SATAN'S COMB

  1. I lived in Oklahoma for about 18 months in the mid-90s.
  2. My ex-husband was in the service and stationed at Fort Sill, and we rented a tiny house in Lawton with a fenced in yard and a clothesline and a really nice tree.
  3. We had two small children, and I was so homesick and lonely and broke and pregnant, so we(and sometimes just me and the kids) made the trip home to Cincinnati as often as possible.
  4. One trip home we were really feeling the squeeze because of an irresponsible but so much fun trip to South Padre Island, and we're fighting in the car as I sped along 44 at the beginning of our long journey home.
  5. As we drive along the highway Mike suddenly stops yelling and points at the other side of the divided highway.
  6. And I look over and spy a black guitar case on the side of the road, the kind that follows the shape of the guitar, and as it recedes into the rear view mirror, a new argument(maybe let's call it a discussion)ensues.
  7. Should we go back and check it out, or not?
  8. First the cons:
    We are in hour one of a 16 hr. drive. The NyQuil we've dosed the kids with will wear off eventually and we'd like to be as far as possible before it does.(doctor approved but how are my kids even still alive???) It's getting dark. We are on a limited access highway so this will be a 20+ mile round trip.
  9. Now the pros: MAYBE ITS FULL OF MONEY!!!!!!
    Or at least a guitar. More of a draw for him than me, tbh.
  10. We discuss, we decide it's worth it.
    We are young and less weary, we are the kind of broke I wish I was only that broke now, we have hope.
  11. We get off on the exit. We travel in the opposite direction, our faces flushed and our hearts full of anticipation.
  12. I pull over carefully and we jump out and run to the case with the flashlight from our emergency kit, and as the sun sets....
  13. We open the case together.
  14. On the inside of the lid is written:
    THIS GUITAR BELONGS TO SATAN
  15. The only thing in the case is a dirty pink comb, the kind with a long pointed handle,
    There is a small knot of long blond hair stuck in it.
  16. And, of course, our broken dreams.