The Troubles

Success and a Punch

"Get out of here, kid," came a laugh, as yet another pub door slammed in Elliot's face. Voices faded away, and he just distinguished the words, "must be like fifteen?" accompanied by a chorus of laughter. 

He dragged his palm down his face in exasperation, the guitar slung loosely over his back. That must have been the fifth pub that had declined his request to perform, even when he told them he'd take no money. A voice nabbed at the back of his head. 

If you don't make an effort, you'll be stuck getting kicked out of pubs until you're old enough to drink in them. And then they'll still decline your music. 

Gathering his might, Elliot lifted a fist to knock on the door again, tapping his knuckle against the colourfully stained, translucent window. Once again the door swung open, but this time he was quick enough to push his foot inside and jam it open when it tried to close on him again. 

"You again? Kid - go away!" 

"Just let me play! I swear, I'm not terrible." This was partly true - Elliot had only spent about three weeks trying to master the instrument and the art of singing, although truth be told he had managed to pick it up fairly quickly. 

"Look, I can't even serve you here. Go back to your school talent show, alrigh'?"

The pub owner tried to shut the door, but Elliot pushed his sneaker further in, keeping it open. 

"I'm not asking for money," Elliot protested. 

"I can't do anythin' for you son. Bugger off!"

"Just hear me play."

The pub owner closed his eyes in clear exasperation before pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighing heavily. 

"If I let you play," he said slowly, evidently fed up of the debate. "Will you leave me alone?"

Elliot nodded. "Yeah." 

"Go on then," the pub owner sighed, leaning against the door, folding his arms expectantly. 

Elliot cleared his throat nervously, before swinging the guitar off his back, pulling it around to a playing position, as the pub owner watched him. 

"Kid's playing' guitar!" came a shout from inside, and the pub owner chuckled at the heckle, keeping eye contact with Elliot. Laughter emerged from the pub, and an expectant quietness crept through the door as they waited eagerly. Taking a deep breath, he shakily struck the first chord, and a small smile grew over his face as he began to play. 

"I hear the train a coming, it's rolling round the bend.

And I ain't seen the sunshine since, I don't know when, 

I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps dragging on, 

but that train keeps rolling, on down to San Antoine." 

An unearthly silence settled over the pub by the time the song had finished, and Elliot hesitantly looked up from the strings to see the pub owner's mocking expression had shifted into one of disbelief. The heckling from inside the pub had ceased too, and there was a moment of stillness. The pub owner kept his arms folded, and studied Elliot, a spark of interest in his eyes. 

"How old did you say you were?"

"Fifteen, sir." 

"Boy really can play!" shouted the man from before in amused shock, holding up his glass in congratulations to Elliot, and a small cheer arose from inside the pub, before the talking sprang back up again, and the clinking of glasses rang through the air. The pub owner was still examining Elliot with a furrowed brow.