I'd Leave It All

Meeting

The day I first saw him he was singing in the rain during my lunch break. I had nearly not left my desk, nearly skipped lunch like I normally do, but I had been angry with a co-worker and went walking to let off steam.

Nothing really stuck out about the day in general. I took my normal route past the high-end stores, turned between two pale stone churches, and nibbled my apple as I crossed over the tram lines towards the town hall steps intent on people watching to clear my busy thoughts. As much as I love my job sometimes the people I work with treat me like an absolute idiot for my lack of qualifications. They're such snobs. Like my experience counts for absolutely nothing.

"Jerks." I mutter to no one, shaking my head to myself.

The people watching isn't the only thing that brings me to this particular spot in the city. The artists and performers are drawn by the wide sidewalks and busy pedestrian traffic, and I'm drawn to them.

Of course there are some exceptionally terrible performers. I find they're normally singers, probably encouraged by well meaning but ultimately misguided family and friends. I hope someone tells them the truth one day. In a nice, gentle way of course. Though I guess there could also be an argument for just ripping off the bandaid and using brutal honesty to reach through their delusion. I don't know.

On this day the street was fairly empty. The clouds hung heavily as they blocked out the little sun we get here in autumn. In Melbourne you tend to fall in to two camps, with those who avoid any risk of interacting with the the unpredictable weather we suffer. Or the rest of us, me included, with a just roll with it attitude to the unknown. 4 seasons in one day is not an exaggeration.

On the pavement today to my right a middle aged woman dressed in pastel Lycra is performing some sort of interpretive dance. Mid life crisis dance lessons maybe? I'll give her credit for her flexibility at the very least. Not my style at all.

Directly in front of me is a man playing upturned buckets, his belongings in a plastic shopping bag and an ancient dog sitting on a faded towel. I know Mark, he is fairly well known around here and when he's sitting quietly I generally go up and have a chat or grab him a coffee. Black, no sugar, not too hot. I do know thought he's in the zone while performing and doesn't want to be interrupted.

The performer who had grabbed my attention today was slightly downhill from me, standing just past the base of the stairs. The way he had started playing moments after I sat, my back pressed up against the stone pillar, made me feel as though he'd started his performance for me alone. He sang almost shyly, his voice clear but eyes cast down at his assigned chalk square. Barely pausing between songs he transitioned from Bob Dylan, to Otis Redding and on to David Bowie like his words came as easily as breathing. His guitar was flawless. My attention was fixed.

When the downpour started I slowly made my way to huddle under the hall awning, watching in absolute awe as the young busker simply moved further back under the shelter of a tree to keep playing his guitar and singing his words lost to the sudden storm. But soon my break was over. I dug my umbrella out of the bottom of my overcrowded bag and returned to my desk.

-

The next time I spotted him was out at dinner with friends. Mel had got the time wrong on our table booking and we'd arrived nearly an hour before anything would be free. I had thought about just going home, but Ben convinced everyone to grab a drink and wait outside. And there he was, playing in the beer garden under a string of small white lanterns.

"It's not so bad right Lana?" Mel nudged my elbow, tipping her head toward the stage like I wasn't already staring at him.

"I don't know why they think we want to listen to this. Everything is becoming too hipster now, what happened to being able to sit and talk while we drink?" Ben raised his voice to reply, drawing stares from a table of twenty-somethings next to us. I think I remember being young like that.

I was surprised later in the night when I tried to remember the songs and none of them came to mind, though his voice haunted me long after we were seated acting as a constant distraction while the conversation flowed around me.

It wasn't until weeks later, on a train heading home from a very late day of work, glancing around for an empty seat I found him moving his guitar and motioning for me to sit in the new vacancy opposite him. I stashed my bag under my legs in a huff, pulling out my book and staunchly avoiding gazing in his direction.

"I believe the polite thing would be to thank me for giving you a seat?"

I pulled my headphones off and made a point of closing my book before looked at him, annoyed at the interruption.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was saying that I would think it would be polite to say thank you. For the seat."

He was smirking now, pushing his brown hair back from his face.

"I believe, if we're talking about being polite here, that your shit doesn't buy a ticket and shouldn't have been there in the first place."

Of course I'd recognised him already, but the day had been too frustrating for cute right now. I replaced my headphones, turning up the volume as I opened my book again trying to go back into my little bubble. Like most other passengers I'm not here to chat. In fact I would pay extra for a train where no one was allowed to talk. But he moved his hand in front of my page, tapping his ears until I took them off again.

"You've watched me play before right? I've seen you."

"I don't think so."

I don't know why I lied like that. As a very honest person the idea of responding like that, even to a stranger, was uncomfortable.

He scoffed, shaking his head quickly with one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"Nah I'm good with faces, I've seen you before. You had the same sour look then. It wouldn't hurt you to smile some time you know?"

Ok, I thought. He's one of those people. Woman should smile more, men should be men, and his opinion should be welcomed by everyone he meets. I took a fortifying breath.

"You're joking right? You could be so pretty if you smiled more is just about the most pathetic thing you could say to someone. I'm not here to make you more comfortable by smiling. I don't exist for your entertainment."

"Woah woah woah, I never said you'd be pretty" He raised his hands in surrender, leaning back on the seat

I felt the flush bloom across my face and down my chest, closing my pathetically flapping mouth hoping it was quick enough for him not to have noticed. He crossed him arms, a self-satisfied grin firmly in place, before winking and laughing quietly to himself.

As a woman of many words I was appauled to find myself completely speechless, and remained that way as he gathered his things while the train slowed to a stop.

"It's John by the way. Next time chuck a coin in my case yeah? Or come say hi?"

He slung his bag across his body and stepped off the carriage as the doors began to close.

(This is my first story since my school days and it's newly floating around in my head. Let me know if I should keep going!)