Skybreak [not to be continued]

VIII

It was nearing eleven o'clock and the crowds of Londoners flocking through the narrow corridors of the underground were at the lowest I'd seen so far. The rust hour had passed: most people were now at work, and the tourists were closer to the city centre. Deciding that this was all I was really planning on doing today, I caught the next tube into the centre of London to continue my busking there.

I lay my guitar back in its case, as I did a quick count of how much money I'd got so far. I wasn't doing it for the money though, that was just a bonus. However, it was good to see that I had earned over £30. Plugging my headphones back into my ears, the familiar tune of All Time Low's 'Somewhere in Neverland' started playing and I hummed the tune (and guitar parts) as I strolled along the platform: awaiting the train to pull up and take me away. I was planning to head up to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, as I knew from experience that it was there that the tourist tended to flock.

The tube eventually arrived at the first station, one where I would not be departing the train; I found myself standing as I tried to protect my guitar from the danger of being damaged by other passengers. Many people vaguely recognised me as they had been listening to my performance on the platform a few minutes earlier as they waited for the train.

During the whole 10 (or so) minute journey, my headphones never left my ears and I listening to the variety of beautiful, yet random, music that lay hidden in my phone. Pulling up at the new station, a rush of adrenaline ran through me; it was the first time I had ever come here alone - and there were so many people, so much to do!

The train halted and I pushed through the endless flocks on people - many who seemed to be mindless creatures, like sheep, who just aimlessly blinked at me when I asked to get past. Finally, I safely got off the train and onto the platform, it was another battle to get through the tourists who were hurrying their way to the stairs and up to the sights and the famous River Thames.

Pushing the thoughts of the London Eye and other tourist attractions to the back of my mind, I set up my guitar for the second time. I detached my pick from my necklace, and my guitar case now lay empty beside me: the money earned earlier safety away.

Trying to think of my first song, I decided to play it safe with another timeless classic: A Drop In The Ocean by Ron Pope.

Again, several crowds of tourist, many from oversea countries such as China and Japan, stopped to watch me as I hung my strap over shoulder, letting my guitar lay where I needed it, and began to sing:

"A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather,
I was praying that you and me might end up together. 
But like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert,
And I'm holding you closer than most, 
'Cause you were my heaven."

Some of them got into it, filming or taking photos on their phones; others just sang along or stared longingly at me, as if they were wishing they could be me, or have my voice. I felt honoured that people wanted to watch me, and that they liked my singing because it was one of the things I genuinely loved doing. Throughout it all, I tried to keep a permanent smile etched into my face, but my thoughts kept dragging me off into unknown lands of daydreams inside my head where a blonde boy lived.

As I continued to sing, a train pulled up at the platform - releasing more people onto the platform, some of which flocked towards me and some who ignored me completely.

In the latter group, a boy with an iconic, long fringe (one that nearly reached his chin) caught my eye. He merely held my glaze, before looking down and continuing his journey. I recognised him as one of Luke's friends, but I didn't know his name. He looked like someone who Rosa would have named a ‘punk-ass kid’, someone who cared more about his guitar than his school work: I began to wonder what Luke was like, if he had friends like that.

Shaking my head to throw the loose thoughts of the friendly blonde boy away, I continued playing; now moving on to a new song, The Beatles' classic 'Yesterday'.

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
Oh, I believe in yesterday."

As I sung, I reminisced in my thoughts, of not only yesterday - but the days (and weeks) before that. I sang that song for my GCSE music performance, and received nearly flawless marks in it, not to mention that Rosa loved the Beatles; it held a lot of meaning to me.

Breaking my train of thought, more people began to notice me: gathering crowds around me and money (a majority of it notes!) in my guitar case. I suddenly felt self-conscious, there were just so many people, but the stupid blonde boy and his band reappeared in my head and I smiled into my song, those boys really had a power to make me smile. They seemed like good guys, and I got on well with Luke, so it couldn’t hurt trying to find them again. If fate had its way, I’d probably run into them again anyway.

I slowly strummed the closing chords, while singing the final ‘oohs’, as I drifted in my own thoughts of everyone – especially that Australian band who I kept seeing. As the clock ticked forwards another minute, to 11:11, I silently vowed that I would find them; get to know them; sing with them.