Alabama strums a few chords. “This is a new song I wrote two nights ago. I actually had a conversation with a friend recently who showed me the light a bit. You know, I, uh, forgot how much I love songwritin’ and then I got on the bus and it kind of reminded me why I was here.” She laughs lightly into the mic. “It’s about those people out there who don’t get us or like us, or want to change us or dismiss us. And ... hell, I don’t know why I’m still talkin’. I’m just gonna play. Here goes ...”
She takes a few minutes to gather her bearings, to put on a brave face. She’s shaking in her boots, but this is for all the marbles. Screw Six String. Screw Brian. She’s gonna do this the way she should’ve done this in the first place—her way.
It only took her a few days to craft the song—“Wild Card”—from a word Griff had tossed around during their chat on the pier. It bubbled up in her, working its way into a brash callout of the country music industry, of the men who run it and the women who dare to compete with the boys. She even took an old melody from a song she and Griff wrote and reworked it into a ballsy yet hopeful ballad.
Alabama gets close to the mic.
Then, channeling the old country sound she used to play before Six String got their hooks into her, she swings her arm in the air and brings it down. The guitar’s twang rings out sharp and clear. The audience stills.
And Alabama sings.
You came to the stage and found me lookin’ sad
A hoodwink in your eye, a wild card in your hand,
You said, girl, all you gotta do is play the boys’ game
And for a small price of your soul you can have the same
Because
I’m a wild card, wild card, baby
I’m a wild card, wild card, baby
I’m your wild card ...
I made a deal with the devil just to stay afloat
And not only did you sink yours, you sank my boat
But you weren’t finished, you moved on
Leavin’ me to be the only one still left with what I’ve done
Because
I’m a wild card, wild card, baby
I’m a wild card, wild card, baby
I was your wild card ...
As she belts out the lyrics, she sees nothing, hears nothing, feels nothing except the strings beneath her fingers, her own voice in her ears, her heartbeat in her palms. Her whole body’s drunk on the music. The slow country-blues anthem of her song. It’s like a drug, chasing away her numbness, channeling her anger, calming her rocky soul.
I went through hell for you
And for myself, I had to fight to stay true
Because one thing that’s different between you and me
When I come back I’ll be better than I’ll ever be
Because
I’m my wild card, wild card, baby
I’m my wild card, wild card, baby