Fate

Gifford's

I cheer as four o'clock rolls around, signaling the end of my day and the start of the weekend. After gathering all of my stuff from my desk, I limp over to Carlisle's cubicle.

"Yo, you almost ready to peace out?" I ask, taking my shoe off to try and get my broken heel to stick by using a piece of duck tape.

"I find it amusing that you're late for everything except for leaving work." she tsks.

"Are you my damn mom, why do you care? Come on Carls we gotta get groceries before we head over to Gifford's." I whine, resentfully putting my heel back on.

Tonight was my first time singing at one of the local bars: Gifford's. I usually don't get so nervous about these types of things, however, Gifford's tends to bring in a pretty big crowd especially on the weekends. Good news for my music career but bad news for my stomach; I always get the nervous shits. I'm not one to care what others think about me but putting my talent out there for others to hate on is scary.

"Cheesus Crust! I'm coming. Your lucky I love you otherwise I would've dumped your ass a long time ago." Carlisle jokingly grumbles, shutting down her computer.

Carlisle, like me, interns with Atlantic Records and attends UCLA. Both of us are hoping to score permanent jobs at Atlantic once we graduate. I want to work more as an A&R Coordinator and scout for fresh talent since I probably won't take off as an artist, whereas Carlisle wants to be more involved in promotion and marketing.

"No your lucky that I allow you to love me. Consider yourself blessed that I offer you my attention." I say with an air of sophistication, earning a glare to be shot my way. I chuckle to myself as I watch Carlisle gather her things, both of us making our way to the elevator.

*****

"You're late." Ellison grumbles at me as I sling my guitar strap around my neck.

"Considering that was a statement rather than a question, I'm assuming that you knew I was going to be late. I mean come on El, my tardiness adds to my charm." I wink at him as he gives me an affectionate eye roll.

Ellison is the peanut-butter to my jelly, the bacon and lettuce to my tomato. He's my best friend besides Carlisle and completes the trio. He's the regular entertainment at Gifford's and ever since he heard me singing in the shower, after he spent the night on our couch due to one too many drinks, he's been pestering me to sing with his band. As you can guess, I finally relented. The 'Young and Weary' are surprisingly good and mostly do covers. They have yet to expand to singing anything of their own creation. However, they do customize their covers and add a bit of their own flare in the changeup. Ellison is usually on vocals and guitar but tonight I'm the lead vocalist and am doing rhythm guitar while he takes the lead.

Jamie, the drummer, comes behind me giving my shoulders a squeeze, "Ready, buttercup?" I give him a nod and we make our way up the stairs, along with Tyler, the bassist.

My stomach drops as I look out into the crowd and see all of the people. I force myself to exude confidence that I am not feeling and stand in front of the mic, all while giving myself an internal pep talk.

Ellison comes up behind me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "How's everybody doing tonight?" His question is met with cheers from the crowd and he chuckles into the mic, "Good. Tonight we have a very special guest singing for us. Everybody give it up for Harlem!"

I hear the music in the background and my surroundings disappear along with my nervousness. My fingers move over each string, strumming a pattern that my body pulses to, coming alive with each note. I take in a breath and begin to sing.