Goodbye
to Nashville
by Elizabeth C. Ferguson
Goodbye
Nashville, I'm moving away. Goodbye
Dragon Park (not your real name), west end shops, the pet store that's no longer
there that had a talking parrot and the Baskin-Robbins where my mother would
always let me get a scoop of mint chocolate-chip cup, not cone, you'll spill.
May I formally say Thank-You to Athena Parthenos and the three hallways
of art beneath her, those fences are a sign of disrespect and I can't stand them
anymore! Good-bye to Love Circle
and the house where Shel Silverstein lived and sidewalks where I was never
afraid, even at 2am, even after that guy reached out of his car and slapped me
on the ass.
Goodbye
to Greyhound where the homeless hang and to teen pregnancy one in five and
goodbye to people who think the HOV lane is for people with AIDS and goodbye to
the big crowds of teenagers that gather down on 2nd street in the summer heat to
smoke pot and drink and get rowdy and hang from their cars like eager cats in
heat waiting for something to move so they can pounce on it and party, drunk and
loud. Goodbye to the only real
dance floor in town where the pretty club boys are only for other boys and the
aging drag queens don't even have to be good to engender worship from the
masses.
Goodbye
to towers of hair sprayed so stiff you're not sure it's real and rhinestones and
music row and Elvis' gold-plated cadillac.
I miss Opryland, the ghost park you can still hear in the mall parking
lot if you're real quiet and goodbye to the boat that floats through the hotel
and the waterfall and the dancing light show every night at 7pm, right after the
dinner carousel and just after the Bayou gift center closes.
Goodbye to TNN and the General Jackson where I first tasted chocolate
mousse as a kid and the floating dinner theater where my prom after-party let me
see someone hurl their memory of that dance straight into the Cumberland River.
Goodbye
to the Cumberland River that was so toxic as a kid it made my eyes smart and
water one day when my class visited the capitol, kids get back on the bus, we'll
drive you closer. Goodbye to people
who say rasttlin instead of wrestling who talk through their noses and look down
them at the same time if you don't go to the tanning bed or have your own
account at Dillards. Quentin
Compton clenched his fists and said I don't hate the South, I don't and I don't
either, I'll be back, but Faulkner sent him to Boston for a reason and so I go
too. Goodbye to men's hair styles and Baptist jokes and
Lusianne sweet tea and goo-goo clusters and The World's Largest Adult Bookstore.
Goodbye Nashville, like a radio station you change formats every year
just after the awards are given and I never know what the dial will scan next.
For pete's sake, stop letting those football guys push you around. When I come
back, you'll be a different place and I just wanted you to know that even when I
hated you I loved you and I know you felt the same way. Good luck, clean up, and
I'll see you again.