AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I wait for Jack to laugh or at least smile, but he doesn’t. He scrunches his eyebrows. “What’s the funny part?”
“Have you ever seen someone run with one of these?” I shake my foot again. “I haven’t, but I imagine it looks absolutely ridiculous.” I stuff the tambourine back into my pocket, wincing at the pain that shoots through my elbow.
Jack looks me over. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a couple of bruises. Elbow, tailbone,ego.”
“Have you talked to the Garda?” He eyes my elbow. “Have you seen a doctor? Maybe you should get your arm checked out. What if it’s broken?”
“Oh, it doesn’t hurt so bad. And yeah, I already filed a police report, but... I don’t know, they didn’t seem very optimistic. I’ve spent the last few hours walking around trying to find any sign of my things, but no luck.”
Jack drums his fingers against the bar in a precise rhythm. “And you’re sure your arm’s okay? If it’s a small break you might not notice it. It’s not swollen or anything?”
I push up the sleeve of my hoodie and stretch out my arm a few times. “See? All good.”
Jack looks like he wants to say something more, but he only nods and taps out that rhythm on the bar again. “So what’ll you do now?” he asks.
I take the napkin in my hands again and run my fingers along each of its sides as I speak. “I guess I’ll head to Cork and catch a flight home. I can’t afford to stay and hope my things will turn up. I wasn’t planning on going home... ever, but I don’t think I have a choice now. I’m sure my parents will let me stay with them, and really, I’mso lucky I have that option but...” I shake my head, eyes on the napkin as I turn it round and round and round.
“You don’t want to stay with your parents?” Jack says.
“They just don’t get me. They always hoped my sister and I would become doctors like them. My sister’s actually doing it. She’s in medical school. So me leaving home to become a street performer...” I laugh, and it makes Jack smile. “Yeah, that didn’t exactly go over well. They told me I was making a mistake, wasting years of education, throwing away my potential. They told me I’d regret it. Maybe it is a mistake, but I don’t regret it. If I stay with them, they’ll just poke holes in all my plans to try and push me into theirs, and I’m worried that if I let them help me, I’ll give in. And I’m just not ready to give up on music or traveling. Not yet, anyway.”
Jack nods thoughtfully. “I can understand that. Can’t say my parents were thrilled when I started my tattoo apprenticeship. Mum came around to it eventually, but Da... he never did.”
“Is that why you’re onlysort ofa tattoo artist?” I ask. “I’m still not sure what a sort-of tattoo artist is, by the way.”
He laughs, then looks away to spin the coaster around and around again. “Will you be upset if my answer is another ‘sort of’?”
“Yes.” I try to look very serious about this, but when he shoots me a smile and says,“Sort of, but not really,” I can’t help but smile back.
Jack sighs. There’s a sadness that flits across his face, but as soon as his eyes meet mine, it disappears. “What sort of music do you play?”
At his question, my smile becomes a grin. There’s nothing I love talking about more than music. “Oh, everything. Top-forty hits bring in the most money. I throw in a few classical pieces now and then. People really love to hear covers of stuff like that. Holiday music is a hit in December, of course. I can’t tell you how glad I am that it’s finally over. Don’t get me wrong, I love the holidays as muchas the next person, but I’ve had ‘Carol of the Bells’ stuck in my head for weeks.”
Jack laughs. “So the masses like top-forty hits, classical covers, and Christmas music.”
“Pretty much.”
“So what’syourfavorite music to play?”
I lean closer, as if telling him a secret. “I really love disco music.”
Jack leans in too. “Disco?”
I nod. “Disco. Funk. Anything a little groovy, something you can’t help but move to. I love it when I’m playing and the people walking past fall into the rhythm. Or when the people watching start dancing and head-bobbing and don’t even seem to realize it. Give me a good bass line, and I’m in heaven.”
“And do you play your own music?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s that look about?”
“What look?”
“You’ve got this... pinched look about you.”
I scrunch my eyebrows a few times. “Better?”
