“It’s quarter to three…
And there’s no-one in the place…
‘Cept you and me…”
The bar was deserted. Outside a raging storm loomed overhead, lashing the streets with rain and stopping all but the most hardy of patrons into coming out. and they had left a long time ago.
I sighed and stole a glance at the old wooden clock on the wall. Just gone midnight. I usually kept the bar open till about two in the morning. Tonight there didn’t seem to be any point. I tucked my cleaning cloth into my pocket and made my way to the end of the old wooden bar, lovingly polished and reached over to switch off the jukebox, which was quietly playing some old jazz.
Suddenly the door swung open and a small figure, silhouetted against the lamp light behind them, stepped into the shelter of the bar and heaved the door shut behind them. In the dim light I could see the figure was of slight build, wearing a big thick raincoat, the hood pulled over their head, obscuring their features. Strapped to the back of the figure was a black guitar case, glistening with hundreds of small rain droplets.
The figure paused for a second, then headed over to the bar.
“Sorry to do this to ya pal, but we’re closing early tonight.”
“Come on barkeep, one for the road at least?”
I raised my eyebrow in slight surprise. Partly because of what was said, but mostly because of how it was said. The figure pulled back their hood, revealing a young woman with raven black hair and dark brown eyes. If I had to guess I would have said mid-twenties. She wore her hair short at the back and long in the front, her generous bangs falling across the right side of her face, covering it.
I hesitated, then shrugged.
“Sure. What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey. Double. On the rocks.”
This again caused me to raise an eyebrow, but I said nothing, and prepared her drink whilst she unburdened herself of her guitar and raincoat. She was wearing a thick sweater underneath, and a pair of cargo pants that were damp from the rain. A heavy pair of well-worn boots finished the ensemble.
I set the drink down in front of her, and she muttered a word of thanks before taking a sip. I left her at the bar whilst I went to put the chairs on the tables and clean out the booths so I could close up quickly once my sole customer had departed.
All was quiet in the bar, with just the tinny sounds of a slow jazz piano emanating from the jukebox and the occasional clink of ice against glass as the girl took another sip.
The clock chimed one am as I finished my workload. All that was left was the girl at the bar. She had been nursing the drink for an hour, her ice almost completely melted.
I rested easily against the wooden surface and nodded at the guitar.
“What make is it?”
“A C.F Martin OM-42PS”
I let out a low whistle.
“A Paul Simon huh? Only two hundred and twenty three ever made.”
“You know your guitars huh?”
“I like to think so.”
“I don’t know much about em. Allison was given to me when I was a kid.”
“Allison?”
“That’s her name.”
I smiled at that.
“So where do you live?”
“Me? Oh, I'm easy to find. I'm always in one of two places: Here. Or somewhere else.”
I looked at her quizzically.
“First time I’ve ever seen you here.”
She smiled; the first smile I had seen all evening.
“It’s like this. Now I am here.” She got off the stool and walked down to the other end of the bar.
“Now I am here.”
She then walked to the back of the room, and perched on a booth.
“Now I am here.”
She returned to her seat.
“See? No matter where I am, I am always “here”.” She drained her glass. “and if I'm not here, then I must be somewhere else.”
“Huh. That sounds like drunk logic to me.”
“No. Just drifter logic.” She pulled out a cigarette. “Do you mind?”
I glanced about. The new laws stated that smokers had to have their nicotine fix outside, but it was gone midnight, the bar was empty and it was still flinging it down outside.
“Go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” She pulled out a heavily used Zippo lighter and introduced the cigarette to the flame. A small curl of smoke escaped, fading into darkness.
“When you have no place to call home, “here” and “somewhere else” are the only two places that matter.” She sighed.
“Homeless?”
“I prefer Drifter, but yeah. Pretty much. We get by. Allison and I.”
Several thoughts were running through my head. How did this girl become homeless at such a young age? Why was she “drifting?” Did she have anybody, a friend, family? How was she gonna pay for the drink? But mostly…
“What do you play?”
The girl smiled sheepishly and reached for her guitar. I leaned back and cut the power to the jukebox. A brief silence settled on the bar, but was quickly swept away by the thin vibrations of steel strings.
“I’ve tried writing my own stuff, but it’s still pretty bad. So normally I do cover versions of songs I like.”
I said nothing, but watched as the girl ran her hand up the neck of the guitar, its silver strings and wood panelling gleaming in the dim light, despite its ragged and worn appearance.
And then she began to play. The tune was familiar, and the notes clear and concise. She started to sing, her voice soft and gentle, caressing the lyrics as they floated through the air, intermingled with the smoke of her cigarette.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner,
Sometimes I feel like my only friend
Is the city I live in, the city of angels,
Lonely as I am, together we cry…”
She continued to sing, her slender fingers easily moving up and down the neck of the guitar as if by instinct, her eyes unfocused as if in a trance.
Eventually she stopped playing, and the reverberations flickered and died softly. All that could be heard was the rain outside.
“Under the Bridge” huh? Good song.”
“It was that song that made me pick up a guitar in the first place. It reminds me that I'm not alone in this world. That I’ll always have here and now. Even if the song isn’t about that.”
She glanced at her glass.
“I guess I had better get going.”
“Hang on. You’re really talented. I bet you could make a living out of doing that.”
She regarded me with those large brown eyes of hers.
“Already am making a living.”
“I meant a proper living, good income, a place to stay, a home of your own.”
She laughed, short and hard. Looked away.
“Me and Allison don’t deal well with being in one place all the time.”
I thought that was all she was gonna say but she turned and looked at me sideways, her fingers gently caressing the neck of her guitar, causing a slight accompaniment to her words.
“Y’know, when you’re a kid, everything is so simple. You go to school, grow up, get a job, a lover, settle down and live out your life. You know what you wanna be, where you wanna go, who you’re gonna be with. But then you grow up for real. And life isn’t that simple. People leave. Opportunities are missed. And you wake up one day with nothing ‘cept the clothes on your back, and an old guitar. Your dreams weren’t good enough for the world, but they still expect you to have a place and a purpose.”
She looked away again, a scowl on her face.
“Well fuck that. I decided that if the world wasn’t going to accept my terms, I sure as hell wasn’t going to accept theirs. I took to the open road, Allison by my side, and just walked. Wasn’t sure where I was going, how long it was gonna take to get there. 6 years later, and I'm not sure I care anymore. All I know now is wherever the current “here” is. And tomorrow, the road brings a new “somewhere else”. So long as I make enough money to survive, nothing else matters much. The road and Allison are my only companions. I don’t need anything else.”
She looked at me, and I could see a kind of sadness in her eyes, masked by a defiance and stubbornness that keeps people like her in the street going.
“But sometimes…just sometimes…I wonder if the reason I'm out there walking is because that little kid in me never gave up on finding her purpose. I’ll guess I’ll never know.”
There was silence for a moment. The girl dragged the last of the nicotine from her cigarette and stubbed the filter out in the ashtray.
“So there you have it. My Sob Story.”
“It’s sad to see someone so young lose their place in the world.”
“No offence, but I get this sermon from every shelter I walk into. I don’t need it again.”
I wanted to press the issue, but she interrupted me, holding up a crumpled twenty.
“This enough for the time and drink?”
I took the crumpled bill from her hand and stuffed it in my pocket. I went to clean her glass, and whilst doing so, I asked her the second to last question of the evening.
“Do you do requests?”
“what?”
I told her. She looked at me strangely for a second, then smiled a sad smile and took up the guitar once again.
The song she played was my favourite, and she played it with a delicacy and grace that made it sound as good as the original, even though it was really a piano piece. Her voice sang clearly through the notes and I was caught up in both the tune and the memories.
“So that’s how it goes,
And Joe I know your getting anxious to close.
So thanks for the cheer,
I hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear.
But this torch that I found,
Its gotta be drowned,
Or it soon might explode…
So make it one for my baby.
And one more for the road…”
The notes finally faded into the darkness. Neither of us said anything. The girl went to put her guitar away when I spoke quietly.
“That song was the song that made me decide to be a barkeeper. I was a no-good kid with nothing going for me. No future, no prospects, no family or friends. I was drifting. Then I heard that song on a jukebox like this one here.”
I patted the music player with affection.
“And I figured I could be like Joe. I was a good listener. I wasn’t smart enough to be a shrink or charismatic enough to be a radio DJ. But I could make drinks easy enough. And I could listen. So I went to Bar School. And found out being a barman is nothing like it is in the movies and songs. But I had a purpose. To be the barkeep that anyone could talk to. And that was enough for me.”
I pushed the crumpled twenty into her hand.
“This is for the song. And if you do ever find your purpose and stop drifting, come back here and tell me about it.”
She smiled briefly.
“I’ll come back here and sing it to you.”
“I’d like that.”
She hoisted the guitar onto her back and turned to leave.
“You know, that was my mom’s favourite song. She’d make me play it on Dad’s old guitar over and over. I haven’t played it in a while. It brought back a lot of memories.”
She opened the door. It was still raining, but not quite as heavy as it had been when she had come in.
“Hey,”
She paused.
“Does it ever get lonely?”
Another Pause.
“Often. But I'm used to it.”
She pulled her hood over her head, obscuring her face.
“Thanks for the drink,”
“Anytime,”
And with that she walked out into the rain and disappeared into the night.
I switched off the lights and was about to leave when I remembered that it was that time of year when clocks went forward one hour. I adjusted the old wooden clock, which chimed gently as I did so.
“Heh. Quarter to Three…”
* * *
By Darkeangel
Started 22/3/08
Ended 23/3/08
EDITED: 24/3.08
Lyrics © their respective owners.
