Silent Plea

A tap came over the speakers, grabbing the attention of anyone who had heard it. Eyes diverted to the small stage placed inside the club, bare and empty, a single spotlight lit on the host. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” the young man spoke, his brown eyes staring out at the sea of dimmed faces. “Is there anyone else up for Open Mic night?” There were no replies, the audience either too shy or not yet at that stage of intoxication. “Alright then, it’s time to bring up our weekly performer. Give it up for Arden Taylor, ladies and gents.” A round of applause came as he stepped offstage.

“Arden...” Kennedy Brock muttered thoughtfully to himself before turning to his much taller friend. “John, that sounds familiar. Didn’t we know an Arden?” The name was familiar, awfully familiar. It felt like it has been years since he had heard such a name.

But John was unresponsive, his gaze transfixed on the stage before them. He knew that name all too well, but he couldn’t think of bringing his voice above a whisper as he replied. He was waiting, God was he waiting for that moment when she would step onstage. There were so many things he pondered about.

Will he see the same girl he last saw? Would she still be able to take his breath away? God, how long its been since he last heard her play - is that what she’s even going to do, sing? Is she happy? How long has she been performing there? Where exactly has she been all this time?

These questions, he couldn’t stop them from coming - hell, he wasn’t surprised in the least bit that he was focusing so intently on the possible answers. She had been a big part of his life, there was no forgetting her. It’s a big disappointment to him that he hasn’t been able to keep in touch with her much after high school. They hung out a few times during the first one or two years after graduation, but they never really got caught up. She never told him much, being a little secretive about life after him.

After a while, he started touring - tour after tour, national and international. He could guess that he wasn’t too easy for her to follow-up with, but neither was she for him. There was always some excuse from her. Away from the phone, phone died, previous plans with other friends, wasn’t feeling too well, wasn’t mentally decent to give him her full attention for a day. He has no idea who she is anymore, and that makes him all the more eager to see her under that spotlight.

The sight that he saw though, when another round of applause came and several voices hooted and hollered, was not one that he had expected to see - never thought that he would ever see. To only say that he felt disappointed would be an understatement. It was a big disappointment; his heart has dropped, a wave of sadness washing over him, as well as feelings of curiosity and puzzlement.

The skinny girl that walked onstage with her tight-fitted, short black dress and black pumps, black guitar in hand, was not his friend. This Arden Taylor isn’t the one that he knew, not in the slightest bit. The Arden he knew had a natural beauty... she was beautiful. This girl is anything but that girl. It just isn’t her, and he wasn’t sure what to say about that.

“Wow...” Kennedy couldn’t hold back the slight laugh that came - a pitiful laugh - as he shook his head. Just like John, he was caught by surprise. “She... looks like trash,” he said slowly but lowly. “Hopefully she can sing.” It wasn’t like Kennedy to be so blunt and rude about a lady, but he didn’t feel bad at all. He has no obligations to be nice to her, not anymore. But it was true; he knew John would’ve agreed.

“Uhm, hi,” Arden spoke into the microphone as she took a seat on the stool, a light smile poised on her lips. A soft laugh, barely audible, came as she fixed her dress, then played a few notes on her instrument. “How are you all?” She stalled for a few minutes, fidgeting with the guitar.

She was nervous. No, it wasn’t her first time performing in front of a crowd, but she was worried about making it through her set - after the scenario that had taken place a few nights ago. She didn’t want to mess up, or break down, or anything, especially with the new song that she had spent her time trying to perfect just the night before. She can’t mess up. Playing at the club is her only real source of income; she needs them to continuously ask her to come back.

“Alright, so,” she cleared her throat, knowing that she couldn’t stall any longer. “Let’s get started...” Another test chord was strummed softly before she began the first notes to the song, her eyes fixed on her fingers on the fretboard once again. Her head bobbed slowly to the unheard beat that played in her head, before she raised her head back up to the microphone. She began to sing, a soft glint in her eyes.

John took it in as much as he could, the sound of her sweet voice engulfing him. This voice sounds foreign to him; it was different - maybe for the better, maybe for the worse, he couldn’t tell yet but it was strong and he could feel it. He can hear the pain in her voice, feel it, see it; he can see her falling apart. He was astonished, to say the least, and marveled at how much she had lost herself in the song.

Kennedy turned around and slowly headed over to the booth that the rest of his band was occupying, leaving John alone. He had long lost interest in the girl performing - most of the interest. The eyes of his band mates fell on him when he sat down, acknowledging his presence. He took the moment to redirect their attention, nodding his head towards the tall figure standing alone. They watched the way he stood still like a stone, lost in his thoughts, eyes staring unblinkingly. It was like he didn’t even notice the drunken people passing by him.

But John eventually snapped out of it, looking alone to see that Kennedy was no longer with him. He retreated back to the booth, sliding in next to Garrett but keeping silent. He listened to their conversation for a brief second before his green eyes travelled back to her, her lyrics the only words he can hear.

Someone at the booth tried to get his attention, but it was a failed attempt. After that, no one had bothered to pull him out of his trance. They thought it sensible to leave him to his silent observations.

It wasn’t until after the brunette left the stage that all of the chatter around finally came back to John. He glanced around, wondering how much time has passed. But there was no indication, only Garrett staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you okay, bro?” Garrett asked slowly, unsurely.

John nodded, running a hand through the back of his hair. “Y-Yeah, man. Sorry, what did I miss?” It felt a little odd to suddenly get back into whatever conversation his band mates were having, but he had to brush it off, like she wasn’t plaguing his every thought.

But as soon as Garrett started speaking, John’s head turned away, instead, listening to a round of applause that broke out along with some yelling near the bar. ‘Whooo, damn baby, you’ve got some pipes!’ he heard a man yell just as the brunette girl appeared again, this time without her guitar. John watched the way her lips curled up in a small smile - not smug, not shy. It was just... a smile, a simple word adopted to any expression that resembles it.

The man extended his arm, offering her a drink and she took it with a brighter smile, before she leaned in towards him. A few words were spoken into her ear before she replied, and pulled away from him, shaking his hand. John frowned slightly when the man slipped his arm around her waist with ease as she took a long drink from the glass in her hand.

John saw the way the man’s eyes glanced down at her chest, trailing slowly down her body. He saw the way he pulled her closer, the way his hand slipped down lower. It didn’t seem like she cared though, while she leaned against the stranger and listened to the rest of the people introducing themselves to her. John had never met a girl who accepted a drink from a stranger so easily, had never met a girl who allowed a man to touch her so easily.

But then again, John didn’t know just how much Arden Taylor had changed in the few years that he was gone.