Jeff

Sitting on the old brown couch with wine stains and tears throughout, Jeff watched as crowds of people in their late teens and early adulthood gathered around a table mounted high with various bottles of spirits, colourful plastic glasses and stripy straws.

“Happy twenty-first, man!” he heard somebody say to the host of the party. Jeff tried to remember whose birthday it was, but his mind kept hazing over and pushing away any possible memories that attempted to make their way through the thick storm clouds and acid rain, which poured over his mind.

Feeling exhausted and slightly nauseous, Jeff extended his legs and rotated his body onto the whole length of the couch. There wasn’t enough room for his six foot frame, so his feet dangled freely over the edge of the piece of furniture. Not giving a damn, the man kicked off his black leather knock-off shoes, which he had bought at a second hand store for half price to save it from closing down.

Throwing his right arm behind his head, Jeff groped for anything that could be of value to him, on the small table, standing side to side with the couch. The smooth wooden surface was bare, except for a piece of paper, about the size of a birthday card. Interested in the thin texture, the man gripped it in his long fingers and brought it back down to his face.

Small Town Muso Kicks off Big Career, read the headline of the newspaper clipping in Jeff’s hands. Under the bold letters was a picture of Allison Benfield – the girl Jeff had admired all throughout high school, but refused to show it. The name trigged Jeff’s memory and forced him to recall that painful day, when he had screwed up any positive relationship he could have with her.

Allison had just asked Jeff to be a guitarist in her band – rhythm or lead, he wasn’t sure. His mind was refusing to let him concentrate enough to remember the details. He did, however, remember the way her wide green eyes shone up at him from under a thick fringe of blond and honey-tinted hair, in excited anticipation of his answer.

“No way!” he had objected. “You already have a guitarist. I don’t need another guitarist backing me up. Besides, I’ve heard you play. You’re rubbish.”

The girl’s expression fell as her thin fingers gripped tighter around her lime green ring-binder. Without another word, she had disappeared into the crowd of teenagers – all struggling to get through to their lockers before somebody cut them off, forcing them to wait and be apart from the rest of their friends.

Jeff didn’t know then what would come of his words. It was his intention to make Allison chase him, begging him to accept her, ensuring him she had practiced plenty since the last time he saw her, not stay out of his way and make sure not to speak to him again. After both of them had graduated, Jeff never heard from, or of her again. Until now.

The tiny article boasted of Allison’s talent and her big future in the music industry. It’s just like this town, Jeff thought, to brag about anything good to come of it.

But he could not be mad at the paper. He could not be mad at the town. He could not even be mad at Allison. The only person he could be mad at was himself as he thought of the day ahead of him, when he would be sitting out in the streets of an outside mall, strumming pointlessly at his guitar, while quietly singing along as passers-by dropped silver coins into his hat – not a single of which stopped to listen.