Long Time Gone

Chapter 19

Two months had passed and now, New York bloomed brighter than ever in its spring shades. The sky was a cloudless majestic blue dome, where skyscrapers resided and birds were allowed to skim. On the ground below, the snow had melted away, giving rise to beautiful and greener plantation. All the people were dressed in colourful garments, where the children rode bicycles and the couples strolled hand in hand on the sidewalks.

The happiness that spring brought on New York was bountiful, and it somehow even made me feel better about myself. Truth to be told, I was lately suffering immensely on all levels. I was financially weak, my job was proving to be difficult and the rent for the motel room kept burdening my mind every once a week. My employer lady had a nasty habit of taking jabs at me, while the people outside treated me no less fairly. In a nutshell, I was getting mentally tortured.

Yet somehow, spring made me smile. The nature permitted me to find happiness even in the darkest of my times. I loved watching the breeze gently make the flowers dance, while I arranged the stacks of newspapers and magazines on the stands. Such observation calmed my distraught mind, and blocked the world around me until I was brought back by the complaints of my employer lady.

Her name was Mrs Jackson. She was a widow and a retired librarian of the Manhattan College, and like any other librarian, she despised any distraction and slow work. Unfortunately, I had a very short attention span and was bound to get easily distracted by the lively environment around me outside on the curb. Hence, she always scolded me, and I coped with the mental torture everyday.

Everyday for the last two months was an iterative cycle. But today, something peculiar happened.

The bookstore where I worked was located in the very heart of the city, meaning that its neighbouring businesses were always busy. There was a flower shop just beside the bookstore, while across from it on the other side of the road was a dressing parlour for men.

In the mid morning, when I was accepting the daily paper from the postman and arranging the bundles on the stacks, I noticed a single fancy car roll down the street and stop right in front of the dressing parlour. It was a magnificent black Volkswagen Beetle, where I could spot the driver and five other men that were seated in the backseat.

Out of the blue, a crowd started gathering around the parked car, and as the men got out and hushed away the crowd, I realized that they were providing security to one single man.

This one single man, I saw with a mouth hanging south, was Bob Dylan.

With my own widened eyes, I saw him step out of the fancy car, grinning and waving sheepishly at the crowd that was gathered for him. However, he was quickly escorted inside the dressing parlour by his two security men and the other two acquaintances.

As the doors of the dressing parlour closed, the crowd scattered. Yet, I was left speechless and frozen on my spot, the bundles of newspapers lay forgotten by my feet.

There was Bob again, no doubt about that. He didn't look much different than I saw him a couple of months ago. He adorned his black and white attire, and still had his dark shades on. His hair were of the same length and style, and in the mid morning light, he seemed to appear more dashing than ever.

His sudden appearance in my life tugged painfully at my heartstrings. I was only able to catch a glimpse of his figure, and I needed to see more of him.

Therefore, upon ensuring that Mrs Jackson was busy with a client over a phone call, I crossed the street and made my way to the closed black tinted doors of the dressing parlor.

With my hands shielded over my eyes, I tried to peer in, instead saw nothing but my own reflection. Sighing in defeat, I stepped back, still too eager to see Bob.