People Watching Part 27 - I Can Make It If You Can
They’d started going out about three months ago – he and a
few mates were s’posed go to a gig downtown and as usual had met up at the
Italian Café. It was a wild night. Whipping in off the sea, the wind was
channelled along the streets of Boomtown, driving the rain and picking up the
litter from the pavements, lifting it high into the air before slamming it down
on the wet tarmac.
They were sat round their favourite table, their wet coats hung
on the backs of the chairs - steaming in the warm coffee-tinged air. A small untidy heap of 50p coins was being
used to feed the jukebox, stoking their arguments with almost tribal intensity. It was the same every time - each of them
trying to outdo the other by playing what they thought were the coolest
songs. But they never agreed and as the
night wore on, voices would be raised and once or twice, it had come to blows. He had wondered why the music meant so much to
them that fists could fly? But at least
the music gave them a focus for lives that otherwise seemed pretty pointless.
That night, the music had another purpose - nearly drowning
out the raging howl of the storm outside.
It was only when the café door opened, that everyone was brought back to
reality as the storm filled the small cosy space with its sound, its rage, its
fury. He’d seen the three girls hanging around
town before. Maybe it was something
about their wet, windblown look that night that made him look again and as he
did so, his eyes caught hers. Full of bravado
from their arguments over music, the lads dragged up three extra chairs,
inviting the girls to join them round the jukebox. Acting coy in the face of the predictable pantomime
of loudly muttered and inuendo-filled comments, the girls accepted – at least
they wouldn’t have to pay for their coffee tonight.
She’d sat in the chair he’d deliberately placed next to his
own – an unspoken invitation that she seemed happy to accept, and while the
group’s banter ranged around them like the storm outside, they talked. At first the conversation fumbled but quickly
they picked up the subject of music – after all, what else was there to talk
about? It turned out, she liked some of his
favourite songs and with that small thing in common, it felt like they had all
they needed.
Their months together had dragged, probably because after
the first week, he’d known this wouldn’t last. It seemed that their desire for
a warm, safe haven that stormy night and their love of a few songs, was all
they had in common. He was bored to
tears and as they sat there in her smallish flat, he couldn’t help his thoughts
turning to his last girlfriend. He’d
been with her for a couple of years and they had been so close……it nearly
killed him when she moved away with her family. The girl beside him could sense his mood and tried
to raise his spirits by talking about the future – their future. Didn’t she know that if you wanted a future,
you had to get out of Boomtown - sail away from the east pier and never come
back? He had no faith in anything right
now, especially their love – if that’s what they’d been sharing for the past
few months. In an instant he knew. Knew they couldn’t hold on. Knew that if they kept seeing each other,
he’d just be stringing her along. Knew
he’d be going home alone that night.