indeed have all of his luggage, Mike walked over to the windows opposite the bed. There was a window seat underneath an arrangement of three high windows that opened outwards like shutters. Mike threw them open and sat down on the window seat, taking his acoustic guitar out of its case and strumming a few chords appropriate for the mood. Soon he was playing some old familiar tunes that he had worked on for years, but had never quite perfected. He sat there playing for a long time and probably would have played on into the night if a knock at the door hadn’t interrupted him.

“I’m coming!” he called, leaning the guitar against the window seat and wandering downstairs. When he got there, he found a younger man with mousy brown hair standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Mike!” the man greeted Mike with a gigantic grin.

“Hey there, Nolan,” Mike stuck out his hand and nearly got his arm pumped off by Nolan’s firm, enthusiastic handshake.

“How long has it been?” Nolan asked, pushing his shaggy hair behind his ears and sitting down in an overstuffed armchair.

“A few years,” Mike replied, leaning against the balustrade barrier, “You’re how old now?”

“Twenty,” Nolan grinned again, “And that would make you…”

“Twenty-three,” Mike supplied.

“Whew! It has been a while.”

Mike remembered Nolan clearly. In fact, on Mike’s last trip to the little town, Nolan had suddenly decided that Mike was his best friend in the world and had tagged along to absolutely anything he could, including some things he shouldn’t have, like drag racing in the street behind the town’s only motel or sneaking a smoke down by the creek. But even for all his annoying qualities, Nolan was a good friend, and a fun guy on top of it.

“Nothin’ has changed, has it?” Mike commented, more to himself than to Nolan. Nolan answered anyway. “Nope. Oh, except one thing…” A third grin followed this mysterious comment.

“And what’s that?” Mike asked with mild interest.

“You seen the chick that moved here a few months ago?” Nolan inquired.

Mike shook his head. “I haven’t been out.”

“You should, ‘cause,” Nolan paused to whistle loudly, “Man, is she hot.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How old?”

“Seventeen,” Nolan replied, then rallied quickly when he saw the surprised look on Mike’s face, “You’d never know it, and come on man, you’re only here a week. Have a little fun.”

“I bet everyone knows how long I’m gonna be here,” Mike laughed, trying to change the subject.

“She don’t,” Nolan winked and got up, “Well, I’ve got to be off. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Mike walked with Nolan to the door, although it was more a gesture of ushering the younger man out than it was of friendship, “See you.”

“Check her out, man,” Nolan tossed in the remark as Mike was closing the door behind him.

“Check her out,” Mike muttered to himself a moment later, “Yeah, right. Like I need any more on my plate.”

“There you go, Mike, a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and three candy bars,” Arthur, the general store clerk, passed Mike his groceries. It was the next morning, and Mike had realized that he needed a few staple foods.

“Great. How much do I owe you?” Mike asked, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

“Three for the bread and milk, and the candy’s on the house,” Arthur smiled.

“Wow, thanks man,” Mike peeled three one-dollar bills off the small wad of money he had in his pocket, handed them to Arthur, and picked up his groceries. He was just about to leave the small general store when Finn came in, accompanied by another man about his age.

“Oh hey, Mike,” Finn stopped Mike and gestured towards the other man, “This is Jacob Mitchell. He and his family moved here a few months ago from Wisconsin. Jacob, this is Mike Nesmith.”

Jacob stuck out his hand and Mike shook it.

“Good to meet you, Mike.”

“You too, Mr. Mitchell,” Mike returned politely, although his mind was only on getting back to the house and working on some more songs.

Suddenly, a girl came in on Jacob’s right.

“Daddy, why are we…oh, hello,” she said when she caught sight of Mike, “You must be Michael.”

“Ah…I…yeah…” Mike stammered, dumbstruck.

“Oh, yes. Mike, this is my daughter, Georgia,” Jacob introduced the girl, stepping aside. Georgia reached out and solemnly shook Mike’s hand. Mike tried not to stare.

Georgia was gorgeous. Her light brown hair fell to the middle of her back in delicate waves, greatly accenting her serious, deep-blue eyes. Mike felt like he could see into infinity if he looked into those eyes long enough. And her figure! Mike tried to look anywhere but the obvious places and concentrated instead on the fact that Georgia had a slight tan already, even though it was barely the end of May.

“It’s nice to meet you, Michael.” It took Mike a while to realize that Georgia was addressing him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too,” he said hurriedly, “I’ve, ah, I’ve got to, er, be goin’.”

Mike hastened out the door and hoped that Georgia wasn’t watching him, because he was sure that he was grinning like an idiot.

Continued