I been playing a long time. Long enough folks start asking the same tired question like it’s part of the setlist:
“You ever played with B.B. King? You ever met him?”
And I always say, “Nah… don’t think I have.”
But truth is… every time they ask me that, my mind don’t go, It goes somewhere else. Somewhere strange as hell.
I met this woman one time—this real, I ain’t dressing this shit up none.
She told me she was B.B.’s girlfriend. Said they had a place he used when he came through this part of the country.
Now I play music, so I’m listening. I’m curious.
I’m thinking, man, show me something real… show me where the blues been living. Id love to see the place!
So she says, “Come on, I’ll take you there.”
And like a fool with a guitar and too much curiosity, I went.
She takes me to this apartment building.
We walk in… and it ain’t nothing in there.
No furniture.
No pictures.
No life. Nothing !
Just carpet. Clean, yeah—but empty like a Sunday night after the liquor done run dry.
Only thing in that whole place was a linen closet packed with pillows and sheets like somebody planned to stay… but never stayed long.
I remember standing there thinking,
Damn… poor B.B.
A king shouldn’t be laying his crown down in a place like that.
She tell me, “Let’s hang out a while. Get something to drink. Chill.”
Next thing I know, she laying sheets out on the floor right in the middle of the living room.
Closes all the blinds.
Locks the door.
Hands me a towel and says, “Go freshen up.”
Now somewhere in my head, a voice said, You might wanna leave, man.
But I ain’t listen.
I come back out, and she tells me to lay down.
Right there on the floor.
“Put your hands behind your back,” she say.
“Don’t move till I tell you.”
So now I’m laying there, staring up, thinking,
What the hell kind of situation I done walked into?
Then she comes out the bathroom.
She Ain’t got on nothing.
And she wasn’t no small thing either—she was built, you hear me?
I remember thinking, yeah… I can see what B.B. might’ve liked.
She start walking around me in slow circles.
Just looking. Studying. Im thinking She Hoodooing me ?
And I’m laying there thinking,
Is she about to do something to me… or for me? Damn !
She steps over me.
Now I’m looking straight up into all that… and I’m thinking,
Lord, what is happening right now…
She start moving… slow… dropping down like she coming closer and closer…
And then—
Man… it’s like somebody just cut the lights off in my head.
Gone.
Next thing I know, I wake up.
Sunlight creeping in through them blinds.
I look around—she fully dressed. Calm as ever.
She look at me and say,
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
Man… I didn’t know what to say then.
Still don’t know what to say now.
I couldn’t remember a damn thing.
All I know is I got up, got myself together, got the hell out of there.
Took her home… and that was it.
Never saw her again.
But I’ll tell you this—
Every time I hear B.B. King play… every time that guitar start talking…
I don’t just hear the blues.
I see that empty room.
That carpet.
That woman walking in circles like something I wasn’t meant to understand.
So nah…
I ain’t never met B.B. King. I don't think so !
Dang ! Poor BB !