Somebody Everybody Listens To by Suzanne Supplee Page A

bookmarkers. “No dog-earing the pages or cracking the spine. Be sure you return them when my boss isn’t here.”
    â€œBut how will I know who—”
    â€œShe’s hard to miss. Her glasses are yellow with black rhinestones, and she always wears a starched blouse and pops the collar. Oh, and don’t return them on a Sunday. That’s my day off.”
    â€œI don’t think this is such a good idea,” I said, and glanced up at the security camera. One brush with the law was enough.
    â€œSeriously, it’s fine,” Emerson insisted, and came around the counter. “Take them,” she said, and handed me the bag. “Believe it or not, you’ll actually be helping me out.”
    â€œThis is really nice of you,” I said, and followed her to the door. She pushed it open and held it for me. The second my flip-flops crossed the threshold, the alarm blasted in our ears.
    â€œGo ahead,” Emerson shouted above the noise. “There’s probably a sensor tucked inside one of the pages. You can gingerly peel it off when you get to it. Gingerly! ”
    â€œOkay,” I replied, and racewalked toward Goggy’s car. Any second I expected a SWAT team to wrestle me to the ground and handcuff my arms behind my back. I slid into the front seat and sat there for a minute, tried to decide what to do with the books. So far, I owed forty-five dollars for absolutely nothing and nothing for forty-five dollars worth of something. Technically, I was stealing. Or maybe not. What motivates me? I mulled over her question.
    Nobody had ever asked me that before. People wanted to know the kinds of songs I could sing or when I was available to sing, but never, ever why I sing. Even though I didn’t want to confess it to Emerson, I knew the answer: I sing because it’s the only time people really listen to me.

hiriam “hank” king williams
    Â 
    BORN: September 17, 1923; Mount Olive, Alabama JOB: While still a child, Williams began selling peanuts and newspapers and shining shoes to help support his family. family.
    BIG BREAK: In 1946, Williams and his wife, Audrey, traveled to Nashville to meet with legendary writer and publisher Fred Rose. Later, Rose helped Williams secure a contract with MGM Records.
    LIFE EVENTS: Williams suffered from spina bifida, a birth defect that results in an incompletely formed spinal cord, and he endured chronic back pain as a result.
    DIED: January 1, 1953, while en route to a concert in Canton, Ohio. He was twenty-nine.
    CHAPTER EIGHT

    i’m so lonesome i could cry
    DESPERATE TO FIND A MOTEL, I kept driving—Nashville seemed to stretch on endlessly—and there was one “No Vacancy” sign after another. Idiot! I said to myself for forgetting about the festival. It wasn’t like me to forget about any big country music event. Normally, I can’t wait for the CMA and the ACM’s big award shows every year. For weeks, I analyze the nominees, make lists of who’s likely to win and why. And even though I can’t afford to buy every new CD that comes out, I keep track of all the upcoming release dates on my calendar. When there’s a new single, I follow it closely, try my best to figure out why some songs and artists are so successful while others simply limp along or disappear altogether. This time, however, I’d blown it, and now I’d probably have to sleep in Goggy’s car as a result.
    Next to some statues of horses, I took a left and ended up in magnate mansion land—one giant, fancy house after another and a parade of joggers. The neighborhood was confusing with its tasteful signs that were too small to read and its quirky traffic patterns. And all the yards were so lush and green and perfectly manicured that they looked exactly the same. I kept getting turned around and going down the same street over and over. It was close to dusk, and even though I hated to admit it, I was a little