Excerpt For Life Sucks
Josh’s short fingers ran over the piano as if they were
skimming the top of a cloud. His instructors had always told his mother he
would never be a great pianist because his fingers were just too short. He had
proven them wrong, and right in a way. He had become a superb pianist, even
accepted into the New England Conservatory of Music, the oldest conservatory in
the United States. He had lasted a whole seven months before dropping out.
The short pianist glanced out over the thinning crowd and
tried to mask his frustration. He detested noisy drunks, and tonight the place
was packed with them. They weren’t here for the jazz. They were here for the
booze. Of the fifty or so patrons still lining the bar or sitting around small
tables or lounging in the booths, only about ten of them were still listening
to his music. Granted, it was Wednesday. He may be skilled enough for the New
England Conservatory, but he wasn’t well-known enough to rank the weekend gigs.
Still, playing at jazz clubs, like the Birdland, paid the rent.
It was sad to see the place so empty. It could seat 500, and
often did on a Saturday night with a star on the stage or a great orchestra in
the pit. Not that Josh ever got to see the place full when he performed.
Josh pulled his gaze away from the rowdy soldiers obscuring
the long bar with olive-drab dress uniforms. They were enjoying their evening,
some so drunk they were having difficulty staying on their stools.
His fingers nearly missed their next cue as he forced his
angry thoughts away. Josh had been watching soldiers, dressed in their smart
uniforms, pass him by on the street or celebrating in clubs for nearly two
years. They shouldn’t bother him anymore.
But some emotions are hard to subdue, Josh told himself as
he forced his eyes back on the black and white keys.
He wrapped up his current song and seamlessly transitioned
into his own rendition of Moonglow. The slinky tune flowed from his mind,
through his fingers, and into the keys. Josh had to admit it was better with a
vocalist, but he was skilled enough to keep the melody flowing with only his ten
short fingers. Still, it wasn’t enough to keep his mind distracted from the
unruly soldiers at the bar. He wanted to be among their ranks. They were
risking their lives to keep back the red tide of communism. If the Soviet Union
could manufacture an atomic bomb, years ahead of when the U.S. expected it, who
knew what the North Koreans could be capable of. Their communist ways had to be
stopped before they spread any further.
I should be over there! Josh thought as his worked through a
complicated key change.
His mother’s favorite saying came to mind: “If wishes were
horses, beggars would ride.” His wishes weren’t any good against the military’s
regulations: People who had the vision of rhinos don’t get to join the army.
Josh scrunched up his nose to shift the large glasses, a
habit that often produced a scolding from his mother. She hated it when he did
that, but when his hands were busy with piano keys, he couldn’t exactly stop to
adjust the heavy object resting on his nose. Another hour and the old bartender
would begin encouraging the guests to leave. He had one more hour of peace.
Like himself, Josh’s mother was not proud to have her only
son working as a jazz pianist rather than representing his country in the fight
against communism. This meant most of his time away from the clubs was spent
with that one sour old woman. Josh’s father had died in the Second World War,
making Josh’s lack of military involvement all the more painful to his mother.
It wasn’t his fault the U.S. military didn’t trust him to strap his glasses to
his face. Then again, they could break. What would he do then?
Josh sighed again, his eyes drifting back over the audience
and resting on a woman with dark black hair, the bangs cropped short in the
latest style. Every woman seemed crazy for Audrey Hepburn and her current hair
style. Personally, Josh couldn’t see the draw. She was pretty, sure. But he
preferred women with a little more flare. Now Barbara Stanwyck, she was a real
woman. Josh felt his heart quicken at the thought of her, and forced his
attention back on his music.
He knew from experience that thinking about women never made
his music better.
Women. Another favorite subject of his mother’s. She
couldn’t fathom how a man could remain single while all his competition was on
the other side of the planet. Josh couldn’t seem to explain to her that no
woman, however desperate, wanted a red-haired, four-eyed man who barely reached
their shoulders. They wanted their men tall, robust, and, preferably, in
olive-drab. However talented he might be, his talents were only found on a set
of ivory keys.
Josh let out another sigh. Why must his thoughts run to his
mother and her numerous complaints? Before he could fathom an answer, he
noticed the soldiers and their dates pointing at him, their faces turning into
scowls. He knew what they were saying:
“Why wasn’t he fighting?”
“Such a coward!”
“I’m sure those glasses are fake.”
He had heard them all, and a thousand more jarring phrases.
No one would stop to ask him if his eyesight was really that bad. No one would
ask to look through his glasses to see for themselves. They just assumed he was
dodging the draft and leave it at that.
Josh couldn’t really blame them. Had their roles been
reversed, he probably would be saying the exact same thing. In his meager
opinion, there weren’t any excuses good enough to keep a man from fighting for
his country. But his opinion didn’t matter. It was the opinion of the army
doctor that mattered in this situation.
And so Josh continued to play, his fingers plunking out You
Oughta Be in Pictures on their own accord as his eyes brought his attention
back to the beauty sitting at the table alone. When she noticed his attention,
she smiled at him and winked.
Josh’s fingers tumbled over the next two measures, missing
half the notes. The woman giggled, catching his mistake. Thankfully, the other
patrons were too drunk to notice.
It wasn’t long before the soldiers left with their dates,
and shortly after that, the bartender called for the removal of those few still
sipping their drinks. Josh ended his song with a trill, his eyes on the winking
dame as she tossed a few coins onto the table and made her exit with the
others.
“Whew. Never thought they’d leave,” grumbled the bartender.
“Yep,” agreed Josh out of habit. They had the same
conversation every night at closing.
Josh stood up and stretched out his arms and shoulders.
Whether his mother wanted to admit it or not, playing for hours on end was hard
work. Maybe not as hard as the work done by soldiers and mechanics, but it
still left him exhausted.
“You needing food?” asked the bartender.
“Sure. Thanks, Walter.”
Josh closed up the instrument, locked it, and plunked the
key down on the bar. Walter would lock it away in the cash register. The
Birdland hosted some of the most prestigious artists in New York, but whenever
Walter couldn’t get someone more impressive, he filled the slot with Josh. They
had a good understanding, and Josh relied on the continuous gigs to fill his
pocket and pay his mother’s rent.
He climbed onto a barstool and dug into the food Walter
provided him, which consisted of whatever was left over from the kitchen. It
didn’t always result in a normal meal. Today his plate included a few cheese
ball appetizers, a small dab of liver paste (without any crackers), one lobster
puff, three Anchovy fillet bits, and four stuffed olives. Josh tried his best
to stomach it all with grace, but he couldn’t fathom why anyone would order
anchovy fillet bits. He smeared the liver paste over the small fish, figuring
the two nasty things would be easier to eat all in one rather than separately.
He was wrong.
Finally, when his plate was clean, he pushed it back towards
Walter, who was eating his own dinner, and slid off the stool.
“See yah on Tuesday,” he said by way of parting, as he
scooped up the dollar bills on the table, left as his pay for the night.
Walter was lucky enough to have better artists for the next
couple nights, leaving Josh free to perform at other clubs. The other clubs
didn’t pay as much, but they did provide more exposure. Besides, Josh couldn’t
afford to take a whole week off just because Walter didn’t need him.
Josh stepped out of the bar, slipped out of his tailed
tuxedo jacket, and carefully folded it over his arm. The thick June air was too
warm for the heavy jacket. The streets were mostly empty. Wednesday-night
workers were already home, most likely asleep in their beds.
It would be another hour before Josh was home in his bed; he
had a long walk back to his mother’s apartment. Most of the buses and trollies
didn’t run at three in the morning. Josh unbuttoned the top of his white shirt
and breathed another sigh of relief.
He didn’t mind the walk home, so long as he wasn’t hassled
along the way. Occasionally, some tired or drunken bloke chose to yell at him.
It was never an uplifting statement.
Josh was just beginning to hope he would enjoy a quiet walk
home when he heard a rumble from down a side street. A glance down the smaller
street showed him the group of soldiers, returning to Broadway Street after
walking their dates home. They shuffled forward, leaning on each other for
support.
He lowered his head to look at the dirty pavement and picked
up his pace.
“Hey, look! Iz the player from the Birdlan’,” said one of
the men. “C’mon back, lil man.”
Josh ignored them and forced his short legs to speed up. But
the tall soldiers, despite the alcohol flowing through their veins, easily
caught up with him. The speaker draped his arm across Josh’s narrow shoulders.
“Why yah runnin’?” their spokesman asked.
“Late night. Gotta get home,” Josh mumbled as he tried to
duck out from under the man’s arm.
“Got a lil lady to get home to? That why you’re not
servin’?”
“No.” Josh couldn’t bring himself to tell a fib, even if it
might save him from their disparaging remarks.
“So you just a coward?” asked one of the other men, giving
Josh a hard knock on the shoulder.
Josh winced and rubbed his arm. “Doc’s won’t let me. Bad eye
sight.”
Before he knew what they were doing, the men had led him
down a rather narrow side street. Once again, he tried to duck out from under
the soldier’s arm, but the drunk man was faster.
“Where ya goin’? Stay with us tonight!”
“I gotta get home,” said Josh, trying to muster up the
courage to look up at the man and make his point clear.
He got his eyes up to the man’s chin before they dropped
back to his shoes on their own accord. He was hopeless.
“I don’t much believe in getting’ outa service, meself,”
grumbled one of the other men, taking ahold of the collar of his shirt and pulling
him up until the fabric of the shirt cut into his armpits.
“Me neither. They wouldn’t,” began Josh, but he couldn’t get
his argument out.
The man holding his shirt dragged him across the sidewalk
and into a dark ally.
“It’s not my fault,” cried Josh, panic beginning to set in.
His heart raced and his chest tightened until he wasn’t sure
he could breathe anymore. Were they really going to beat him up?
As the group bumbled into the ally, their drunken movements
caused the whole mob to go down. Josh fell with them, instinctively covering
his head with his arms. The men bashed into him as they rose, each one
grumbling at him as though he had caused the fall. Before Josh could try to
rise himself, he felt a foot drive into his back.
Josh cried out with the impact and scrambled to his feet,
his tuxedo jacket falling from his arm. He glanced around, trying to find it in
the dark. While he worried over his garment, wondering where he would get the
money to repair or replace it, two hands grabbed his shirt again.
“You know how many men I’ve seen die?” asked the largest of
the men, his body swaying as though he stood on the deck of a rocking boat.
Josh looked up at him, pushing his glasses back up so he
could see the man’s face properly. The soft face was puffy and red, his beady
eyes watering as he blinked down at Josh.
“I-I don’t know, sir,” said Josh, trying to calm the
situation. “I’ve tried to enlist. Really I…”
The large man cut him off by shoving him into the grimy wall
of the ally. Josh barely kept his feet as his glasses slid back to the tip of
his nose. He pushed them back up as he regained his footing. What was
happening? Why couldn’t they understand?
“Sure yah have!” growled one of the other men.
“I’m very near sighted. I can’t see without my glass…”
“Oh you mean these?” asked the man on his right as he
reached forward and grabbed the glasses off Josh’s face.
The world turned blurry, and Josh lunged forward for his
glasses, jumping towards the wrong blob. Now, each man now looked identical.
“Wrong one,” said one of the men.
Josh saw him make a move, which he translated as a throw.
Josh turned, guessing they had thrown his glasses to another member of their
posse. He spotted a man jumping up into the air, and lunged towards him. Josh
felt as though he was back in school, the footballers playing keep away with
his glasses, only now he was even blinder, and the bullies were war-hardened
soldiers.
“So close,” chuckled the man who had caught his glasses.
He easily kept them out of Josh’s reach, not even needing to
stand on tiptoe. Once again, like the thousand times before, Josh cursed his
short stature.
“Not quite,” laughed another man as he caught the glasses
and easily avoided Josh’s efforts.
“Over here,” called one of the shorter man.
Josh hadn’t seen them throw the glasses to the shorter man,
but he couldn’t be sure either. They continued the game until they grew bored.
Finally, one of them dropped the precious glasses on the ground and stomped on
one of the lenses, the heel of his dress shoe shattering the thick glass.
Josh heard the sound of the glass breaking and felt a fire
boil inside him. Without thinking through it or worrying about his lack of
eyesight, he pulled his fist back and decked the soldier in the face.
To read more of Josh's story, Life Sucks, check it out on amazon!
For a preview of Sucked In, Book 1 of the Series that Just Plain Sucks, come back May 9th.
To continue the series, check out Sucked In, book 1 of the Series that Just Plain Sucks.
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