The Whole World Smiles With You

I pulled my jacket closer to my thin frame as I walked towards the pub, a group of people crowding the entrance.

“Excuse me,” I murmured as I shimmied past them, noticing their heads follow my motions. I pushed open the door, feeling the warmth inside through my fingertips as they pressed against the glass.

“You playing tonight, mate?” one of the men in the group asked me, motioning towards the guitar strapped onto my back with a jerk of his head. I nodded, smiling politely, before continuing on inside. I’d managed to land a small acoustic gig with a few others, about a 20 minute set. It was nothing, I knew, yet it was something. I made my way to the front of the bar, leaning over the edge to see if I could spot the bill from where I was.

“Stefan!” I almost jumped as the pub owner approached me, remembering my name from that one time we met last weekend to discuss details. I didn’t remember his. “Are you after the bill?” He didn’t wait for me to answer before he walked off for a moment and returned with a piece of paper that had been heavily scribbled on with a thick black marker. My stomach flipped as I read, and then it flipped again.

At first, I’d noticed my own name in the first slot. This wasn’t ideal. This was as far from ideal as was possible. I bit my bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood as I tried to imagine myself setting the mood for the night with where my head was currently at. I wasn’t exactly unhappy. It was more that I felt disconnected. I felt as far away as I could get without actually leaving. I’d been trying to shake the feeling on the way to the pub but hadn’t managed to do so. It was here to stay for a while, this… mood. I wasn’t sure what it was, really. Was I unhappy? Maybe…

My thoughts flickered very quickly back to the second flip my stomach had done and I felt it again, that uneasiness as I read the third name on the bill. My chest ached as my mind took me to the second drawer down in the dresser beside my bed and found the tiny scrap of paper I’d placed in my telephone book 2 years ago, never having had the heart to throw it out. On it was a phone number and a name. Brian Molko.

We’d bumped into each other in the London Underground a few years ago, and by that I mean I’d wondered who’d been screeching my name from halfway down the platform and exactly where they knew me from. Brian had recognised me from school, saying he remembered my height more than anything, and had invited me to watch him play a gig that weekend. Alas, he hadn’t been home the day I’d mustered up the courage to call. I’d wanted to call again, but I felt a little silly seeing as his gig had passed by then. I hadn’t wanted to disappoint. I tried to push the idea to the back of my mind, but it wouldn’t leave. I’d known he’d had a thing for me in school, and I knew on that platform that he’d been excited to hear me say I might go to his gig. I felt like the biggest jerk all over again.

I took to the stage a little later than I was supposed to, needing one last cigarette out the back before I could stop my hands from shaking. Luckily, I found myself by the second song. I realised no one was really listening, but that was okay. I took a little comfort in that as I missed a note when Brian walked through the door. He appeared to have come alone as he dragged his acoustic in behind him, sneering at a few people as they pointed and laughed at what I assumed was his attire. He’d tried his best to cover up with a thick leather trench coat, but there was no hiding those stockings. I watched as he placed his guitar behind the bar, checked the bill, then took off his coat with his eyes on the floor. I was glad he couldn’t see the reactions I could from a few people, though they soon lost interest in the lady-boy sitting alone at the bar having a drink with his eyes still on the floor. Then he looked up.

I choked on my words as I sang, my face heating up once I realised I’d lost where I was. I ended the song there, pretending it hadn’t happened, and was quick to move off stage and let someone else take it away from me. No one had noticed. No one had cared. I was thankful for my terrible stage presence for once.

There weren’t really a lot of people at the bar. I figured it was due to it being a Thursday night, and most people would have had work the following morning. I looked around, then up to the small stage where the next performer was adjusting the mic. I thought I might grab a drink, maybe sit a few stools away from Brian. Maybe strike up a conversation. Maybe apologise. Upon turning around, however, I couldn’t see him. My thoughts automatically turned to horrible ones, and panic took me over. I saw the men that had given him a hard time earlier, and my heart stopped racing just a little. Perhaps he was going to the restroom, I thought.

I waited a little while, counting the minutes as they passed in my head. I got to 7, and that was enough. Would it be weird to check on a stranger in the restroom? I knew the answer, but nothing else would stop my worrying. I took another quick look around before I made my way over to the gents, popping my head in to see who was in there. No Brian. My heart sank. My head was exploding with situations as I took a few steps in, checking underneath all the stalls to find the room completely empty. I took a deep breath, telling myself that it wasn’t my problem. A grown man could look after himself. As I exited the restroom, still trying to calm down, my eye caught the sign on the ladies restroom door. It was worth a look.

Careful to check the passageway was clear before I was caught peering into the ladies bathroom, I gently pushed the door open with my fingertips, praying that the hinges wouldn’t screech. They didn’t, and I smiled as I spotted that same little black dress and boots that had walked into the bar not long ago. Brian was leaned over the counter powdering his face, then down his neck just a little. I watched as he continued to apply makeup like he’d done it a million times before, like it was part of who he was as a person and not just an act on stage. Then it occurred to me that maybe I was right. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he finished applying some mascara before moving onto a light shade of pink lipstick, his lips forming the perfect ‘o’ as he ran it over the bottom, then the top, before pressing them together and finishing with a tiny ‘pop’. A smile broke onto my face as I watched, unable to keep it at bay. He seemed so delicate. He seemed a little like myself. I decided then that I’d better leave and headed to the bar, ordering a drink as I watched the remainder of the next performer’s set.

“You finally came to my gig, I see. Not that you could help it,” a tiny voice sounded in my ear from my right, causing me to spill a little of my drink. Brian looked like he wanted to smile, but something else seemed to be getting in the way. It didn’t take me long to see that it was hurt blocking his smile, as he turned to grab his guitar and headed over to set up on stage.

I watched the entirety of his gig, as did a few others, kicking myself all the while for not having made that call sooner those years ago. What he did was interesting, and somewhat unique. Most of all, it was absolutely beautiful with how heartbroken he seemed. I wanted to get to know him. I wanted to know why he sang with his heart in his throat, and why he’d been looking at me. I looked up once more to find our eyes had met across the room again, but this time I smiled. He continued on, but I’d seen the twitch in the corner of his mouth where an extra tooth or so had shown as he sang, the sound of his voice bringing me back down to Earth, back into my own mind to deal with the thoughts that resided there. I wasn’t unhappy. I wasn’t anymore.