A TRAVELING FOLK TALE
ALM No.94, October 2026
SHORT STORIES
Charlie had two great loves in his life: music and Jeanette. He could never say which came first, and luckily for him, Jeanette never asked him to choose.
They met in the small town of North Shoreham, Rhode Island, where they both performed at a local bar filled with barflies and hometown heroes. It may not have been the Grand Ole Opry, but to Charlie and Jeanette, it was home. They both played what they considered the only true American music: folk.
The night they met, Charlie had just finished another set, leading his band on vocals with a banjo in his hands. He figured it had been a good one. Maybe even a great one. Then Jeanette took the stage, and for the first time that night, Charlie stopped thinking about his own music.
Her voice was unlike anything he had heard before.
Jeanette commanded the stage with a cherry wood acoustic guitar that glistened from the stale beer thrown around by patrons joining in on her performance. Her curly auburn hair swayed perfectly with the music, not a strand out of place, almost like every note in the refrain of her song, “Country Roads.”
Charlie was in awe.
When she finished her set, he knew he had to do something to get her attention. So, naturally, he jumped onto the wet, cracked, leather-bound bar and began playing “Dueling Banjos.”
It worked.
Jeanette raised her drawn-on eyebrow somewhere between confusion and curiosity before the most beautiful smile spread across her face. Charlie would later call it a million-dollar smile wrapped in a bargain bin wardrobe.
She grabbed her guitar and played his notes back to him. Charlie answered. Jeanette responded. Back and forth, they went, moving closer as the music grew louder until there wasn't much space left between them at all.
The rest was history.
They fell in love almost immediately, and somehow their music got better because of it. They became each other’s muse, and before long, the crowds at the bar were coming as much to see Charlie and Jeanette together as they were to hear the music. Eventually, they became known as the most popular couple in Washington County.
Then came their first real test.
One night after a set, Jeanette was approached by a short, stubby, balding gentleman who smelled of Old Spice and Old Crow. His suit looked a little too big for him, and on his wrist was a worn-out Rolex he religiously shined.
His name was Earl.
By appearance alone, Earl checked every box for a Grade A scumbag. As Charlie would later tell people, he also happened to be one of the nicest men you would ever meet.
Earl was a talent agent traveling the Northeast looking for local acts. He was a no-nonsense guy, and within minutes of meeting Jeanette, he asked if she wanted to open for a rising folk singer making his way across the East Coast.
It was the biggest opportunity Jeanette had ever received in what she liked to call her “so-called” career.
There was only one problem. The tour would keep her on the road for at least a year.
Jeanette immediately refused. She didn’t want to leave Charlie behind. But Charlie knew what the opportunity meant for her, even if accepting it meant losing her for a while. He told her she deserved it and promised he would always be there waiting.
A few shots and soft kisses later, Jeanette finally said yes.
Once she left, their music careers headed in opposite directions.
Charlie continued playing at the bar, but without Jeanette, the music felt empty. Soon, the crowds began to thin. Eventually, he lost his headlining spot and was reduced to playing whenever another performer was a no-show.
Jeanette, meanwhile, was playing for crowds so large she stopped trying to count them.
Her letters arrived from the road, each one filled with stories of new cities, bigger crowds, and a career Charlie knew she deserved. He was proud of her. At least that was what he wrote back.
What he wanted to write was come home.
He couldn't stand being apart from her, but he knew asking her to give up everything would be selfish. So, he kept sending letters filled with praise and love while lying about his own career.
After a few more months, the crowds were gone completely, and Charlie couldn’t find any feeling left in the music. He started trying his luck in other places, hoping something might bring it back.
Instead, he found empty bottles and an unpayable debt at an underground casino called Jax’s, run by a man with very little patience for late payments.
Charlie first heard about Jax’s from one of the local barflies after bombing another set. The man told him that if music wasn’t working anymore, maybe he should try his luck somewhere else.
So Charlie did.
The first time he walked into Jax’s, he felt an energy he thought he'd lost for good. His original plan had been to perform there, but he quickly discovered he could make hundreds in a night as a patron instead of the measly twenty dollars they paid performers.
At least, he could at first.
Weeks went by, and so did Charlie’s bank account.
During that time, he learned two things for certain: the hair of the dog is the best hangover medicine, and you don’t split twos.
On what would become Charlie’s last night at Jax’s, he found himself in a high-stakes poker game against the owner himself, Mr. Jax.
Charlie was already five thousand dollars in debt, and the purse on the table was enough to make him whole. He saw the game as his last chance.
What Mr. Jax didn’t know was that before sitting down, Charlie had erased his name from the house books. His plan, if it could be called one, was simple. By the time anyone noticed, Charlie would have won enough to pay his debt and walk away.
What Charlie didn’t know was that Mr. Jax was playing with a stacked deck.
And the house always wins.
Hours passed. So did the drinks.
Eventually, everyone else at the Texas Hold ’Em table was gone, leaving only Charlie and Mr. Jax.
Then Charlie was dealt pocket eights, the eight of clubs and eight of diamonds, to be exact.
The dealer laid down the flop: eight of spades, five of hearts, six of hearts.
Charlie felt the excitement building but kept his face still and slow-played the hand with a small bet.
Then came the turn.
Eight of hearts.
Four of a kind.
It took everything Charlie had not to react. This was it. He bet half his chips.
Mr. Jax called.
The river came down as a two of clubs. A dud.
Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was the hours at the table. Maybe Charlie had simply convinced himself that for once in his miserable stretch of luck, something had finally gone his way.
He pushed everything forward.
“All in.”
Mr. Jax called.
Charlie smugly threw down his pocket eights, revealing four of a kind, and reached for the pot.
Mr. Jax grabbed his wrist.
With his other hand, he calmly turned over a four of hearts and a seven of hearts.
He looked Charlie dead in the eyes.
“Straight flush beats four of a kind.”
Charlie stared at the cards as his stomach dropped out from under him.
Mr. Jax demanded his five grand.
Before Charlie could respond, the bookkeeper interrupted.
It wasn’t five grand anymore.
It was ten.
Jax stared impatiently at Charlie, waiting for his next move.
“I don’t have it,” Charlie whispered.
He wouldn’t remember much of what happened next.
Just a loud crack.
Seething pain.
And red.
Charlie came to outside the casino, staring down the barrel of a .44 Magnum.
“Look, you have one week to pay me back the ten grand,” Mr. Jax said. “If I don’t get the money, you’re a dead man. And if you try to skip town, I will find you.”
Surprisingly, Charlie wasn’t afraid.
Truthfully, he hadn’t felt much of anything since Jeanette left.
All he could think about was being back in her arms.
A few bottles and a few days later, another letter arrived.
It was from Jeanette.
My love,
I can’t stand being apart from you anymore. These past nine months have felt like an eternity without you. The music doesn’t matter to me anymore. You’re the only thing I want.
Plus, Earl says that my music has started to slip and it sounds like what he calls “missing something.” I know the reason.
So, I have some great news. I told Earl I need my partner. He is letting us perform together for one night to decide if we can play together on the road permanently.
All you need to do is travel down to a bar called “The Wagon” in Raleigh, North Carolina, by Sunday at 8 p.m. I can’t wait to see you, and we can finally have everything we want.
Love,
Jeanette
Charlie read the letter again.
Then again.
For the first time in months, he felt alive.
He was ready to leave that second when reality caught up with him. Sunday was only three days away, and his truck was gone. He had already handed it over to the casino trying to pay down part of his debt.
Worse, Sunday was also the day Jax expected the rest of his money.
Charlie knew he couldn't pay it. He also knew what Jax had promised would happen if he tried to run.
None of it mattered.
Jeanette was waiting for him in Raleigh.
Charlie found himself holding a bottle of whiskey, contemplating life and death.
Then he dropped the bottle.
He walked out to I-95, stared down the road, and prayed for a pair of headlights heading south.
Further down the highway, Charlie was dropped off at a pit stop outside Philadelphia. His wristwatch showed a little past 2 a.m. The parking lot was nearly empty except for a tractor-trailer parked alone in the middle.
The truck looked like it had seen its share of miles but still had plenty left in it.
Charlie approached and found the driver leaning back in his seat, hat pulled over his face.
Without even looking up, the trucker asked if Charlie wanted to climb inside and smoke what he called “true inspiration.”
Charlie figured he had nowhere better to be.
Smoke filled the cab as the two sat quietly, staring into the darkness. Lights from the city peered through, making Charlie feel as though he could reach out and grab a star.
The trucker struck Charlie as a man of deep thoughts and few words.
Eventually, he broke the silence.
“You know, I’ve been driving through this country for years with a lot of time to think, and I’ve only learned one thing to be true. It’s not about the miles you travel or even the reasons for traveling. The only thing that matters is the person you’re traveling with.”
That was all he said.
The two sat in silence until sunrise.
The trucker couldn't take Charlie any farther. He was heading west toward Johnson City. He wished Charlie luck, started the engine, and disappeared down the road.
A day later, Charlie crossed into Virginia with the help of strangers who had become wrapped up in his journey. Every one of them wished him luck getting to Raleigh.
Charlie walked along a main road with his thumb in the air and, for the first time in a while, some hope on his face.
Then he saw a familiar truck speeding toward him.
His truck.
It drifted across the line and onto the shoulder as the engine roared louder.
Mr. Jax.
He must have realized Charlie had skipped town.
There was no reasoning with him, and Charlie knew it. He sprinted into a nearby field as the horn blared behind him.
“You’re dead, boy!”
Buckshot sprayed the ground near Charlie’s heels.
He ran harder.
For all of Jax’s promises, Charlie wasn't afraid of dying. He was afraid of dying before he got to see Jeanette again.
All he wanted was one more look at that million-dollar smile and bargain bin outfit.
Then he heard a whistle.
It grew louder.
Charlie looked over and realized he was running alongside a set of train tracks. A coal train was coming up fast behind him.
Someone up above, he decided, must really like love stories to bother saving his worthless behind.
As the train passed, Charlie reached out for the ladder.
His hand found cool steel.
Freedom.
He pulled himself aboard and looked back to see Jax finally give up the chase.
Charlie was safe.
At least for one more day.
The train peeled down the tracks, carrying him south through the night.
When Charlie awoke, he saw the most beautiful sign he had ever laid eyes on.
“North Carolina: To Be, Rather Than to Seem.”
He was getting close.
Hours later, the train stopped at a factory in a small town. Charlie jumped off and found his way to a main road, only to discover he was still an hour from Raleigh.
His wristwatch was closing in on 7 p.m.
He had made it this far, and now walking might cost him everything.
Then an old, rusted Ford Model TT came rattling down the road. The man behind the wheel looked nearly twice as old as the truck.
It slowed.
The window rolled down.
The old man said nothing.
“Raleigh?” Charlie asked.
The old man looked at him for a moment, then nodded toward the truck bed.
That was enough for Charlie.
He climbed into the back and spent the ride staring at his watch, wishing he could somehow slow it down. Every few minutes, he looked toward the old man, who kept a dead stare through the windshield.
The old man had no idea what a savior he was.
Charlie wondered if he'd even care about the story.
As soon as they crossed into Raleigh, the truck pulled onto the side of the road.
Charlie figured this was as far as the old man was willing to take him.
Then the back window slid open.
“Well, you better stop and grab some before you get to see her.”
The old man pointed toward a small roadside flower stand.
Charlie stared at him.
“You are going to see a girl, right?”
Charlie smiled and nodded.
He sprinted to the stand and returned with a bouquet of dogwood flowers before jumping back into the truck bed.
The old man started driving again.
“Where exactly?”
“The Wagon.”
The truck peeled through Raleigh and pulled in front of the bar exactly one minute before eight.
Charlie jumped out.
The old man tipped his sunburnt straw hat and drove away.
Charlie turned toward the bar.
A giant red wheel hung over the entrance. Familiar folk music spilled through the doors.
Then he heard her.
That same voice he'd heard all that time ago.
The voice that taught him what true love was.
Charlie walked toward the entrance, his anticipation growing with every step. In a few moments, he would be back onstage with Jeanette.
Then a sober thought crashed over him.
Mr. Jax was still out there.
Charlie stopped.
How long would he have before Jax found him again?
A day?
A week?
Maybe only that night.
Then Charlie looked at the flowers in his hand and listened to Jeanette singing on the other side of the door.
None of it mattered.
If he was going to die that night in Raleigh, at least he would die free and in love.
He would rather have one more night with Jeanette than spend the rest of his life running.
Because no matter how far he ran, Charlie would always find himself running back to her.
Kyle Hilsey is a poet and playwright from Delaware County, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in New Reader Magazine, Sad Girl Diaries, Humans of the World, Wingless Dreamer, the Tri-State Theatre Festival, and Colonial Playhouse’s Colonial Quickies. He was also the winning playwright of the Stageworks 2024 One Act Jamboree. He hides his love of poetry and prose behind skull tattoos and pinups and appreciates the written word for masking his “Delco” accent.
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