fiction

Hey, Hey, Hey

After living in Manhattan, I never unlock the door for somebody I don’t recognize, even here in a town like Cedar Crest. Last week, however, I did. I opened our front door after I heard the doorbell, then looked out and saw three women with guitars standing on the porch, and curiosity got the best of me. Behind them in the driveway was a panel truck sporting a logo I couldn’t read, a news van from Santa Fe, and two officers with weapons standing beside their pickup.

Hey. Can I help you with something?

Good morning. I’m Abbey. This is Jessica and Pat. The three of us play music together and we are here representing a group of people making an effort to legalize the sale of marijuana.

Excuse me. You’re kidding, right?

Actually, not. Our goal is to reverse the current financial crisis in this country by putting our focus on making money rather than wasting it on attempts to legislate morality. We want to keep revenue in the hands of the farmers, and we want to tax the sale of weed to eliminate the current national debt.

We don’t advocate personal choices or lifestyles. What’s at stake is a chance to see the biggest boom in agriculture since the invention of the tractor, and an opportunity to reduce the government funds currently wasted on busting pot heads and spend it on education, for example.

Yeah, okay, so what does this have to do with me?

We’re making a music video of our band, The Holy Smokes, singing with people like you from all around New Mexico. We’d like your help, whether or not you are a user or a singer.

We’ll teach you the words to the song, stand right over here, and if you’re not comfortable singing, you can join in with us on the part that goes “Hey, hey, hey.”

Well, alright. You’re not going to say my name or anything?

The tall one signaled to the crew and while the cameras and audio were getting into position, the trio began playing and singing in the key of B flat.

Just so you don’t think
That you’re the only one
Willie told me  
He has used it, too
Bill says he did once
But he did not inhale
The list is long still
There is room for you.
Hey, hey, hey,
Everybody say hey hey hey.

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar with the Cheap and Easy Band, and declared himself "Retro-eclectic." His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

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