The Songs of Leslie Orange

A bitter wind blew down the busy street, and people pulled their coats tightly around them as they hurried to shelter from it.

Leslie Orange wandered along the rows of shops, seeming completely unfazed by grey storm clouds in the sky. She shifted her rucksack and black guitar case from her back, holding them in her arms to shelter them from the wind and rain.

A young looking man with wavy brown hair and blue eyes stood above her, looking down into the street from the window of his apartment. He watched Leslie as she strolled along, her dark hair blowing, slowly becoming drenched by the near torrential rain.

He continued to stare at her, with a bewildered expression, as instead of running into a shop to escape the weather, she sat down against a wall, next to an old man.

Leslie Orange placed her guitar and rucksack on the dry ground beside her, thankful for the balcony above which was currently sheltering her, and the man she had decided join.

“Hello,” she said to her companion, holding out her hand, “I’m Leslie Orange.”

“H-hello...?” the old man replied, sounding confused and suspicious as he shook the hand she had offered him.

Leslie took in his appearance. The man was clearly homeless, and wore an old brown beanie hat, stereotypical fingerless gloves, and was huddled under a large raincoat in an attempt to stay warm.

“It’s cold out, huh?” Leslie said, trying to start a conversation with him. The man looked around them, and behind himself, realising with surprise that Leslie was talking to him.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Come here often?” Leslie said, smiling slightly. The man looked at her strangely before realising she was joking.

“Oh yeah, it’s a great place for meeting people,” he replied, and Leslie was relieved that he had a good sense of humour.

There was silence between the pair for several minutes. Leslie observed her surroundings
for a while, before putting her rucksack on her lap and took a sandwich wrapped in a brown bag from it.

“Want some?” she asked the man. His face took on a bitter expression.

“I don’t need your charity,” he glared.

Leslie looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Okay,” she said, shrugging, and took a bite from the sandwich. “Urgh. I accidentally got cheese instead of ham,” she said, wrinkling her nose. The man stared at the bag hungrily.

“What am I going to do with it now?” she sighed, glancing at the man from the corner of her eye. “I can’t just leave it... it’ll go bad. Hey, I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d want it, do you? I do-”

“Oh just shut up, and give me the damn sandwich already,” the man said, elbowing her slightly and holding his hand out.

Leslie smiled, giving him the sandwich.

“What’s that you got there?” the man asked, motioning to her guitar case with a mouthful of cheese sandwich.

“That’s my guitar,” Leslie replied, running her hand over the smooth surface of the case with a fond expression.

“Oh,” he said, chewing loudly. “Why did you sit here?”

Leslie Orange shrugged slightly. “Why not?”

“No, what I mean is... Why aren’t you inside? At home, out of the rain?”

Leslie paused, considering his question, before answering, “My home isn’t here.”

“Oh. Well where is your home then?” the man asked curiously.

Leslie continued running her hand over her guitar case thoughtfully. “At the moment... my home is wherever my music takes me,” she said.

“That sounds... free. You’re free from the world, you know? Free from people, yet surrounded by them when you want to be. I wish I could say the same thing,” he said wistfully, fingering the frayed edge of one of his gloves.

“Sometimes, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Leslie replied truthfully. “Would you like me to play you a song?” she asked, not waiting for a response to her previous statement, smiling at him.

“I... Well sure, show me what ya got, Miss Orange,” the man said, mimicking her accent slightly.

“What’s your name?”

“Tony. Tony Avery,” he replied, watching as she withdrew a clearly well-loved acoustic guitar from its case.

He’s just a man
With a weight on his shoulders
Won’t let it go, doesn’t think he can.
He’s just a man.

No one sees him, sheltering from the storm,
He is invisible, see through, like you
A ghost, because no one sees what matters the most,
A ghost. Like us.

People hurry past, running from the rain,
But he stays, consumed by a soul destroying pain
He thinks he’ll never see the sun,
But he’ll never run away, no he’ll never run.

From what chases everyone else,
He knows it’s no danger, if you’re not scared
He’s not scared. He’s not scared.

Waiting for the world to see him, waiting for a chance
Waiting for someone to give him that long awaited glance.

You might think it’ll never fade,
Loneliness is a feeling that’s hard to shake,
But though it’s hard, and though it hurts,
Remember that sometimes, time is all it takes.

By the time Leslie Orange had stopped singing, and opened her eyes, the rain had stopped. There was a large crowd surrounding her and Tom, and the people started to clap, some throwing money into her guitar case, which she had unintentionally left open.

Leslie smiled, and turned to face Tom. “What did you think?” she asked.

“I... Was that song about me?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“I guess... I guess you’ll have to figure that one out for yourself, Mr. Avery,” she replied, smiling as she put her guitar back in its case. She tipped the money out of the case, and poured it into Tom’s lap, before grabbing her bag, and walking away.

“You’re something else, kid. You’re something else,” Tom said, shaking his head at her retreating figure.

Leslie strolled down the sunny, quickly drying street, a smile on her face. Suddenly, a hand came down on her shoulder, and she quickly spun around, so see a young looking man, with wavy brown hair and blue eyes smiling at her.

“Hi, I’m Nick,” he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it.

“I’m Leslie Orange,” she replied, taking back her hand.

““I heard you singing in the street with that... hobo. I work for a small music label... I’ve watched you before, you’re a very talented young woman,” Nick said, with a charming smile.

Leslie looked at his face with a bemused expression, making him feel unsure of himself, for once in his life. He looked down, searching his pockets for a business card to give her, but motioning to her that he was still listening.

“Nick, I’ll be honest with you. Music labels, and men like you, simply aren’t my thing,” she said, and patted his shoulder, before quietly walking past him and continuing down the road, disappearing round the corner.

Nick continued, “I want to know more about you,” he said, finding the business card and looking up eagerly. But silence was the answer he received, as he turned around to see no one there.

She was gone.