|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
Lullaby of birdland, that’s what I always hear When you sigh Never in my wordland Could there ways to reveal In a phrase, how I feel. Her fingers melodically strummed the strings of the guitar, a soulful tune escaping the tired thing. The spirits of old jazz idols seemed to steal through the room. Everyone could feel it, and as the rain drummed hard on the windows, the local outcasts sat together and drank long into the night.
The bartender cleaned a spot on a glass with an old rag, standing almost entirely still, watching her. He didn’t think she was all that good, but she was cheap and naive, having been rejected in the little time she’d spent in the music industry. Besides, her style of music seemed to speak to the soul of a drunkard. It made a nice backdrop to all the misery forgotten in the tavern. When she’d finished her song, Phoebe Williams stood up and took a bow. ‘Thank you!’ she said, waving her arms. ‘You like that? I’ll be here all night, and you betcha I’ll be swinging!’ He sighed. She was shameless, he’d give her that. She sat down and tightened one of the screws on the old instrument. He sensed a lull in the crowd, so he poured some gin and walked over to her. ‘For you,’ he said, offering up the cold refreshment. ‘Might as well take a break.’ ‘Aw, thanks Dante,’ she said gratefully, downing the glass in one go. She wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘You know,’ she went on, ‘I’ll always be grateful to this place. For giving me my start.’ ‘Uh huh,’ said Dante uneasily. He made to walk back to his station behind the bar, but she kept going. ‘I’ll talk about you in interviews,’ she sang. ‘’In 1959, I worked a little bar after I undertook my studies. I know, not what you’d expected, eh? A star like me, forced to play my beautiful music in some hole in the wall for only drunkards to hear-’’ ‘That’s quite enough, thank you,’ he cut her off starkly. He harshly pulled the empty glass from her hands as she pouted at him. ‘I was only joking, sweetheart. Besides - not everyone here is a drunkard.’ Dante begged to differ. As hopeful as he’d been when he bought the shabby little place from the tired old man who’d owned it previously, he hadn’t been able to implement much change since the Depression. The only people who came into the bar were lost souls - people looking to fill the hole inside of them with alcohol. She rattled on as she always did. Telling him of her big dreams. If he’d once believed her, after eight years he did not harbour much hope for her. Something she said caught his attention. ‘There’s this one little boy over there who’s been here for a few hours, and he will not take his eyes off of me.’ Dante had noticed him too. A smooth-talker with blond hair and dark skin, the boy couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. And yet, he’d been in the tavern since about five o’clock, trying to convince Dante to sell him a drink. He confided this in Phoebe, who nodded enthusiastically. ‘He’s got a presence about him, that’s for sure,’ she agreed. He seemed to notice their eyes on him, because he turned around suddenly, his lips stained red with raspberry cordial. He goggled at them behind his glass, eyebrows slightly raised. Dante noticed the little golden specks in his eyes. He made his way over to them, bouncing with every step. ‘Howdy!’ he said, bowing for Phoebe and holding his hand out gentlemanly for Dante, who didn’t take it. He wasn’t fazed; he directed his conversation to Phoebe instead. ‘I heard you play before. You’re a real gem!’ ‘Why thank you!’ beamed Phoebe. As they talked, Dante wondered - could they be long-lost siblings? With their dark skin and large eyes, it was a possibility. The boy introduced himself as Kenji and quizzed Phoebe on her music. ‘Every musician has to have inspiration for their songs,’ he said earnestly, sitting down and leaning his head on his hands. ‘What’s yours?’ Phoebe smiled wistfully. ‘My sister.’ Her eyes betrayed a certain sadness. ‘She was lost in a river. I don’t remember much of her. But I put the small amount I do into my songs.’ The crowd was beginning to thin out as the hour grew later. Dante was tired, but he decided he’d keep the tavern open a little later than usual. He wanted to hear more of what these two had to say. ‘And the song you played before,’ Kenji inquired further, ‘that was about your sister?’ ‘She sang me lullabies when I was younger. She was a beautiful singer. She always wanted to be a jazz musician.’ She straightened up. ‘You’re an awfully inquisitive little boy, aren’t you?’ Kenji grinned. ‘I like talking to people.’ Dante turned away to wash up the glasses and set his place right. As he worked, a bead of sweat trailed down his nose, mingling with the steam that rose from the boiling water. He could hear Kenji’s pubescent voice ringing out joyfully in the background. Phoebe struck a chord on her guitar, and he began to sing. One for sorrow, two for mirth Three for a wedding and four for a birth Five for silver, six for gold And seven for a secret never to be told. He recognized the familiar melody and kept his head down. A small smile crept onto his face. By the time the clock struck one, they were the only people left in the dim tavern. Their spirits never dulled despite the lateness, but Dante knew he needed to work the next day. ‘Here,’ he said, bringing over two large, warm drinks, seasoned with cinnamon and frothing at the top. Their dusky orange hue gave off the feel of a crisp pile of leaves. Their eyes lit up as they gingerly took hold of their mugs and sipped the hot liquid. ‘Take these and be off. They’ll help you sleep.’ ‘Pumpkin spice!’ whispered Kenji. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these.’ ‘Off you go now,’ warned Dante. Phoebe thanked him warmly and sprung off out the door, mug and guitar in hand, dashing through the gap in the heavy rainfall. Kenji thanked him as well, and made to leave when Dante pulled him over. Glancing out of the window at Phoebe’s slowly retreating figure, he murmured, ‘What exactly are you doing here?’ Kenji sighed sadly. ‘Ah. So, you’ve caught me?’ ‘It’s one thing to kill her sister. It’s quite another to masquerade as a human and try to earn her trust. What are you playing at?’ ‘I feel so guilty, okay!’ Kenji’s voice cracked on the last syllable. ‘It was an accident. At first, I wasn’t that bothered by it - it was only a little mistake, after all. But after her death, she came down to the river every single day. She sat there, with her guitar, and she played song after song. I couldn’t stand how painful her songs were.’ ‘So, why come here?’ ‘It’s been eight years. I’ve watched her grow. She’d take her work from the Academy down there and study with me. I’d just sit and watch her. I remember those Autumns like they were yesterday - leaves raining down like fire, warm winds rustling the branches. And somehow, through all the guilt, I…’ Dante sighed. ‘Why don’t you come sit down?’ As the candle burned lower and the hour grew later, he sat with Kenji and talked to him. He made him drink after drink, feeling that it was the only way to comfort him. He’d been crying for a few hours, but the sobs had died down to violent sniffles every so often. Taking his third hot chocolate and accidentally snorting some of the chocolate powder on the top, he shivered. ‘I knew I had to talk to her.’ ‘I know you did. But it’s selfish of you to keep the truth from her.’ ‘You think she wants to know?’ Kenji let out a bitter laugh. ‘That her beloved sister is dead all because of a naiad who made a mistake?’ Dante shook his head. ‘No. But she deserves to know.’ Kenji bit out a breath, his shoulders falling in defeat. ‘She’s coming back tomorrow,’ said Dante, eyeing the clock. ‘Eight o’clock sharp. If you’re gonna be here, you’d better tell her the truth.’ Deep somewhere in Kenji’s eyes, he could sense a feeling of dread, but also release. And as the next morning came and went, he stood idly by, cleaning that same spot on the glass with that same dirty old rag. He watched Phoebe, seeing how she’d react. She bore the telltale signs - denial, laughter, humour. But as she realised Kenji’s sincerity, she began to cry. She cried as hard as he’d ever seen her cry, holding onto Kenji for support. Holding onto the last strain of what was left of her sister. But, as soon as she could, she picked up her guitar. And she strummed a chord. And she sang a song. Lullaby of birdland, that’s what I always hear When you sigh Never in my wordland Could there ways to reveal In a phrase, how I feel. She was discovered that night. And she really did talk about his shabby little tavern in her interviews. Sophia Leigh Rose is sixteen years old and lives in Sydney, Australia. Her debut novel, ‘The Ghost of Tneva’, about a boy lost from his world with no memories other than the key it will take to get him back, was published on Amazon in June 2023. She has been writing since she could speak, and enjoys all making up all sorts of stories, particularly those of the fantastical kind. Comments are closed.
|
Categories
All
* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
March 2024
|