Sri Lankan Software Writer

Mark looked over the sheets I'd given him. "And this is a final copy?"

"It's whatever you wanna call 'em."

"Jim? Jason? What do you think?"

"I don't know, Mark. Has she seen them yet?"

"I was waiting until she showed up for rehearsal. Jim, your thoughts?"

"Well, I've known her a long time."

I looked up at the ceiling of this northern Irish joint. I wasn't used to artists and their sensitive consensus sessions. In my business, you get a job, you do it. You don't have to ask questions 'cause questions are only meant to weed out the troublemakers. I do my job and get paid well for it.

"Look, guys, I can come back later."

"No, no, that's all right. We really want to see what she thinks. If it works, who knows?"

"I agree. I like what you've done here but I don't like the title. It doesn't feel right. Jason, what do you think?"

"Good point, Jim. Mark, how 'bout we work on the title while we're waiting for her to show up."

"Hmm. Okay. 'Freight Train Looking For Home.' It implies this'll be about a living train, don't you think? Thomas The Existential Train sort of thing."

I laughed. "You guys are good."

"Hey, you're the one who's got our attention. Now, how about something else. Something more in line with a woman's story...Lonesome Train Ride."

"Funny, Mark. How about Caboose Backed Over My Dog, while you're at it? Let's find a reference that'll have more than one meaning."

"'The Longest Train I Ever Saw.'"

We turned to see the owner of that voice. Of course, it was Claire.

"Guys, if you're going to make up titles, let me sit in on it. See how useful I can be?"

I stood up and stuck out my hand. "Hey, sweetheart. My name's..."

"I know who you are. How's it going with you?"

"Not bad 't all. I was just showin' these guys the musical I put together."

"Musical?"

"Yeah, I was gonna call it 'Freight Train Looking For Home: The Claire Lynch Story,' but these guys don't like it."

"A musical about me?"

"Well, why not? You had your hard times, darlin'. I mean, you don't go through a life like yours, writin' the kinda songs you've written', without fallin' in a ditch or two along the way."

"That's sweet of you. I don't suppose you've thought of getting my permission before writing about me, have you?"

"Girl as pretty as you? Hell, babe, I'd just as soon spend time askin' your forgiveness than gettin' you permission. Know what I mean?"

"Boys, let's take a break."

"We haven't started yet."

"In that case, let's put off our start. I want to see what this musical is all about. Might be worth sneaking in a song or two of it in some of our upcoming sets."

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out another rolled up copy. "Well, Claire, this is how I see it startin'...the stage is dark, there's a silhouette of a young woman, her back to the audience, and quietly playin' in the background is a solo fiddle version of..."