Musings of a simple man

A delivery truck rumbled by as Scotty shuffled along Third Avenue. Half drunk and half hungry, he cursed himself for not parking closer to the club. It had been a busy night and his shirt was still damp with sweat. He accelerated onto the freeway. Traffic was nearly non-existent. Scotty fished in his pocket for a cigarette. The pack was empty. Son of a bitch! I need a god damn cigarette! He tuned in the late-night jazz show, turning up the volume. A half hour later he stumbled into the house.
Scotty poured a cup of stale coffee into a dirty cup, shoved it in the microwave and checked his voice mail. “Hey Scotty! It’s Lou. I was gonna catch ya at the club but I had to finish a remix at the studio. Gimme a call. God dammit, don’t shine me on. Call me!”
Piss on him! He’ll get paid when I’ve got the god damn money. Scotty scowled and stumbled, tripping over a pair of dirty trousers. He riffed through some chords, trying to capture the tune haunting him for a week. The notes were elusive. He swore loudly and tried again.
It was mid-afternoon and Scotty’s awoke to another dreary day. He stared at the ceiling, blowing smoke rings into the air. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Damn! Rehearsak’s in half an hour. I’m gonna be late sure as shit!
“You mean this is all you got?” Jerry scowled. “Dammit Scotty! God dammit! You promised me all the material by tomorrow. How the hell you gonna do five arrangements between now and then?”
“Fuck you, Jerry. I been jammed up. You want the god damn arrangements done, do ‘em yourself.”
Scotty slammed the door and walked down the alley. Jerry was right. Normally he’d do the arrangements in less than a week. There was something wrong. Every time he started to work on an arrangement his mind wandered and he’d hear that same haunting tune. He was sure he’d heard it before.
Music was in his head constantly. It had been since he was young. Scotty played piano before he started school and had his own blues band in high school. He scored cover arrangements and wrote most of the music for the bands he played with. It had come to an end, like part of his brain short-circuited.
Sipping a cold beer and chewing on a roast beef sandwich, Scotty watched traffic creep past the window. Salty’s Diner had been his sanctuary for years. He was there when Helen took their son and left. It was where he came after his father’s funeral. Salty sauntered over to the table and sat down.
“Hey Scotty.”
Salty was a giant of a man, old and grizzled. He’d given Scotty his first job. Over the years their friendship had deepened. Salty was a stabilizing influence in Scotty’s life after his father died.
“Looks like you’re have’n a down day.”
“Aw, it ain’t no biggee, Salty.” Scotty wanted to explain but he didn’t know where to begin.
Salty peered intently at his young friend. “Ya know what you need? A day at the amusement park. Your dad used to do that when things was weigh’n heavy on him.”
“Ya know, Salty, I just might do that.”
Scotty left the diner feeling better. Salty had a way of doing that. He always seemed to know what to suggest and most of his suggestions worked.
The next day Scotty was waiting in the crowd when the gates opened. The smells of cotton candy, buffalo wings and greasy hamburgers filled the air. Scotty found a spot of grass near one of the rides and sprawled out on the grass. A steady stream of people wandered by, carrying recently-won stuffed animals. Scotty loved it here. It worked for him. It had worked for his father. Scotty stood up and made his way to the row of games lining one side of the midway. He watched people throwing darts and baseballs, trying to win one of the many worthless prizes.
“Hey hey! it’s your lucky day! C’mon mister, give it a try. Three balls for a buck. You’re a winner. I just know ya are!”
Scotty smiled and handed the barker a dollar. He squinted at the metal milk bottles stacked on a crate and threw the first ball. Thebottles flew in all directions.
“Hey! We got a winner, folks. Think you can double your luck?”
Scotty let fly with the second ball. Again he was successful. It may have been a fluke. He wasn’t sure. He drew back and threw the last ball. Again the bottles scattered. Holy shit! Ain’t life grand? Scotty was feeling much better.
He walked up the midway toward the parking lot. Women who passed by him smiled. Scotty pondered the appeal of stuffed animals. He unlocked the van door and sat behind the wheel. Scotty felt a strange sensation as he sensed the presence of his father. He shivered slightly and slowly drove away.
Sunday nights the Longhorn featured all-night jam sessions. Scotty looked forward to it. He never knew what musicians might drop in and the club was always packed with patrons. Tonight was no exception. There were enough musicians in the house to keep music playing well after closing time.
Shortly after midnight a slender, young man with long, flowing hair took the stage, carrying a battered guitar case. He opened it and gently extracted his instrument, handling it like a newborn child. Scotty was intrigued. Something about the way the musician handled his guitar reminded Scotty of his father. It was eerie.
The young man introduced himself to the band. His name was Stevie and he was from nowhere in particular and just passing through. His demeanor exuded shyness as he seated himself on a stool and began to play. Stevie played tune after tune. His music was like molten steel. Stevie turned to Scotty with a haunting expression. “I think this tune’s yours.”
He launched into a haunting melody. The bar was quiet as the music poured out like thick, warm syrup. Scotty was frozen, unable to move. It was the song he’d heard playing in his head for days. Scotty began to play and the band joined in. Bar patrons sat listening intently. No one danced. They were hypnotized. Stevie and Scotty shared solo after solo, one building on the next. As the song concluded Stevie leaned over and whispered to Scotty. “It was your father’s song. He never had a chance to play it. Now it’s yours.”
The young musician returned his instrument to it’s case and disappeared into the crowd. The barroom dissolved into a blur and disappeared. Scotty felt a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home son. You been gone too long.”