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I finished off my beer and turned to her. “You know, I actually do,” I said confidently.
I wasn’t feeling super confident about pouring my heart out to a stranger, but whatever, alcohol would help that. I asked the bartender for another beer.
“So, mutual, but bad?” she questioned me.
I nodded. “Mutual, but bad. You know when you’re with someone, and you love them, you care about them, but you realize you’re just not going on the same life path? Like, you wish you were, and you'd do anything to make that a possibility, but, no matter how you try, you’re just… not?”
She frowned. “Actually, I don’t know what that’s like… though, it sounds terrible!”
I laughed. “You must have had pretty perfect relationships, then,” I answered as I sipped my beer.
“Something like that…” she said, continuing with her Long Island.
“Are you in a perfect relationship now?” I asked.
“No, actually, I’m in a horribly toxic relationship with Beasley University these days.”
“Ahh…” I smiled. “A relationship you’re not ready to end, I take it?”
“Not yet, not quite. See, I’m a little financially dependent on the outcome of our relationship, so I’m waiting it out a year until I can get on my feet.”
I liked this kid; she was cute and smart. I liked a little wit with my flirting.
“A year until graduation, huh? And what degree, might I ask?”
“Civil engineering.”
“Wow, nice. I’d always wished I’d had the brain for a STEM degree. Decent job security and good money.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she told me, “but who knows how it’ll really turn out. What about you? What line of work are you in? Or, what degree are you going for, if you’re still in school?”
“Not in school.” I shook my head. “Never was, actually, and I have no plans. I’m a musician, actually. Yes, a starving musician, the stereotype holds.”
She looked me up and down. “Don’t look starving to me.”
“I guess you can thank my ex for that,” I told her. “She had the money. She kept me well-fed. I was the heart in the relationship, she was
the function.”
“And that’s what killed it, I take it?” she asked.
“Pretty much. Eventually someone working at a big fancy corporation making ridiculous amounts of money isn't going to have interest in a failing musician, no matter how creative and loving she may be.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be,” I said, trying to play it off. “I’m really looking for a change of scenery. And I’m excited to be a little more independent. Where my ex and I used to live, there was no opportunity to do street performance and earn a little cash.”
“Is that how you make money, street performance?” she asked.
“Oh, that and other things. I plan to start offering guitar lessons pretty soon here, and I’d love to get a paying gig now and then. But, honestly, street performance is a love of mine. I love the bare-naked interaction you get with other people, you know? It’s just so raw and real. If I could get paid to do that for the rest of my life and just make enough money to get by, I’d be happy.”
She nodded, seeming to take all this information in slowly.
“I really admire that,” she finally said. “I’ve never been the kind of person who’s comfortable without security. I’m not really one to want a lot of money or luxury in life, so I’d be fine just getting by and paying my bills, but the uncertainty of it all would drive me crazy.”
I smiled. Usually, when I talked about my career ambitions or lack thereof, I felt like people were judging me. She seemed to genuinely appreciate my point of view. It was a nice change of pace.
“It certainly isn’t for everyone, but I’ve always been naturally spontaneous. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but something about a scheduled and certain life bores me to death.”
