Kings of Trentonville

"Dad! Dad!" shouted the teenager as she ran to the door of the study.

"Clara!" the man called firmly, "What did I say about coming to my study like this?" His hand was pressed against his forehead, emphasizing the beginnings of wrinkles atop his brows.

Clara stopped in her tracks, her innocent blue eyes looked down towards her feet, "I know Dad. I am not trying to interrupt you, but I really need to show you this!"

She looked up at her father sweetly and turned on the charm that usually got what she wanted. Her father sighed, they had just moved to a new city as the insurance company he worked for transferred him. Everything was new to Clara, yet he was put back into the same bubble of a hometown that he tried to leave so long ago.

"Alright dear, what do you want to show me?" He stood up from his chair and locked his computer.

Clara had led him to the edge of the local grocery store, which had grown into a mega mart from the farmer's stand that he had remembered as a kid. This pathway led to a small wooded area, which was one of the few left in this town as the rest had been converted into strip malls.

"Clara? Why were you hanging out all the way over here?" he could not hide the hint of suspicion in his voice. He knew Clara was a curious child (he had been himself) and she longed for an adventure. She always found it in the most unusual places.

Clara ignored his statement and continued forward. Her pink converse shoes splashed in the mud.

"Clara! I just go you those shoes!" her father pleaded. She always begged for all these things, but, in her fathers eyes, never took care of them.

"Dad, we made it! Look!" Clara pointed ahead, her small lips extended into a bright smile.

He looked to the direction she was pointed and saw a rusted out old van. It had clearly long been abandoned. The front wheels had fallen off and it sat at a crooked angle.

"An abandoned cart?" he asked Clara in a hesitant voice. At first he was confused why she had brought him here, but also, there was a feeling of de ja vu. Had he been here before?

"Not just the car, Dad. It is what I found inside it!" Clara again moved forward and her father followed to the side of the vehicle. The rusted door creaked open as Clara pulled the side of it (the handled has fallen off years ago). The inside was a mess. Papers were littered everywhere, there were empty tap cassette boxes, and graffiti on the walls of the interior.

"Look Dad! It's your name!" Clara called excitedly, "This is why you had to see!"

Her father followed her gaze to the ceiling of the vehicle to view a messy scribble. After squinting his eyes, he could make out the childish scrawl.

Paul Cooper and Tony Richards

Kings of Trentonville

Tony Richards? Now that was a name Paul had not heard in decades. Paul touched the faded words on the ceiling and a smile lit his face. He remembered now, this had been their place. It was their place to hide from chores and parents, their place to secretly smoke as they entered high school, and most importantly, where they wrote their music.

"Who are the Kings of Trentonville?" Clara asked and giggled.

Paul laughed as well, " Believe it or not, your father thought he was going to be a musician one day. That was our band." He picked through the pieces of paper and began to see familiar song lyrics and musical notes. Paul would play the guitar and Tony would sing. They had a vision back then.

"We had a plan. After graduation, we were going to travel around the country playing gigs and getting our name out there. Eventually, we wanted to end up in Nashville..."Paul trailed off and sighed," We were actually quite good...at least in my opinion."

"The Ballad of Mr. Cawthorne?" Clara asked with a hint of sarcasm, "This was going to get you guys big?"

Paul snatched the paper from Clara and began pouring over the lyrics. "Oh my god," he exclaimed and shook with laughter, "This was one of our hits at the high school! Mr. Cawthorne, my god. Don't repeat after me, but Mr. Cawthorne was the most horrible teacher. It seemed he would give out detentions to kids just for moving. We wrote this song to get back at him. It was a parody, making fun of his bowl cut, his purple suits, and the fact that the only thing he loved was his pet parakeet." Paul continued to giggle so much that he could not finish his story.

Clara looked at him and smiled. She had not seen her father doubled over in laughter ever.

"Clara, we actually sang this at Homecoming and he was there! It was a riot!"

Clara looked at her father slyly, "You know, he still works at the school..."

"No!" her father gasped.

"Yes, and I have to say your description of him is still accurate!"

"Well, don't take any of his classes. Let's just say he was not a fan of the Kings of Trentonville," her father winked back at her. There was silence for a moment as the two rummaged through the old papers.

"Hey Dad," Clara began, "I've actually never heard you play any music..."

Paul paused. She was right. He had not played music since he left this beat up automobile. It used to consume his whole life, but...

"Well," he paused and considered how to answer his curious daughter, "I wanted to marry your mother and music was not going to feed a family. That is why I got into insurance after graduation..."

Clara looked at him and bit her lip, "Well, maybe you can try again! You have your sheet music after all!" She picked up the stacks of sheet paper and handed it to her father.

Paul blinked in surprise and smiled, "You know what, maybe I will! I still have my old guitar, you know! I never did have the heart to sell it."

"Lets get it right now!" Clara exclaimed and turned around to run back to the house.

Paul grabbed his daughter by the arm and stopped her in her tracks, "Wait, Clara, I just want you to know that after living life I have realized that money is not everything. Promise me that you won't give up on your dreams."

Clara smiled and wrapped her arms around her father.

That evening, Paul picked up the phone and took a deep breath as he began to dial the phone number. Will he even remember me?

A familiar voice picked up on the second ring, "Tony Richards." The voice on the other end sounded dead tired.

"H-Hey, Tony! It's Paul Cooper!" There was silence for a moment then a hearty and joyful laugh followed.

"Paul Cooper! Wow! You know I was just thinking of you the other day..."