American Yarnprose>Stav (The Stand)

STAV (THE STAND)

I sat silently in isolation, contemplating my next move. My day had not gone well. Flat tire on the way to the interview. Stood-up lunch date. No go from another job prospect. I was sad, depressed, but then again, what else was new?

I admitted to myself, "What a bore, broken record I must sound like to everybody. Where do I go from here? I've tried close to every avenue that's humanly possible."

"Wonder if I'm loved? No truly. Everybody down to my parents and close friends tell me so, but I wonder half of the time why I was even brought into this world to begin with?"

I felt like an old hack player, a good-for-nothing has-been musician, snatched from the limelight just because the big boys didn't like my style. Here I sit, reduced to nothing. Looking back on it all, I wouldn't have changed my style.

I hated those industry jet setters, smooth-talking motherfuckers who played those poppy, sap-flavored tunes and sold out for a cool million on the spot. But me, no I learned from the books, note-for-note, listened to the true masters and took my time interchanging, cooking up my style and boy did it change, enough so that club owners started to notice me, began to book me into little nobody-knows-your-name/my-name clubs and when they heard me play, jaws dropped, eyes stared, ears perked up, as I wailed away, blowing their hearts and minds. I had soul, brothers and sisters, yes sir, I had class, but I worked my way up to the top and then I would fall, but I'd get right back up again and play, play my heart out, 'til I fell down. This happened over and over, but I wasn't afraid of anything, no sir! I kept moving as if I had steam in my lungs or heart.

I just kept playing and playing and playing and playing and then, thunk! Thunk, thunk, thunk! Everything caved in, lost everything I ever worked for, just frickin' collapsed in a matter of seconds.

San Francisco, 1989.

No. San Francisco, 1906.

Me, myself and I, ground into the dust, seconds flat, the lights had gone out, the steam was gone and the paranoia set in, all those “what if” questions followed me around like a sad imitation of the Pied Piper. Life was not steak and potatoes, more like soup and crackers. I felt poor, broke, cheated out of one of the greatest opportunities I'd ever been given and now it was gone, destined never to come back. I picked up a cigarette from my stash and lit it, puffed a few smoke rings, blew out and flicked ashes into a tin can. I walked over to the fridge, but it was bare, just like my soul, I had nothing left to live for.

Sadly, I asked God for a sign, but all he could give me was the eviction notice handed to me by my landlord. Slowly I walked to the train station with all of my belongings.

As the train approached and its whistle howled, I knew I had found happiness once again.