Running To Stand Still

I pressed the keypad of my phone to display 12:53. I tossed the blankets about, but I couldn’t force myself into sleep. Whipping the covers away from me, I sat up. I thought about the blank wooden coffee table I’d bought. Working my way to my door, I grabbed my box of painting supplies. My love for David Bowie flirted with my thoughts as my fingers briskly typed his name into google. I found a suitable image and began sorting through my paint colors and brushes. For a moment, I had felt as though something was missing, but quickly it struck me. I pulled out my copy of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars and placed the large, black disk on my record player. A soft click emitted as the record start spinning. The crackles and pops of the grooves made the songs come to life. A rather simple drum beat kicked in. Then the strum of a guitar, the note of a piano and a beautiful voice.

♪"Pushing through the market square, so many mothers dying, news had just come over, we had five years left of crying, news guy wept and told us, love was really dying, cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying, I heard telephones, opera house, favorite melodies."♬

I felt my body sink into the rhythm as the song progressed. I felt the movement in my brush strokes. The table was soon a medley of reds, whites and oranges. When I was painting, time didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the music and the movement of the brush. As I finished up with the final touches of my pieces, I glanced at the clock on my wall. 5:14.

"Shit!" I called out loud, to no one but me and my Bowie table. I had set up an interview at a record shop in the city at seven thirty. Tripping over jars of murky water and paint brushes, I found my way to the bathroom and rushed through my morning routine. Shower, clothes (which consisted of a simple Strokes shirt, green skinny legged jeans and calf boots), hair, make-up and grabbing at least ten dollars for coffee. I grabbed my house key on it's ring of assorted decorations, looking one last time at the clock. 6:11. Okay, I'm making good time.

~Beauty~Truth~Freedom~Love~

A bell hung loosely around the hand of the door jangled as I walked into the shop. It was in a large building with rows and rows of CD and record displays, the walls lined with trinkets and clothes, and in the back was a small stage for bands to play. I walked to the counter. A tall, slender man stood behind the cluttered counter. He had scruffy brown hair, a scruffy chin, and baby blue eyes.

"Um, are you the manger?" I stumbled around my words, nervous for my first interview in London. The man looked up from the CD he was studying and smiled.

"No, I'm afraid not. Magenta went out to get a cup of coffee, just like you." The man said, noting the Starbucks cup in my hand. "You really shouldn't go there, there are cooler places. I'll show you sometime, future co-worker. The name's Andrew, by the way."

"Oh thanks. I'm new here, but you probably knew that."

"It's kind of obvious with the yankee accent and all." I felt my cheeks burn crimson.

"My name's Arienette. How are you so sure we'll be future co-wokers?"

"Magenta needs a new kid and she's a push over for someone with good taste, which clearly, by the shirt, you have. Plus she hates interviews." A jingle came from the front of the shop. "Speak of the devil."

A short, crazy-thin, woman walked through the door. Her pixie cut was dyed a bright... well, magenta. Her eyes were grey and her nose was lined with freckles, a stud piercing on the left nostril.

"You Arienette?" She said in a soft voice.

"Yeah. I have my resumé, it's pretty short, but I think I'd be really good here. I love music and movies and people, I think I'd do real well in retail." I rushed, remembering too late to take a breath.

"Favorite band, movie and artist. Go."

"Uh, bsnd: a tie between Motion City Soundtrack, Mystery Jets and The Cure, movie: Rushmore and artist: Alex Pardee."

"Are you a psychopath?"

"I don't think so, but then you don't ever really know, do you?"

"It's cool, I don't really care anyway. You're hired."

"Wait, that's it?"

"What were you expecting? A business office with pant suits and secretaries? This is Lavish Records, we're strictly unprofessional here. As long as you do you work and sell stuff, you're good."

"Thank you so much! When do I start?"

"Tomorrow at noonish." Magenta said, walking off into the back room.

"Stick around, I'll take you for lunch in fifteen. I'd explore the store." Andrew offered, grinning at the counter.

I smiled and walked down the aisles, running my fingers across the records in the rock section. My eyes stumbled on the Velvet Underground's album Andy Warhol, the one with the peel-back banana. Their sound was a favorite of mine, especially on vinyl. Nothing quite compares to that feeling you get when a certain band lets you leave the Earth for sometime. That song that when you put it on, you can close your eyes and let the music run through every part of you, you can let the rhythm flood your veins and fill your heart. The beat that picks up your soul, your spirit, all that truly is you and lets you, in the upmost version of yourself, be suspended in a moment, on e that is so personal, no two people could experience it the same. I picked up the album and located a record player on a nearby shelf. I placed the disc on the player. With a click, the record started and I placed the headphones over my head. Time stood still as I felt my soul fuse with the music. I knew all the words, I know every one of Lou Reed's inflections and pauses. I felt a tap on my shoulder that jolted me out of my near unconscious state.

"You know you've been singing for, like, past ten minutes?" Andrew asked. I felt my face go red with embarrassment yet a second time. "I didn't mind, you've got a lovely voice. Let's get going though, before I have to do something else." He winked, and walked towards the door, leaving me to catch up.

The air was a bit brisk for summer. I pulled my jacket tighter around my body and turned toward Andrew.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd go for a little soup and stuff. It's this little café down street. It's good, I promise."

"Okay," I say as we begin to walk. "So what's your life story, Andrew?"

"My life story? It's a bit droll, really. I grew up in Manchester with my mum, dad and my little sister, Effy. She's the only one who talks to me. I... left when I was seventeen and I've been working at Lavish ever since. I love music and concerts and shit. I'm in a band. We're pretty terrible."

"Really? I'd love to hear you guys."

"We play in the store all the time."

"Why'd you leave at seventeen?"

"Well, my parents are very religious and they conflicted with a very big part of me. When I was fourteen I discovered who I was, I got in to David Bowie and The Velvet Underground and all those guys and the next year I brought home a boyfriend. They sent me to a few pray the gay away camps, but as far as I know, I still like guys. I don't really talk to them anymore. Effy still lives with them, but we skype and text and stuff."

"That's awful. I don't understand all the dogma religion has."

"Exactly! Oh, here's the place. I like it because of it's two minutes from work, I come here all the time."

I looked up to see an orange and green metal sign with a slogan that read GET BAKED. I stifled a slight giggle and moved with in the door Andrew was holding ajar. The inside was warm and cozy looking. A fire-pit sat in middle of the restaurant and several unmatched and seemingly thrift store bought chairs were scattered about. Andrew and I walked to the small counter and order lunch.

Once we had gotten our food, Andrew lead me to a table and we began to eat.

"So how long have you been in London?" He asked, crumbs spilling from the corners of his cheeks.

"I've been hear a couple of weeks."

"Have the people here been nice? They can be assholes sometimes."

"No, they've been fine. There's this one guy who's really helped me out. I really like him."

"Oh ho ho, that's great. What's his name?"

"Adrien, but it's not too great for me. The last guy I really liked is the reason I left the states."

"One guy?"

"Well no. I hated the whole town, even my family, except this one guy. I really loved him, and we were supposed to go here together and run away from it all. He stood me up at the airport."

"Really? What a douche."

"I know, I know. Sometimes, I still check in on him though. Before I left I deleted my facebook account, but I still watch his sometimes."

"Is he doing horrible? I hope he is."

"No, actually. He has a girlfriend now. Some hot blonde. It sucks to realize someone was that shallow, when I'd known them so long. But you know, c'est la vie."

"Well, you're better off with what's his name, Adrien."

"That's the thing, we're not actually together. I really like him but I think he's damaged or something. He seem reluctant to start anything. I don't know. He hasn't really talked to me anyway." I jumped as my phone buzzed on the table. "Dammit! I always do that!" Andrew snickered.

Text from Adrien: Hey, wanna go dancing tomorrow night?

"Speak of the devil," I said, grinning. "Adrien asked me bowling."