Dreamy Town

Chapter 2

When I saw all the neon lights and streetlamps, I was confused again. Thinking about how long I was sleeping, right after I spotted the reason of the furious honking. A truck was blocking over three quarters of the road and all cars behind couldn't move. The neon lights hit on the polished cars and created a renaissance painting of chaos and disorder. People on the street raised their eyes from their phones to see what I was witnessing from the best spot. I was amazed how they were looking at the scene. How many minutes they needed to only consider that situation as serious.

I grabbed the half empty bag of chips and sat down to entertain myself for a while too. As that wasn't enough, it started raining again. The light reflecting from the road made the sight even more beautiful. While I was enjoying it, the truck driver came from the restaurant, and with a few gestures of disapproval, he got in the truck. Watching him leave the scene, along with the sounds of car horns, made me think why he was there. However, that sight was exactly what I wanted to see. I turned on a small lamp and prepared myself to chase my dream for a moment.

A clean canvas from the previous night was leaning against the big window without a mark of a paint. I was adjusting the light to not make it reflect from the glass and limiting my view. After a few minutes of trying, I decided to use the light source from the outside. The lamp helped me to see, but what I could see the most was my pale and skinny fingers squeezing the brush. It was a weak light, visible only when I was next to the window, but it was enough when I had the canvas leaning against the chair right next to the window. It was big, and I didn't have anything else which I could use for it.

I wanted to paint those lights on the street, despite it was almost impossible, because I had the lack of colors. Anyway I tried it. When I started, I quickly forgot about the time or how long I slept. The shock and surprise had mixed, and also created confusion. It was only me, awake at the right time. I wasn't thinking about the work either. I was focused only on what I wanted to do. How incomprehensibly strange was that burning desire to paint, nobody could explain. I didn't have any idea what to do nor where I should start. It was like a midnight snack, unintentional and still served by myself as if it were an opulent dinner.

I knew many people who were like me. My hometown didn't have many schools nor hospitals, but dreamers like me were almost everywhere. They were better at the craft, but I was even much better. A dissuading scarecrow that was deterring me from painting was what I had heard many times that there always would be somebody better. In fact, it was true. There might be an athlete who can jump farther, a singer who can hit a better pitch, or scholar who is able to learn more. By the words of childish optimism: “they might be better but where are they?” I was left only to show myself and others that I was serious about it. Although there wasn't a huge difference between me and them, I also used naivety and delusions to build my dream; but those weren't the best materials.

After an hour or so, I lost my drive and started focusing on anything around me instead of the canvas. Even when I made myself to focus on the canvas, I was pondering how to make another one. When I moved in, the bar was freshly reconstructed. Thanks to a mistake from the distributors, there was a surplus of wooden parts which were supposed to be used to cover the walls. The bartender, after a short interview, gave me some material for free. I bought a bed sheet, because it was more affordable, and then I stole a few nails from the storage behind the bar. No matter how badly it seemed at first, I made three canvases from it.

A few drops of the paint, which I had on an old dish, started drying too fast thanks to the air conditioner. I checked the time and immediately plugged my phone to charge it. My life became a rut. I was doing almost the same thing every single night. It was 11 pm, the bar was already open. I could hear a quite loud influx of customers coming in.

I grabbed my T-shirt and decided to join. I thought that wasting some time on the bar stool and listen others could help me to sustain my sanity. It was better to be a part of the noise than being only the listener. No the best solution definitely, but it was the only one I had.

The bag of chips was almost empty, so I decided to give that little to the cats. As I was going down and trying to not fall from the stairs, the cats' eyes were staring at me from the dark. I put some chips on the stairs and went to throw the empty bag to the dumpster. Luckily, the streetlamp was strong enough to light at least that. I couldn't say the same about the stairs that were hidden in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. The sound of the cats, eating loudly, was chasing me almost on the street. I quickly hid in the bar and left the world around me drowned in different sounds.

The bartender waved at me right when I got in. I returned that meaningless gesture, despite I didn't know what he meant by it. I sat as far as I could from the others, close to a small empty stage. I saw there a keyboard and drums right on, so I knew it would be better to leave before the performance. From what I understood, the bartender called some of his friends to provide an entertainment every Sunday. Stand-up comedians had been there quite often, musicians only sporadically. After seeing the keyboard, I knew what was on the menu that day.

The bartender came to the table where I was sitting and gave me a big glass of beer. It was unexpected, because I didn't order anything and things on the tables were usually brought by some of his employees. That day, I didn't see any. He was there alone. So I was unwillingly and slowly drinking what he gave me. The light inside was very weak, but I could see some familiar faces. Except a few people who I met on the street every morning; I saw personnel from the restaurant across the street. They were from the day shift. Each with a different expression were staring into glasses before them. Some looked disgusted, some tired, I even saw a smile or two, but I knew the scarce of happy faces could be remedied soon enough by ordering drink after drink. Lights from the lit cigarettes were moving points in the dim illumination like confused fireflies. These magically created a strange mist that was thicker and thicker because of the lack of windows in the bar. The bartender had a good mood -it was easy to see. Everybody had a chance to win a bet eventually, and it was the only possible option when I could see him cleaning glasses with a calm smile, and also the evidence was his untrimmed beard. Whatever happened to him during the day had to be very sudden. Winning a bet was the only thing that would make him ignore his looks. The bar wasn't as full as the noise made me to incline to believe. I saw roughly ten people. With that number of people inside, the bar looked paradoxically bigger. Nothing made sense, but it was meaningful all together. I felt like I was sitting in someone's brain.

The glass on the table was almost untouched. When I thought that place was quite dull, someone opened the door and loudly closed it right after. I heard some greetings from the full table across the bar, then the bartender's voice and nothing else. I didn't even turn to look. I was looking at the drum set and the keyboard in front of me.

I felt a strong hand on my shoulder and then the bartender's voice again.

“Here is a shot of vodka and beer. You need to stay and hear this,” he said very friendly, which was uncommon.

“Thank you,” I said and looked at the glass full to the edge. “Hear what?” I asked.

I didn't want to say anything about the liquor. Chips and sodas mixed with a bad sleeping regime were enough. Adding alcohol seemed as I wanted to cross the threshold of my body's limit.

When the answer wasn't coming, I repeated my question.

“What do I need to hear?”

“Hear the real talent,” the bartender whispered after a short break.

I was more concerned about his whisper than the content of the sentence. I knew him as a silent and always irritated man. Seeing him being friendly and calm was a new thing to me. Maybe he was too busy to have a bad mood, but he would always find some time for that.

Shortly after his confusing whisper, I saw a movement in the corner of my eye. One of a few lights on the wall was right behind someone, so I saw only a silhouette of that person. My eyes quickly adapted, and I could see that person stepping on the stage. As I said, I was able to recognize many people who were at the bar, but I was sure I had never seen her. She was walking very slowly towards the keyboard, looking shy and uncomfortable. Even her steps seemed as if she tried to avoid the contact with the floor, her posture was stiff; and even it was possible to see how she was trying to slow down her steps to look calmer. Her dark hair covered half of her face, and that was the side she showed to the audience. Even those who were talking loudly, suddenly they became quiet as were expecting something big. I thought that the bartender told them the same thing as he told me.

When she sat down in front of the keyboard, she adjusted the sleeves on her white shirt, which looked quite big on her, and then peeked briefly through the hair at the people in the distant table. All of a sudden, as she was preparing herself, all the shyness disappeared. The only thing that left was an elegance of a professional, who had been awoken as she touched the keys. That silence she brought was so strong that I could hear her breath. If I created an ambiance like that, I would probably start panicking.

I quickly took the shot to distract myself from those vibes she was giving towards us. Then I heard it, the first tone. That keyboard had a quite good sound, it wasn’t a cheap one. Tone after tone, the melody became more complex and deeper. Even though I heard the beginning of the song, it sounded like it had none. I was listening, taking sips from the beer, and trying not to move. I was right next to the stage and felt like everybody was watching me instead of her. All my movements would be scrutinized, judged, or even only noticed. I wanted to hide myself in the corner and appeared in the center of all. Regrets of having come there were before a sparkle of happiness that I appeared at the right time. No matter what I was thinking, it was always something new. And she was still playing the same song with her eyes closed as if she was shy to see us there.