Our Song

London Calling

The bar was lit up like the sun at noon. There were people drunkenly dancing or going onto their next drink. The sound of two balls whamming into each other came from the East direction. Conversations loomed in the air.

The booming sound of music filled Paul's ears. It was a delightful, smooth sound that came from the stage. It blew all the conversations out of focus and brought Paul's attention up to the scene.

A man and a woman sat on their bar stools and were singing the most beautiful harmonies Paul had heard in a long time. The woman's fingers plucked at the strings.

Paul tapped his foot to the beat. It was nothing like the rock and roll Paul had come to associate himself with. Folk, what a treat.

Paul pushed past the vast crowd all the way up to the front of the stage. He watched the woman on the guitar like a lion stalking its prey. He pulled out a notebook that we would write songs with. He wrote down the patterns he saw and the lyrics he heard.

The set was now done. Paul had quite a buzz going on from several drinks he managed to slam down. He made his way out of the bar and took a long breath of the sweet midnight air that surrounded him.

His mind was all fuzzy, and he found himself sliding onto the ground in front of the window. He furrowed his eyebrows and realized he didn't have a place to stay. He sighed.

He brought himself to his feet. He looked out for anyone that could help him.  Luckily there was a kind woman who helped him with a hotel. He never bothered to ask her name, he just flopped onto the bed and tried to fall asleep.

A sharp pain ran through Paul's head. It made him yelp and sit right up. For a second it was unclear where he was. He wobbled over to the sink and gulped down some water. It didn't help.

Still a little drunk he dialed Art. 

"Hello?" Art stated groggily.

"Hey, Artie," Paul uttered.

"It is one in the morning, what could you possibly want?" Art growled.

"I haven't been able to sleep." Paul slurred.

"You've been up drinking haven't you?" Art rubbed his eyes trying to hide the agitation in his voice.

"Yeah, but I heard this sweet folk band it has inspired me to write a song." Paul smiled.

"Good for you, can we please talk about this later I want some sleep." Art yawned.

Paul was taken aback by how angry, and annoyed Art sounded. Art was a late sleeper often sleeping until the last minute for anything he was doing, except school. He didn't expect him to act this hostile though.

They had been so busy with school that they never really had the chance to sing together. They were beginning to make an album, but it just sat in their cubby untouched. Paul needed some new inspiration, and he thinks he has found it.

"Okay fine we can talk later." Paul huffed disappointed with the time that separated them.

"Bye." Art managed to say before slamming the phone down and climbing back into bed.

It was too late for Paul to get back to sleep. It was coffee and cigarette time. That was Paul's standard combination to start his day.

***

Paul eventually got around to getting out of the hotel room and over to get some breakfast. He just went to a simple diner on the edge of the street.

He heard the deep haunting voice of his past. "Hangover?"

"Yeah." Paul stirred his third cup of coffee for the day.

"He and I have had some great times." The shadow chuckled at the memories.

"Wait, there is a hangover version of you too?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, but he is not allowed to come out." The shadow shrugged.

"This is so confusing." Paul shook his head.

"You'll get it in time." The shadow laughed.

"What when I'm seventy?" Paul pouted.

"Maybe." The shadow shrugged.

"I thought I knew what I wanted in life." Paul brought him back to the booth.

"I have all your past dreams, remember when you wanted to be a professional baseball player?" The shadow asked.

"I do, but I'm cursed with being short and I couldn't so then I thought I would become a lawyer, but that didn't work out either. Even being a musician isn't working out too well." Paul poked his fork at his food.

"Maybe we should give up, I remember you wrote that in your journal once, fourteen years old." The shadow chuckled.

"You are no help right now." Paul snarled.

"Hey, I wasn't ever here to help." The shadow waved his hands.

"Well, that is obvious." Paul went back to staring at his food like it was the only thing in the whole world. "Why am I even talking to you, you just make my life a living hell!" Paul snapped at the shadow. He didn't care how crazy people thought he was, he was tired of this thing bullying him.

"Well, I am the only person you can talk to." There was no emotion in those words they were just vacant.

"I'll find someone." Paul's cheeks burned.

"If you stayed in America then you would have a friend." The shadow fought back.

"Artie? You know I am capable of having more than one friend!" I shouted.

"Then why didn't you have any more than him, oh right I know why." The shadow taunted.

Paul sat there shouting in his mind. Don't Remember, Don't remember. All the memories flooded back. Not the good ones. Stories of bullying, heartache, and all of the sort came flooding back to him. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

The waitress came and pulled him out of his distress. "Are you okay?"

Paul looked up eyes still puffy and, "Yeah I am fine." His voice came out way quieter than he expected.

"Do you want a refill of coffee?" She hovered over him with a coffee pot.

Paul held out his cup, "Sure, why not."

Paul had no plans. He had no idea where he was going to stay after he can't afford the hotel. He had no idea what he would play at bars. Despite all that, he grabbed his pen and began writing lyrics. Lyrics just poured out of him like a waterfall. It was just chicken scratch writing, but it didn't take away the beauty of the words.