Dreamy Town E-Book

T. R. Sami

• Herausgeber: The Little French eBooks
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A boy in his early 20s… who left his hometown to work on his dream of becoming an artist. One day, he decided to spend some time in the bar, and there he witnesses a performance of a girl who plays on the piano. Her music hypnotizes him in a state of absolute acceptance of everything around. One day, when he has a chance to talk with her, he realizes that she was a different type of dreamer than he is, and he tries to understand her views. Immediately she became something like his muse.

This is a story about dreamers in today's society who take their dreams seriously. For them, their dreams are like waves that push them towards what they truly desire. The people who appeared in the middle of the path that they have chosen, whose struggles are like warning signs along the way, make them scare their dreams away or encourage these dreamers to carry on and to go where only a few have managed.

Leseprobe

Dreamy Town

T. R. Sami

Dreamy Town

T. R. Sami

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published 2022

Copyright 2022 Samuel Turecek

I

Two raindrops were racing down on the window, the last two memories of the rainfall of the night. I could see a road from where I was sitting. It was blurry because of the wet window, but I still could see it clearly enough. The view that I enjoyed was typical for the morning. Everything was calm. People were walking as if it was their last day, and cars were racing the same way as those raindrops, which already disappeared. I was wondering if that was intentional, but the people were walking with umbrellas despite that the rain stopped more than an hour ago. I was enjoying the sight from the second floor -staring at the artificial rainbow made from colorful umbrellas on the street, breathing the cold air through the open window, and counting cars which looked odd for a small town at that hour.

I was awake the whole night. When the sun appeared in the sky, it was only a matter of time when the alarm clock would try to get in that noise from the outside. I had to leave the apartment with a simple beeping, which had been set to remind me I had to work. It was a part-time job in a bar, underneath the apartment. I left my hometown to chase my dream. Since then, I was sweeping floors and cleaning tables. When the last neon from the restaurant across the road turned off, I grabbed a half clean T-shirt and walked towards an unused bed.

The apartment where I had been living for two months had a detached entrance from the rest of the building. I closed the door behind me and appeared the stairs in an alley. The whole building was renovated and looked like new, but the alley seemed to be from a post-apocalyptic movie. Garbage was randomly placed all over the narrow sidewalk that led to dumpsters. All empty cans and bags from candies and chips were everywhere with an accuracy of a designer before a pattern. People, who left the bar and were too drunk to use the restroom inside, stopped in the alley. Therefore, apart from the mess, I was exposed to various smells too. Crossing the alley to get to the work had one advantage: stray cats were welcoming me with meowing and walking slowly around me. While I was still going down, my favorite cat was already waiting for a snack or petting. Because of my situation, I could afford only to pet her. Then I continued walking.

When I avoided all the garbage, the street welcomed me as well. I stepped on the sidewalk and one passer-by with a phone in front of his face bumped into me.

“Sorry,” he coldly said without looking at me.

His umbrella was wet from the night rain, so I knew he had to be outside for quite long. As he bumped into me, I received a small shower from it.

All people on the street were as if walking without any life. And the only bright thing around was the light from their phones. The sun was on its way up and their screens were like candles that showed me the way. It was somehow lonely and sad.

Avoiding people on the sidewalk was much more difficult than trying to not step on some garbage in the alley. It was roughly ten steps from the alley to the bar's entrance, but I passed more than fifteen people. I was wondering what else could happen to complicate my day.

The bar was called Black Sunshine. It was a cheap bar but cozy. The whole place was split in between romantic and dingy. The walls were covered with random memorabilia, such as a fake championship belt, pictures of famous and infamous people, who definitely had never visited the place, and some paintings. The bartender once told me that a few of those paintings were from a famous painter, but I was sure they were bought from some gift shop.

When I walked in, the bartender was already sitting on a chair close to the bar and looked tired.

“How was your night shift?” I asked without greeting him.

“What do you think?” he answered with a question and stood up from the chair. “Hurry up, I want to go home,” he added.

It was his regular behavior: talking something with not looking at the person to which he was speaking. It reminded me the man with whom I exchanged an unwanted touch on the street. I took a mop from a small storage behind the bar, and started doing my job.

A dull job, but with many benefits. I got some amount in cash, two bags of chips and soda. I had an apartment where nobody wanted to live and some snacks, therefore my salary wasn't even worthy to mention. I didn't have to think and could easily finish it within two hours, except every third day when I had to clean the restrooms. It would be unbearable, but I had my own plans. The much free time that I had, the more I could focus on my things. Still, not a life that one would brag about.

After an hour, I had cleaned the tables and emptied ashtrays. The rest of my job was simply counting new holes in the tablecloths -made by drunks who were unable to put their cigarettes in the ashtrays. The bartender was sitting at the bar and murmuring to himself. I found it oddly relaxing.

“They can't be serious,” he said.

He said much more, but I was able to catch only that sentence. I tried to see what he was doing, but immediately after I approached, he looked at me. It was a nice change. But, when I did it again, he lost his calmness.

“What do you want?” he raised his voice.

“I’m curious,” answered.

“Well, never bet on boxing. Is your curiosity satisfied?”

He did not sound as angry as the sentence itself might sound. It was interesting to be able to understand everything he said and still needed an explanation. I was like a little boy, who would ask and ask, despite I had the answers. I looked around the bar. My eyes stopped at the spot with the fake championship belt. That created a question, which I decided to use to draw his attention.

“A fan of boxing?” I asked.

At that moment, my work was technically done. The bar was cleaner than usual, and I was only pretending I was working to get paid more. The best way was talking and not being suspicious. However, anything I could do wouldn't draw his attention enough.

“Yes,” he answered and made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

The bartender was a young man. He was roughly around twenty-five, but his behavior made me think he was much older. I took him like an older person, despite we were almost at the same age. It was easy because of his behavior; anyhow he was also looking older than twenty-five. A few small wrinkles around the corners of his eyes or his facial expressions made me wonder if it wasn’t only because of a tough life. Perhaps, he gathered more experience as he was going through his youth. Although, I think the main reason why I saw him older than he was, could be the fact of that he acted like a responsible person, even his clothes were clean and smelled good. Those were things which I couldn't reach, no matter how close they seemed to be.

“Brief,” I whispered to myself, and then pretended I was straightening the tablecloth on the most distant table from him.

After a few minutes of silence, when I was right to mop the floor again, the bartender appeared close to the corner where I left the mop and put my salary on the table next to us. It happened exactly at the same moment when I thought I could stretch my work a bit more.

“Time to go,” he said as he was announcing something bad, and then he cracked his knuckles as always when he was ready to leave.

“Okay,” I decided to be as succinct as him, and tried to not start any forced conversation as I did before.

I hid the mop and the bucket in the storage. When I returned to take my money, I found there a bag of chips and a bottle of soda with a high amount of sugar. The bartender was gone. I didn't want to look for him and simply took all he left there.

It was quite strange how that worked. Even though I accomplished nothing, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction. While others were building their careers to be high as towers surrounding their castles of success, I found my peace in the shadow -underneath them. As I was leaving the bar, I grasped something. Maybe those towers were the reason for in the land of a career there was no any grass.

The door of the bar was closing slowly. I was waiting until it would be closed meanwhile looked inside. The bartender hadn't shown up. Anyway, the fact of that he wasn't present didn't bother me because I knew he was still somewhere in there. He wouldn't leave, since he was aware of that I didn't have a key to lock the door. With a silent click of the door as it closed, I went back to the apartment. It was oddly calming how the street was empty. People were gone, no matter whether they arrived home from work or vice versa, I was glad that nobody could bump into me again.

The stray cats were waiting for me on the stairs and around the dumpster as usual when I normally returned after I finished my work every day at the different time, but those cats were waiting anyway. It was a sign of mutual gratefulness. They were grateful for food, and I was even more grateful for their presence. I opened the bag of chips and gave them a few. Almost a half of the bag was spread all over the first step, and suddenly, I couldn't find any place to step on to get in the apartment. I counted six cats. All of them looked healthy and one even fat. I realized that I wasn't the only one who was feeding them. When I found a place to step and quickly ran up to the door, I started to think if the chips were a good choice of food for them. Then I calmed myself down. When nobody fed them, they were eating from a dumpster, maybe a rat or a bird occasionally. Those flavorless chips I gave them were probably the cleanest food they had.

I arrived and closed the door behind me as fast as I could. I was with the cats in my thoughts for a while, but when I put down my T-shirt my mind was immediately clear. Part of the salary aimed right into a jar, on which I optimistically wrote savings, and the rest ended up in my wallet. I felt like that day was over and decided to take a short nap on the couch. I didn't need it nor want it, but it was a daytime, therefore I had nothing to do.

The couch was dusty and smelled badly, but it became acceptable enough when I made a pillow from my jacket. The whole apartment was one big room. I could see the bed from the couch, but I didn't want to be that close to the alarm clock. The only separation in the apartment were two pillars right in between places that could be called the living room and the kitchen. It looked like a modern apartment from ninety’s. Forgotten for a long time, ignored by anybody who could clean it.

Lying in bed during the day always made me sad. I didn't know if that was a form of trauma from my childhood when I was forced to take a nap or the fact I hated lying on bed, but I tried to shun that area of the apartment as much as possible. It took me less than ten minutes and I was sleeping. It wasn't a nap nor rest neither just pondering about nonsense in a horizontal position, but a good quality sleep.

My eyes quickly opened with a loud sound of a car horn from the street. The whole apartment was dark, except two little lights coming from the TV and the alarm clock. The two reflections that reminded me where I was. I couldn't see much but a weak light coming from the street. I tried to get up, but my back felt like I had been carrying a heavy backpack for hours. A tiny disadvantage of sleeping on a hard couch. I rolled down on the floor and landed on a dirty and even more dusty carpet. I was disoriented, and it took me more time to mentally wake up than falling asleep. My heart was beating fast and strong from the shock. I knew it was bad when I could feel it. After one unsuccessful attempt to get up, I decided to take a deep breath and try it again. My second attempt was successful only thanks to the same sound that had woken me up. I went to look out of the window to see what happened.

When I saw all the neon lights and streetlamps, I was confused again. Thinking about how long I was sleeping, right after I spotted the reason of the furious honking. A truck was blocking over three quarters of the road and all cars behind couldn't move. The neon lights hit on the polished cars and created a renaissance painting of chaos and disorder. People on the street raised their eyes from their phones to see what I was witnessing from the best spot. I was amazed how they were looking at the scene. How many minutes they needed to only consider that situation as serious.

I grabbed the half empty bag of chips and sat down to entertain myself for a while too. As that wasn't enough, it started raining again. The light reflecting from the road made the sight even more beautiful. While I was enjoying it, the truck driver came from the restaurant, and with a few gestures of disapproval, he got in the truck. Watching him leave the scene, along with the sounds of car horns, made me think why he was there. However, that sight was exactly what I wanted to see. I turned on a small lamp and prepared myself to chase my dream for a moment.

A clean canvas from the previous night was leaning against the big window without a mark of a paint. I was adjusting the light to not make it reflect from the glass and limiting my view. After a few minutes of trying, I decided to use the light source from the outside. The lamp helped me to see, but what I could see the most was my pale and skinny fingers squeezing the brush. It was a weak light, visible only when I was next to the window, but it was enough when I had the canvas leaning against the chair right next to the window. It was big, and I didn't have anything else which I could use for it.

I wanted to paint those lights on the street, despite it was almost impossible, because I had the lack of colors. Anyway I tried it. When I started, I quickly forgot about the time or how long I slept. The shock and surprise had mixed, and also created confusion. It was only me, awake at the right time. I wasn't thinking about the work either. I was focused only on what I wanted to do. How incomprehensibly strange was that burning desire to paint, nobody could explain. I didn't have any idea what to do nor where I should start. It was like a midnight snack, unintentional and still served by myself as if it were an opulent dinner.

I knew many people who were like me. My hometown didn't have many schools nor hospitals, but dreamers like me were almost everywhere. They were better at the craft, but I was even much better. A dissuading scarecrow that was deterring me from painting was what I had heard many times that there always would be somebody better. In fact, it was true. There might be an athlete who can jump farther, a singer who can hit a better pitch, or scholar who is able to learn more. By the words of childish optimism: “they might be better but where are they?” I was left only to show myself and others that I was serious about it. Although there wasn't a huge difference between me and them, I also used naivety and delusions to build my dream; but those weren't the best materials.

After an hour or so, I lost my drive and started focusing on anything around me instead of the canvas. Even when I made myself to focus on the canvas, I was pondering how to make another one. When I moved in, the bar was freshly reconstructed. Thanks to a mistake from the distributors, there was a surplus of wooden parts which were supposed to be used to cover the walls. The bartender, after a short interview, gave me some material for free. I bought a bed sheet, because it was more affordable, and then I stole a few nails from the storage behind the bar. No matter how badly it seemed at first, I made three canvases from it.

A few drops of the paint, which I had on an old dish, started drying too fast thanks to the air conditioner. I checked the time and immediately plugged my phone to charge it. My life became a rut. I was doing almost the same thing every single night. It was 11 pm, the bar was already open. I could hear a quite loud influx of customers coming in.

I grabbed my T-shirt and decided to join. I thought that wasting some time on the bar stool and listen others could help me to sustain my sanity. It was better to be a part of the noise than being only the listener. No the best solution definitely, but it was the only one I had.

The bag of chips was almost empty, so I decided to give that little to the cats. As I was going down and trying to not fall from the stairs, the cats' eyes were staring at me from the dark. I put some chips on the stairs and went to throw the empty bag to the dumpster. Luckily, the streetlamp was strong enough to light at least that. I couldn't say the same about the stairs that were hidden in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. The sound of the cats, eating loudly, was chasing me almost on the street. I quickly hid in the bar and left the world around me drowned in different sounds.

The bartender waved at me right when I got in. I returned that meaningless gesture, despite I didn't know what he meant by it. I sat as far as I could from the others, close to a small empty stage. I saw there a keyboard and drums right on, so I knew it would be better to leave before the performance. From what I understood, the bartender called some of his friends to provide an entertainment every Sunday. Stand-up comedians had been there quite often, musicians only sporadically. After seeing the keyboard, I knew what was on the menu that day.

The bartender came to the table where I was sitting and gave me a big glass of beer. It was unexpected, because I didn't order anything and things on the tables were usually brought by some of his employees. That day, I didn't see any. He was there alone. So I was unwillingly and slowly drinking what he gave me. The light inside was very weak, but I could see some familiar faces. Except a few people who I met on the street every morning; I saw personnel from the restaurant across the street. They were from the day shift. Each with a different expression were staring into glasses before them. Some looked disgusted, some tired, I even saw a smile or two, but I knew the scarce of happy faces could be remedied soon enough by ordering drink after drink. Lights from the lit cigarettes were moving points in the dim illumination like confused fireflies. These magically created a strange mist that was thicker and thicker because of the lack of windows in the bar. The bartender had a good mood -it was easy to see. Everybody had a chance to win a bet eventually, and it was the only possible option when I could see him cleaning glasses with a calm smile, and also the evidence was his untrimmed beard. Whatever happened to him during the day had to be very sudden. Winning a bet was the only thing that would make him ignore his looks. The bar wasn't as full as the noise made me to incline to believe. I saw roughly ten people. With that number of people inside, the bar looked paradoxically bigger. Nothing made sense, but it was meaningful all together. I felt like I was sitting in someone's brain.

The glass on the table was almost untouched. When I thought that place was quite dull, someone opened the door and loudly closed it right after. I heard some greetings from the full table across the bar, then the bartender's voice and nothing else. I didn't even turn to look. I was looking at the drum set and the keyboard in front of me.

I felt a strong hand on my shoulder and then the bartender's voice again.

“Here is a shot of vodka and beer. You need to stay and hear this,” he said very friendly, which was uncommon.

“Thank you,” I said and looked at the glass full to the edge. “Hear what?” I asked.

I didn't want to say anything about the liquor. Chips and sodas mixed with a bad sleeping regime were enough. Adding alcohol seemed as I wanted to cross the threshold of my body's limit.

When the answer wasn't coming, I repeated my question.

“What do I need to hear?”

“Hear the real talent,” the bartender whispered after a short break.

I was more concerned about his whisper than the content of the sentence. I knew him as a silent and always irritated man. Seeing him being friendly and calm was a new thing to me. Maybe he was too busy to have a bad mood, but he would always find some time for that.

Shortly after his confusing whisper, I saw a movement in the corner of my eye. One of a few lights on the wall was right behind someone, so I saw only a silhouette of that person. My eyes quickly adapted, and I could see that person stepping on the stage. As I said, I was able to recognize many people who were at the bar, but I was sure I had never seen her. She was walking very slowly towards the keyboard, looking shy and uncomfortable. Even her steps seemed as if she tried to avoid the contact with the floor, her posture was stiff; and even it was possible to see how she was trying to slow down her steps to look calmer. Her dark hair covered half of her face, and that was the side she showed to the audience. Even those who were talking loudly, suddenly they became quiet as were expecting something big. I thought that the bartender told them the same thing as he told me.

When she sat down in front of the keyboard, she adjusted the sleeves on her white shirt, which looked quite big on her, and then peeked briefly through the hair at the people in the distant table. All of a sudden, as she was preparing herself, all the shyness disappeared. The only thing that left was an elegance of a professional, who had been awoken as she touched the keys. That silence she brought was so strong that I could hear her breath. If I created an ambiance like that, I would probably start panicking.

I quickly took the shot to distract myself from those vibes she was giving towards us. Then I heard it, the first tone. That keyboard had a quite good sound, it wasn’t a cheap one. Tone after tone, the melody became more complex and deeper. Even though I heard the beginning of the song, it sounded like it had none. I was listening, taking sips from the beer, and trying not to move. I was right next to the stage and felt like everybody was watching me instead of her. All my movements would be scrutinized, judged, or even only noticed. I wanted to hide myself in the corner and appeared in the center of all. Regrets of having come there were before a sparkle of happiness that I appeared at the right time. No matter what I was thinking, it was always something new. And she was still playing the same song with her eyes closed as if she was shy to see us there.

It took me a few sips as the song was over. That poor girl played for a group of people who simply couldn't care less. There was no response. She looked at the table in the distance and then at me, after that her head turned around the bar. I saw a glimpse of her expression. She was surprised. I would be surprised too, but also disappointed.

“Great!” the bartender said and gave her an applause.

He did it and everybody followed him and even I. I wanted to show that I liked it, but not make it visible. During awkward situations, the brain usually did things that made no sense.

After hearing it, she smiled a bit. I could see the edge of her mouth heading up. The more she tried to hide her face, the less successful she was. The same curse as I carried.

When she realized she was smiling, she quickly looked back at the keys on the keyboard and started playing again. She was like a kid who received some compliment and immediately proceeded to think that it was a sign to continue, or maybe she wanted to hide that badly covered smile. The next song started with energy, and she looked more confident.

She was playing more and more. Meanwhile, people were leaving or were replaced by others. I didn't know how many songs she played when I finally finished my beer. I looked behind me to see the bartender and give him a sign to bring me another. I still felt weird to be too close and in everyone's sight, therefore another beer sounded like a good idea.

The bartender was staring at her while he was sitting on the bar stool like a customer. He didn't blink, not even once, while I was trying to draw his attention. He got himself deep in her music that even looked over some people next to the bar, waiting for their order.

I didn't want to stand up and make everybody see me, but also didn't want to ruin the bartender's mood. Seeing him out of his character was something that I wanted to leave untouched. I decided to be silent until the end. Surprisingly, the end came right after that song. She received another applause, but not intense like before. Then, without any reaction to the applause, she walked away from the stage. She was slow and too careful or cautious, but when she came down from the stage, I could see her quickly disappearing from my sight. It was different, maybe smoother, but it seemed that she was glad it happened and was already over. After that, everything returned to normal. The bartender came to take my empty glasses, and without letting me order something, brought another shot and a glass of beer.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“About her?”

“Yes.”

I was thinking twice before I said each word. He was obviously excited and happy even during her performance. Saying something inaccurate or staggering could make him be himself again. It was something I wanted to shun.

“Surprisingly good,” I answered, but I knew it wasn't enough.

I turned myself on the chair to face him, while I was preparing the addendum. However, it became more complicated when I saw her standing next to him. I knew that anything too complimentary could make me sound like a sycophant.