Travis and Melissa pass through a fountain of coolness that is the solid stone arch in front of 283, and as she sidesteps him to let him open the door, she opens him up too, by taking his hand for a just long-enough second before she bounces in front of him, illuminated by a thin neon light arcing over them both. Travis smells frying food from one of the restaurants down the street before he heads in behind her.

“Oh!” he says, acting surprised. “This is where it gets better!”

“I’m afraid.”

“Nah.”

As they move inside, they are pleasantly surprised to find that the bar reflects their moods. Mostly green, mostly empty, and mostly jazz, though at the intersections of these sensory dimensions there is clear room for turning them all up if desired. The bar seems to be quietly nodding off to sleep; with restless talk.

Travis sets his guitar case against the bar, and gently grabbing the gin bottle from Melissa, he puts it up on the bar. “How about two Sapphire and tonics, Harris?”

Harris says, “How was the show?”

“Welllll. It was a special night,” and he winks at Melissa, who blushes.

“Excellent.”

Melissa asks, “This is when it gets better?”

“Well… it’s free.”

Melissa crushes one eye in disapproval. “Girls always drink for free.”

“Only the pretty ones.”

She slaps his shoulder.

“Well, what did you think ‘better’ meant?”

“I didn’t think it meant me carrying the bottle,” rolling eyes, crossing her arms.

“La tee da.”

With the drinks they sit down to a quiet, padded booth; a semi-circular alcove off from the bar, off from the speaker, but opposite from a large wall-length mirror, which makes for flirtatious games of glances.

“Do you live off of your shows?”

“Nope”

“So what, do you have a job or something?”

“Uh. Nope.”

“Must be nice.”

“Well, I shouldn’t say I have no job. I do stuff to get money. It’s just not exactly like work.”

“That sounds clandestine.”

Innocently, “Clandestine?”

“You ‘do stuff’? That’s not supposed to sound like you’re in the mob or something?”

Travis smiles and lights a cigarette as coyly as he can. “Can’t tell ya’.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Strictly top secret.”

“So what? Am I going to get shot hanging around with you?”

“What!? No, no—nothin’ dangerous. Stupid stuff.”

“I’m safe then?” She’s actually serious.

“Seriously? I’m hardly dangerous. You’re really worried?”

Quietly, “You know, I don’t actually know who you are.”

“Look, I’m not exactly proud of it—I mean, I am really proud of it—for pulling it off…”

She waits for him to gather his words, in disbelief that there’s actually some kind of underbelly.

“I make fake IDs.”

It takes a second and then she guffaws.

“Hey, it’s… you know… kinda’ serious.”

“Oh yeah. You’re a real don.”

Melissa spins her straw in her drink for a minute, thinking about something. Travis lets her, smoking his cigarette. “It’s kind of funny,” she starts, and then pauses again, debating whether to say what she is thinking. “I’ve been going to the Engine Room a lot.”

Travis nods seriously. “That is strange.”

“No.” She pats his arm, thankful for his playfulness. But she says like he should know, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah?” She looks at him until he looks back and then she holds his stare for a moment.

“Oh.”

“It’s just—” she replies—another thing he should already know. “We never finished what we started.”

“Oh yeah,” Travis replies, looking out into the mirror opposite the table.

She looks at the mirror, into his reflection’s eyes, “Exactly.”

Smiling, he turns back to the real Melissa and says, “I’m not sure I’m the same person I was when you met me.” He gets quiet, “Hell, I think I knew you before I knew you.”

Leisurely, sipping from her glass, she says, “Talk.”

“I don’t know. Something’s been eating at me.”

“Did something happen to you?”

“What? Bad?”

“Yeah.”

Travis laughs. “Nothing bad ever happens to me.” But then slumps a bit. “Nothing actually bad.”

“Nothing?”

“You know, there’s bad, tragic, and then there’s just unfortunate.”

Crossing her arms, Melissa inquires, “And how do you keep bad things from happening to you, Mr. Fleeting?”

“Well, Miss…?”

“Keller.”

Travis nods. Melissa Keller. “Well, Miss Keller, when something bad happens to me, I enjoy it. Voilá.”

Melissa giggles. God, she thinks it’s stupid but she giggles. Travis is an amateur magician, declaring his vanishing trick amazing after throwing the coin under the table with a loud clank. She can’t make light of her thoughts, but she’s glad he can.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Musing, Melissa ventures another question, skeptical, “Then why such an empty song, Travis?”

He looks down at the table, then the mirror, tries to smile at her, but can’t. It’s so simple, so easy, so hard, so trivial, but all real. When he looks up, Melissa does not recognize his face. The cheeks are hollow, the jaw line slack, no smile. He looks at her with a plea in his eyes and speaks as quickly as he can, “I’m alone.”

Melissa touches his arm. Shocking him with her touch, almost from out of the mirror, proof of the moment, “Maybe more people are listening than you think.”

Travis looks at her hand on his arm. “No. It’s not who’s listening. I mean, it’s who’s listening, but… I have to love them. It needs to be my friends. I don’t want my love to become some kind of disheveled work—some kind of fame.” —the horror— “It’s not my place.” A warmth comes over him, an old anger and the warmth of defiance against the judges. His own words surprise him then, as the music so often does. “My place among the stars is reserved. I will cry for all eternity there, but not while I am still alive.”

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Athens, clandestine, jazz, Melissa, saffire and tonic, Travis Fleeting