Decades ago, Johnny Burgin gave his life to the road. His former creative writing teacher Scott Gould pens a soulful ballad about his wayfaring student

Spring, 1988. A tall, lanky, dark-haired kid sits in the back of my creative writing class in Greenville, South Carolina. Johnny Burgin is a really fine writer, but honestly, he’s more interested in his guitar than he is poetry or fiction. All he talks about are his guitar lessons and how he’s picking up the blues and how much he loves to play. He tells me he’s been accepted to the University of Chicago. I warn him to bring a heavy coat. He says he’s taking his guitar with him. I figure I’ll never see Johnny Burgin again, because when you’re a teacher, that’s what happens with students. They flash briefly across your life, then disappear. Oh, you might bump into one or two here or there, at the gas pumps or in a restaurant, but most of them evaporate like busy ghosts. s off to raise his daughter…