The Middle | Hemmings + Styles AU

41.

Grunge was still and quiet, he eyes calming reading the wad of paper in his hands. 

I was the exact opposite. Every part of me was fidgeting. I kept touching random CDs on the shelves, and then tapping my fingers on my jeans. 

This was the most nerve-wracking experience of my whole entire life.

I knew Grunge wasn't big on business plans. He had more of the old-school approach. Put your money where your mouth is and work hard to make sure you don't lose every dollar you owned. That kind of thing.

For the most part, I agreed with him, but I'd also studied Business Management for a reason. The other reason for the business plan was because I wanted Grunge to consider my proposal because it was good. Not just because it came from me. Not because he thought he was doing me a favour. I wanted him to see that I'd done the research and I had a plan.

I wanted him to think the idea was as good as I did.

Finally, after I'd practically aged three decades, Grunge dropped the document on the counter, and let out a low whistle. "There's a lot of numbers and charts in there," he began. "And you know, I'm just a simple guy. Half this time I was just singing Highway to Hell in my head, pretending to know exactly what I was reading."

He looked up, smiling at me. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, I was just relieved to see he was smiling. "You did good, kid. You've done your research and you know I've always wanted you to buy into the business if you wanted to, but this," he placed one of his thick fingers down onto the paper, "this is something else. A place for musicians and for music lovers..."

"A place for everyone."

I'd already found the perfect building. I'd been driving by it almost daily, before and after work, checking that the For Lease sign hadn't been taken down. It was a two story studio place. Upstairs would make the perfect gig venue. It had worn brick walls and exposed beams in the ceiling which I was already planning on painting black. After examining the floor plan, I'd even found a spot for a tiny bar.

And downstairs... we'd have part recording studio, part store. The store, however, was for local artists only. For bands to sell their CDs and merch. For photographers to sell art prints. I'd even added a small coffee counter in the business proposal, hoping to make it a place that artists and supporters could come together. A place for anyone who needed to feel like they belonged somewhere.

That's what this store had done for me. Created a place, a corner of the globe where I belong. Luke might belong to the world stages, and my parents might go on another trip. Harry belonged wherever he wanted to, because he just had that ability to fill any space. And Aunty Peg, she's so sure of herself that she doesn't need to belong anywhere.

But I belonged here. Bringing people together with music and art. Isn't that what music - art - is about? Bringing people together and making them feel something? Maybe that was the only thing I was good.

There was another idea I had which I hadn't included it in the business plan. I wanted to get local graffiti or street-artists in once a month to paint a mural on the exterior wall of the building. A new one, every single month.

It was completely out of the box, and people would either love it or hate it. Maybe it would fail, but I wanted to give it a chance.

Grunge cleared his throat. "And, you know I have to ask, the money..."

"I've got it. Every last cent quoted there." It turned out that living at home at 18 and hardly having a social life really did have it perks. I had enough money saved that I could have gone to the bank and gone for a loan to get the rest, but I wanted Grunge to be involved. He took a chance on me when he gave me this job before my 16th birthday, and we made a good term.