For those of you whose musical tastes preclude you from listening to anything released more than two years ago, The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia is a song originally produced in 1972 and performed by American singer Vicki Lawrence. Even if you’ve never heard the song, chances are you remember Chris Penn talking about it in the opening scene of Reservoir Dogs (1992). It’s one of the few songs that skirt the edges of country music and still get played with any regularity in my house (or my car). This is thanks largely to its tragic narrative, though the unusual structure and rhyme scheme, the appealing blend of country with rock and folk, and Vicki Lawrence’s vocals, don’t hurt either.

The song, which reached number one on the Billboard charts, concerns a man known only as “Brother” (as his sister is the singer of the song) who returns home after a two-week trip to a place called Candletop. He learns from his best friend Andy that Brother’s wife has spent the last two weeks in the company of other men, including Andy himself. When Brother returns home and finds his wife gone, he goes to Andy’s house intent on murder. However, Andy has already been shot to death by an unknown assailant. Brother is arrested and convicted in a kangaroo court, and hanged before the singer can confess to the crime. She also reveals that the reason Brother’s wife wasn’t home on the night of the murder is because she had killed her as well.

(Where or what is Candletop? Nobody knows. There’s no explanation within the song or without; the only references that exist on the internet come in discussion of the song. According to one website I found, it’s not a real place. The cynic in me says that it probably has to do with cross-burning.)

Three people dead, with a fourth responsible not only for killing two of them, but for inadvertently causing the execution of her own brother, all because a woman exhibited sexual agency. I understand that the song takes place in Georgia, where sex toys are illegal in some jurisdictions, and where a woman was arrested and charged with murder earlier this month for willfully terminating her pregnancy; therefore I am not surprised to think that the situation described in the song might lead a pious Christian woman to jump to conclusions and commit murder before even speaking to her cuckolded brother about whether such an extreme course of action might fix the problem, or actually make it worse.

I realize that whether it’s easy or extremely difficult, many people regularly go without sex for two weeks – or even much longer – while their partners are out of town, deployed with the military, or incarcerated. I also realize that many people can and do go just as long without sex while their partners live with them in the same house, completely oblivious to the growing resentment as they snore away in bed. Obviously Brother’s wife wasn’t willing to do that. But I’m not here to judge a fictitious character in a song for her extramarital proclivities. Instead I’m going to re-tell the events of The Night The Lights Went Out in Georgia, taking steps to insert intelligence, sex-positivity, and far less murder wherever I can.

I’m not a songwriter, so I’m not going to do the obvious thing and rewrite the song completely; I suspect that replicating the AABCCB pattern would be problematic for someone with my skills anyway. Instead, I’m going to examine how these events may have played out in a nearly-perfect world. Not a perfect world, because I’m convinced such a thing couldn’t possibly exist, but a far better one than the one we’ve got. Actually, in a perfect world the lights would never go out in Georgia, because there would be no fundamentalist repression, and husbands and wives would have sex on top of the covers with the lights on.

As in another recent post of mine, the first step is to consider the possibility that the cheating wife wasn’t actually cheating, and that Brother didn’t view her dalliances as a betrayal. For the purpose of the following, I have adopted the name Travis for the character of Brother, and Amanda for his nameless wife, as those were the names of Dennis Quaid’s and Kristy McNichol’s characters in the 1981 film version of The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia.

Travis’ truck pulled up to Webb’s Bar. He was returning home from two weeks away at Candletop, an intensive two-week seminar where he learned how to make his own candles and other handicrafts. Travis had a thriving Etsy business and wanted to add a couple new items to his long-standing repertoire of artisanal greeting cards and vegan-friendly hand soaps.

The place wasn’t busy; it never was on Sunday nights. The stereo was playing Patsy Cline, though not so loud that patrons couldn’t converse while they drank. Two tables were occupied, one by a middle-aged couple and the other by a trio of bikers playing cards. Only three barstools were taken. He stood at the horseshoe-shaped bar and ordered a whiskey and soda on the rocks. While the bartender poured it Travis realized that on one of the barstools on the other side of the bar sat Andy Wolloe, Travis’ best friend. He waved, and Andy lifted his beer in Travis’ direction. He looked glum, and Travis noticed he didn’t make eye contact.

The bartender set a highball glass down in front of Travis, who replaced it with a ten-dollar bill. While he waited for his change he looked back at Andy, still sitting on his stool and staring quietly into his glass. Travis left a dollar for the bartender and walked down to where Andy sat. Andy said hello.

“Hi,” said Travis. “What’s doin’?”

Andy shrugged. “How was your workshop or whatever it was?” Still no eye contact.

Travis wondered what was wrong with his friend. It wasn’t like him to look away. He wondered if it was depression. “It was fun. I learned a lot. Met some cool people.”

“That’s great,” Andy said, though his tone of voice betrayed no happiness for his friend. “You been home yet?” Travis said he hadn’t. “Why don’t you sit down?” Travis took a seat and sipped his whiskey. “Listen, I’m your best friend, right?” The other man nodded. “You know I’d never lie to you. Well, while you were gone, Amanda was sleeping around. I’m sorry to have to tell you that, but it’s true.” He paused, giving Travis a chance to react to the news, but he didn’t so Andy spoke again: “Figured you’d want to hear it from a friend instead of some busybody at the bank or something.”

Travis nodded, but looked straight ahead. He wasn’t as crestfallen as Andy thought he would be. No anger. No tears, even. Finally, Travis said, “I know what she’s been up to.”

“You know?” Travis nodded. Andy swallowed hard. “So what are you going to do?”

“Nothing. It’s an arrangement we have. She wants to sleep with somebody else, we talk about it, and if we’re all on the same page she does it. Same thing goes for me.” He drummed his fingers on the bar for a moment.

“Actually while I was gone I hooked up with a couple really cute chicks. Got their numbers. Maybe we’ll stay in touch.”

Andy processed this. Then he asked, “How’s it going to look if your wife is running around fuckin’ other guys? What are people going to think of you as a man?”

Travis shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t really matter what people think. All that matters is what my wife thinks. And what I think. I don’t live my life to placate other people’s perceptions of me.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. Then he turned to face Andy. He waited until Andy was looking at him before he said, “Not even yours.”

Andy looked away from Travis. He couldn’t believe the indifference. Andy only had one card left to play, and he played it: “Well, I’m one of the men Amanda was sleeping with. How does that make you feel about her?”

“I already knew.” Andy’s eyes went wide, but Travis didn’t slow down to let his words sink in before continuing: “The way she told it, you and she had run into each other at the supermarket one day. You made plans to have a drink here the next night. She called me and asked if it was okay. We discussed it.” Andy didn’t know what to say. He’d known the whole time? He began to sputter indignantly, trying to form words, to ask why he would even consider loaning out his wife. Travis saved him the trouble of asking: “I’ve known you since kindergarten. You’re a good guy. I figured you’d treat her with respect, and take an active interest in her pleasure as opposed to just your own.” Amanda told Travis the next day that his perception of his best friend had been correct, and Travis had been relieved. As Travis spoke, Andy’s unease showed on his face. It was one thing to sneak around with a woman behind her husband’s back, but suddenly it seemed like he’d gotten played by both of them. He felt like a fool. “So of course I told her yes,” Travis said. “But you know what? I’m starting to wish I hadn’t.”

They sat there in silence for a moment or two, Andy staring at his beer. Eventually he picked it up and drank from it. Then he broke the silence and said, “What kind of a man makes candles anyway?” The words cut Travis like a blade. “You and your stupid crafts. No wonder your wife had to sleep around.”

Travis got up from his stool and stood beside the other man and looked down at him, waiting for him to make a move. Andy knew what was coming. He got up from his barstool and faced his friend. If he couldn’t hurt the guy by sleeping with his wife or insulting his masculinity, he’d settle for an old-fashioned parking lot brawl. And maybe he would win or maybe he would lose, but he wasn’t going to give up until he’d drawn blood. But he wasn’t going to make the first move. He waited for Travis to suggest they take it outside.

“If you’re trying to provoke me, it isn’t going to work.” Travis drained the last of his drink and set the glass down atop the bar. “Maybe you should go see a therapist, Andy. You’ve got a lot of growing up to do.”

***

Travis walked through the door twenty minutes later, with a suitcase in one hand, flowers in the other, and his duffel bag over his shoulder. Scrappy Doo greeted him first, leaping against him, trying desperately to lick his face. Travis rubbed the top of his furry head and the dog got down, though he stayed close. It had been two weeks. They’d never been apart for two weeks.

Amanda greeted him next, in her bathrobe and still toweling off after a shower. They embraced warmly, kissing with all the unrestrained passion that comes with a two-week separation. She opened her robe, letting Travis slip his hands inside and explore the curves he loved so much.

While Amanda put the flowers in a vase, Travis unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out some of the candles he’d made. “These look nice,” she said as she set the vase on the kitchen table. “Do you feel like you have the hang of it now?” Travis nodded as he continued to rifle through his bag. He had a clay pot, a porcelain votive holder and, cushioned inside a layer of bubble wrap, a green dragon made of blown-glass. He unwrapped it and showed it to her. Amanda gasped. “Did you make this yourself? Was it hard?”

“Not really, once you get used to doing it. This wasn’t my first attempt though. Do you like it?”

“I love it. And I love you.”

He continued to pull out souvenirs he’d brought back from his trip. The last thing he withdrew from the bag was a wooden flute. “I whittled this myself,” he said as he handed it to her. Amanda blew a couple cursory notes with it, then set it down on the table.

“I’d rather be blowing something else.”

Two hours later they lay in bed, their naked bodies pressed together. Amanda’s hand was draped across Travis’ chest, her face against his shoulder. She still hadn’t caught her breath. She wanted to tell him how good he was, but she couldn’t. Even if she had, she was certain he already knew.

“That was so good,” Travis said. Amanda managed a laugh. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. That’s just exactly what I was thinking.”

He stroked her hair a bit while they lay together in silence. “I really needed that.”

“How were the ladies at Candletop?”

“Not as sexy as you, that’s for sure.”

“Oh come on! You don’t have to say that.”

“I know I don’t. But it’s true.”

“But they were sexy, weren’t they?”

“Oh, definitely. One was this cute hippie type. Long hair, thick glasses.” Amanda asked about her tits. “Thirty-six C, she told me. Definitely fun to play with. She’s a sculptor. She showed me how to make that clay pot.”

“Sounds fun. Are you going to call her?”

“Probably, if that’s all right with you. She comes out this way once a year to visit her sister. Said she’d let me know when.” Amanda nodded. Then Travis said, “I ran into Andy Wolloe tonight at Webb’s. He was acting really weird. I felt like he was…trying to use what happened between you and him against me.”

“What?” she asked. “That’s not like Andy. Is it?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so. Guess I was wrong. Did you tell him that you and I are open?”

“Yeah! I made it very clear that I wouldn’t do anything with him unless it was okay with you. Of course, he’d had a few drinks by then, so maybe he wasn’t listening.”

“He was acting like an asshole. Kept saying things like, ‘What’s everyone going to think?’ I could tell he just didn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I never should have slept with him.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault anyway. Andy was just making it sound like the whole town knows. And I know that doesn’t matter. But maybe we should just be careful.”

“Nobody knows, Travis. I only got together with two other guys beside Andy. The UPS driver, who’s he going to tell? And Seth, well, he’s not the kind to brag. Anyway, I think he’s afraid of you.”

“He is?”

“My point is, I was very discreet. I didn’t carry on with any of these guys in public, and I sure as hell didn’t tell anybody what I was doing. It’s none of their business anyway.” Travis found her words reassuring. She continued: “It’s not even like Andy knew I’d hooked up with Seth, or vice versa.”

“I know,” Travis said. “You’ve always been discreet. It’s not you. It’s Andy.”

“Forget Andy,” she said as she leaned over to kiss him. “He doesn’t matter.”

***

But Andy did matter, certainly to Travis. He hated to think that he might have to let go of the friendship, but he couldn’t abide the way the other man had acted that night. Over the next couple months, they saw each other seldom, twice at Webb’s, though neither man acknowledged the other; and once at a first birthday party for a mutual friend’s daughter. That day, Travis kept his distance, though Amanda noticed Andy trying to make eye contact with her husband. She mentioned it in the car ride home, but Travis disregarded her words.

One Saturday the two men crossed paths in the park. Travis was walking Scrappy Doo on the path near the koi pond and Andy jogged by. Instinctively, Travis smiled, though he hadn’t meant to. Andy slowed to a stop.

“Hey buddy,” he said as he caught his breath.

“What’s doin’?” Travis asked. He had his guard up, but he tried to act like he didn’t.

“Not much.” Then, after a moment of awkward silence, “Been seeing a therapist, actually.” Andy seemed embarrassed to have to tell him so.

“Oh yeah?” Travis was legitimately impressed. That was definitely not something he was expecting. He hoped he came off as conciliatory and not judgmental.

“Your suggestion. Remember that night?” Travis nodded, and asked how it was going. “The first couple weeks were pretty tough, actually. I’m not the kind of guy to talk about feelings. Felt like a damn idiot. But eventually it got easier. Therapist says I’ve been making good progress.” Travis had to admit that he sounded sincere. He offered Andy congratulations. “Anyway, I need to apologize.”

Travis raised an eyebrow and considered asking what Andy felt he needed to apologize for, but decided not to pretend. Andy did owe him an apology. His behavior that time at Webb’s was inexcusable. “Okay,” he said, making a gesture to show that he was giving Andy the floor.

“I’m sorry, Travis,” Andy said. “The fact is, I was jealous.”

“What do you have to be jealous of?” As he said it, Travis panicked, finding himself momentarily worried that Andy was going to say something stupid. He steeled himself for the inevitable I-wish-we-hadn’t-let-a-woman-come-between-us comment. Travis really didn’t want to have to explain to Andy the wrongness of such a statement.

“Your business. That online thing you got. Here I am, been working nine-to-five, breaking my back all these years and I’m still in the mailroom. Meanwhile you’re making birthday cards and candles or whatever, you’re your own boss, and you’re making more money than I ever have.” Travis laughed. To some extent he could understand Andy’s feelings. “I think on some level I wouldn’t have been jealous if you were making furniture. Cutting wood, sanding it and staining it. Something manly like that. But a man making little soaps? It just didn’t make sense to me.”

“Anyone can do it,” Travis said. “It isn’t even all that hard. You’ve just gotta be dedicated.”

“I was jealous because of Amanda too. I’ve wanted her for so long.”

“Well, you’ve had her. Why be jealous now?”

“I’m not anymore. Fact is, I’m seeing someone. She’s really special.”

“That’s great! We’d love to meet her.”

“Maybe we could meet up at Webb’s some afternoon. Have a drink, then maybe go out to dinner.” Travis agreed.

“Only thing is, she’s kind of jealous. So please don’t say anything in front of her about me and Amanda getting together. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Travis. “Give me a call sometime.”  They shook hands and continued on their way.