Page 63 of Rough Ride

“Just kiddin’, y’all. There’s a lot of sour souls in the rodeo, but Abraham’s one of the good ones. Y’all want to hear some music?”

I smiled as the crowd roared. Eli had good stage presence.

“Let’s see what I’ve got in my lungs tonight.” Eli strummed the guitar a few times, testing the notes. “Try this one on for size.”

The guitar came to life beneath his fingers, filling the room with the amplified sound of music. After a few chords, Eli leaned toward the microphone and began singing with a pronounced country twang.

“As I strolled through the valley of the shadow of death,

I take a look at my life and realize there’s nothin’ left.

‘Cause I’ve been ridin’ and laughin’ so long,

Even my momma thinks that my mind is gone.”

Johnny glanced at me. “Is that… a rap song?”

“Gangster’s Paradise,” I confirmed, laughing at the juxtaposition of rap lyrics with a country music melody. “By Coolio.”

But when the chorus came, Eli changed the lyrics slightly.

“Been spendin’ most my life

Livin’ in a cowboy’s paradise.

Keep spendin’ most my life

Ridin’ in a cowboy’s paradise.”

The crowd ate it up, and exploded with applause and cheers when he finished the song. He nodded at the crowd, then met my gaze from across the room.

And winked.

Son of a bitch. I thought I’d gotten the drop on Eli, but he was definitely coming out ahead of this prank.

But I couldn’t be mad. As Eli played rap song after rap song, each of them redone in a country music style, I found myself totally entranced. My drink making slowed down because I kept getting distracted by the sight of him up there, confidently playing for the crowd without any warning or warm-up.

Some people were just natural performers, I supposed.

He even played a country music version ofNot Like Us, by Kendrick Lamar, which the entire crowd sang along to. Johnny gave me a look of disbelief which mirrored my own feelings.

“All right, I’ve just about overstayed my welcome up here,” Eli said after an hour of music. “I’ve got one more bullet in my chamber, though. Hope y’all don’t mind if I slow it down a bit.”

He hung his head and began playing the guitar, one soft note at a time. The song felt vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

Then he began singing.

“Hold it, I’m about to drop off.

Let me tell ya my last thought.

Drift into a deep fog.

Lost where I forgot to hold it.

I can feel you most when I’m alone.

I can feel your ghost when I’m alone.”

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