Flicker

Make Do

Andy

When I wake up the next morning, I go to make my daily half sandwich, but then stop. I can't eat today if I expect to ever pay Mikey back.

I never should have allowed him to take me out.

I sigh as I go to get my guitar and head out the door. It's never a bad idea to get out early, even if it’s only by a little bit.

The cold wind hits my face and I have to pull the scarf up, wishing that my coat isn't so small on me. I'd bought it years ago, so it's a good thing that I hadn't grown much. I walk slowly to my usual spot and set up, dreading the winter months.

There's nobody outside yet, which shouldn't be much of a surprise, but somehow it is. Almost every day when I come out, it's busy in the streets.
I hadn't realized how early it really must have been when I left.

It takes a while for people to come, but they do eventually. Sometimes people stop and listen to me play, and as always, I'm just stuck in a loop of playing songs, and the occasional half smile towards anyone generous enough to throw a couple of coins into my case.

And then I see the familiar black and red checked coat, and I smile a little as he comes closer, on time as always. Just as I start his song, I'm sure my face falls. I need money to pay him back. Oh how I hate owing people money.

But Mikey just stands there, smiling at me. He's got his hands wrapped around the coffee, and he's practically shivering. I laugh a little in my head. He's so sweet, even if he is wasting his time.

I decide that I need the extra money, and pushing the limits is really the only way to do that as a busker.
I desperately need to pay Mikey back, so I smile at him and prepare myself for the high note I'd been practising. And then I'm singing it and it's nice to use because of all of the time that I practised. I smile as a few more people throw money into the open case.

When the song's over and it's my usual break time, Mikey comes over to me.

"That was amazing," he tells me, a smile on his lips as he holds out the coffee. I chuckle slightly as I take it and he wraps his arms around himself.

"Thanks." I raise my eyebrows at his apparent coldness.

He shakes his head. "Stupid fashion."

I just laugh. I've not quite gotten used to the cold, but with jeans that have so many holes in them and a too-small jacket, I guess you could say I've adapted a little more, being out in the cold weather every day of the winter. I've acclimated, to be precise.

I turn around and start to open my bag before realising: I don't have a lunch. I sigh softly and turn back to Mikey.

At least I have his coffee, which I do appreciate.

***

I sing the higher note the next day as well, and the next. It's nice to have a couple of people appreciate my voice. But every day, Mikey compliments me on it, and each time it seems genuine. Somehow, he seems to really like my singing.

As I walk back to my room in the early hours of the morning, shivering through the weather, which is steadily becoming more and more cold, I try not to think of anything. Not my job and how tolling it is, not the fact that I owe money... not anything.

And yet when I get back to my room, throwing myself in bed for the warmth, I can't help but to think of Mikey. His warm smile, how funny and sweet he is, the hot coffee he brings me... and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face.

***

I groan softly as I wake up, stretching and rubbing my eyes. I check my clock to see what time it is.

10:32.

It can't be. I rush to stand from bed, in a sort of panic. If I don't get out of here soon, then I won't start my set on time. Which means that Mikey won't come to the right song.

I start to do my vocal warm ups as I rush around, collecting the things that I need, ignoring how my stomach protests that I haven't eaten in over a day. But I realize, my heart stopping and my eyes growing wide: I'm not making a single sound.

I try with words, "fridge, carpet, bed," reciting whatever I can find in the small room.

Nothing comes out.

I'm beginning to panic now.
How the hell do I earn money when I don’t have one of two things that I need for it?

I shake my head and try not to freak out. I take deep breaths and close my eyes. It'll be okay, somehow.

In the end, I decide to just play the guitar, because, no matter how desperate it might seem, anything is better than nothing, right?
I know that I'll still get some money, but it won't be as much as normal, unfortunately.

The only reason people stop on the street anyway is to hear me sing, so I know that I'll most likely be met with a dead crowd today.

I wonder briefly what Mikey will think of me, but I quickly discard the thought.

Making my mind up properly I run from my tiny flat, guitar case in hand, and sprint to my usual spot, arriving within minutes; I can't remember a time where I had run faster.
It's cold today, but not as cold as it had been before. I feel like I've forgotten something, but I can't for the life of me think of what it is.

I remove my guitar from the case, leaving the case splayed out at my feet, and begin to strum experimentally, frantically tuning my guitar to get started as soon as possible. I'm getting some confused looks, but I ignore them.

Then I remember what I've forgotten.

My fingerless gloves are still on my floor where I carelessly tossed them last night. My scarf draped over my rickety bed post.

All I'm wearing is my coat and jeans, with no other protection from the cold. The run helped, but now I'm cooling down so much that the air is chilling me right to the bone.

I sigh, but I know that I can't do anything about it now. I have to start my set, otherwise I won't finish until much later than normal; I don't fancy walking home in the dark again.

It's weird not singing with the guitar, but I make do. Just like I always do.

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Here's part three of Flicker... We really hope you enjoy it!

-MissTaken17 & WolfGirl2215