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He had been born on a warm summer night, wind whipping against the shutters of their dilapidated farmhouse, beating staccato as the crickets harmonized. After his mother’s echoing cries had dissipated from the canyon walls, she held him in her arms, declaring his name and his perfection. Free of the world’s heartache, free of blemishes inwards and outwards—save from a tiny freckle above his left eye. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was oddly shaped. It was not a familiar, soft smudge of dark brown like the ones along his mother’s cheeks like stones skipped in a still lake. His freckle was pointed, with concave curves connecting four points. A tiny diamond in the rough. He had been kissed by the sun in the womb, remarked his grandmother, nervously fumbling with her rosary. “Jesse,” said his mother, gently cradling his pudgy, newborn face in her hands while pressing her warm lips to his forehead, “you are already full of surprises.”
Momma called it his guiding star, probably to coax him to keep out of trouble. Jesse, remarkably, did just that. He grew up to be a kind, sweet, wild soul, helping on their ranch every day from sunup to sundown, then hopping into the bed of his friends’ pickup truck and accelerating into town. Holding onto his hat, leaning on a bucket of cattle feed, Jesse would watch the lights from the surrounding oil refineries go by and pretend they were cities. Big, industrial cities with hustle and bustle and miracles. Their quaint farming town was exactly six streets, laid out like a tic-tac-toe board burned into the New Mexico brush. It wasn’t much, but it was his life. Faster than a roadrunner’s blink, the trio of friends would leap out of the beat up Nissan pickup and race each other into the town’s only bar. Well, the only good bar. The Jumpin’ Jackalope’s storefront sported a neon sign that flickered and emitted a sickly heat in the cool desert night. Jesse was an eager moth, but one not drawn to the flashing exterior of promises. He was pulled to the warm cacophony of hearty laughs, clinking glasses, cracks of pool cues, and the raspy vintage jukebox warbling two-steps over the crowds. His friends loved the girls, the booze; he loved the exhilaration.
Someone waved him over, another slid him a glass with a swirling amber liquid, a third tugged him onto the dancefloor. Soon enough, he was stomping and twirling with friends and strangers alike, all glowing from the heat of the bar lights. Jesse was no bragger, his momma taught him better, but he would consider himself, possibly, on occasion, a pretty damn good dancer. While other sloppily, sheepishly stumbled across the boot-worn wooden floor, he moved with practiced grace and just a little confidence. He must have a natural affinity for rhythm, Jesse mused, twirling his partner with hands calloused by manual labor and guitar strings. Ever since he was young, no bigger than corn stalks in June, he had been twanging and hollering and shuffling to songs written and yet unwritten. He kept coming out here, practically every night, to ease off the day’s pressures and to be a kid for a while.
The jukebox switched records, the line-dance fading into a round of thunderous applause and whoops from the crowd. Up next was a popular pop song that drew all of the younger patrons and their friends to bump and grind on the dancefloor. One of Jesse’s friends, Devon, saw him trying to politely excuse himself to the restroom and dragged him back to the center of the room with a laugh and a, “Now where’d’ya think you’re goin’!?” The next thing he knew, Jesse was in the center of a large circle of people who were dancing, cheering, and holding their glasses above the crowd in a mock-toast to his embarrassment. Devon was handsome, knew it, and liked to put on a show. The pair danced goofily in exaggerations while they mouthed along to the words of the song. He fake-grinded on Jesse, hopping along to the thumping base while he mimicked galloping on a horse with a lasso in his hands. It was funny and harmless, and pretty soon their circle collapsed into a mesh of people all snapping and swaying to the lyrics. In the chaos of people, Jesse managed to weave off the dancefloor and find refuge from the noise in the bathroom. He looked himself in the mirror, looked down at his erection, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. God, he was so fucked. Devon was stunning, all tanned skin and lean muscles underneath his jeans. And also his friend. Jesse loved the escape of the bar, how he lost himself in the energy of the crowd, a chance to play out his wildest fantasies, but—they were still only fantasies. He felt a pang of sadness and an oncoming headache, just over his left eye. Digging the bone of his hand into his lucky birthmark, Jesse mourned. His attraction was only a joke, a play on expectations, but one day, he would make them real.
Jesse’s young adulthood aged like a photograph yellowing on the mantle, and eventually he sought out real city lights. Deep in his core, he felt a pull, a tug, a yank to drift a little further from his quaint farm life. Well, less like a pull and more like a push. Magnets of the same charge meeting and repelling. He took a chance, loaded up his truck, kissed his momma’s cheek and his grandma’s wooden cross, and headed for the coast. California—a dream-catcher interwoven with the leather of connected souls and embellished with flashing lights of sunsets glinting off shiny cars and camera lights. Jesse didn’t want to “make it big,” he just wanted to make something. Simple, pure, moving. Just like his heart, his momma said.
It’s there, in a bigger city on the golden coast, in a bar similar to but not quite like the one back home, in which Jesse finds himself. He always got reminiscent when he was about to go on for a set. From offstage (the corner of the room by the board games shelves), Jesse scanned the crowd as best he could in the dim goldenrod lighting. Linda’s was packed tonight, from what he could tell, but uncharacteristically tepid. No problem he couldn’t solve.
The bar was a pleasant deep wood brown with industrial accents, split into two levels by two steps. Closest to the door, on the lower level, lie the stage, flanked by chairs at club tables. Farther back into the room, on the upper level, lay the bar, some larger tables and booths that hugged the walls, and him with the board games. Eclectic pieces of furniture decorated the space, ranging from ornate chairs reupholstered with lime-green leather to one-of-a-kind pieces sold to them by design students at the nearby university. It was homey, to say the least, but no replacement for JJ.
Eventually, his acoustic guitar tuned, Jesse was ready. Linda herself introduced him, Jesse dragged the stool to a spot of his liking, sat down, and began to strum. His fingers gingerly caught the taught strings, making low E notes and G notes reverberate in the hull of his guitar and in the chests of his audience tonight. Even with the low spotlight illuminating him and the inner ring of guests around him, Jesse couldn’t see shit. Not even his strings. Luckily he didn’t need to.
Some nights I wanna get up here and sing a bunch’a nonsense,
but my voice isn’t good enough for bad lyrics, oh no.
This is the first song, this is the moment of truth,
if this one fails, what good will the rest do?.
Jesse loved starting the night with an original. It plainly and openly declaring who he was, his individual style, and his award-winning charm. He caught Linda’s gaze behind the bar, and she raised a glass to him before passing it off to a man waiting in a barstool in front of her. An itch formed above his left eye.
If the universe feels like it’s against you,
just take a minute to realize all it took to make you.
Your parents had to meet, as random as that was,
they had to hang out long enough at least to make some love,
have a baby, and give it your name,
and all your ancestors had to do the same.
Exponentially backwards to the start of life,
so much had to happen just exactly right.
Sparks had to catch, oceans had to freeze,
billions of cells had to survive endless disease,
civilizations had to crumble, wars had to get fought,
bad presidents had to get elected, good presidents had to get shot,
people had to leave, hearts had to get broken,
people had to die just so your eyes could open.
Some hoots and hollers broke out through the crowd. Times were pretty shitty, so he was glad to provide a little comfort or validation. As over-the-top as it may be, people night after night seemed to really need it. He scanned the bar quickly, seeing a group of coworkers shuffle in through the door, heading to the vacant bar.
The universe is not against you, the universe is not against you,
it went through a lot just to give you a chance;
it must have wanted you to be here pretty bad
no pressure though, no pressure though
it must have wanted you a lot but
no pressure, bro
You don’t gotta be perfect,
you don’t gotta be a saint,
just don’t waste it—
this was not a mistake.
Jesse finished up his song, harmonica solo still ringing in the air, and smiled as the crowd applauded. He tipped his hat with gratitude. “Thanks for lettin’ me get a little preachy, y’all. Just make sure you enjoy yourselves tonight. If you need me, my name’s Jesse McCree. Thanks for coming out.”
The night continued fairly uneventfully, save for a few people who messily but jovially danced at the base of the stage to his song, Deadeye. “Whew,” he said, grabbing a drink of water. “Y’all had me sweating with that one! I wrote that a few years back when I was missing home and upset that no one in LA knew how to really dance. I was beginning to think all of California was hopeless, but Santa Cruz, you proved me wrong.” The crowd erupted in hearty cheers, completely transformed from their earlier lukewarm attitude. He flashed a winning smile, mentally flipping through his setlist. What next?
Then, it happened.
It was so, stupidly cheesy. Time slowed, tipsy from the warm atmosphere, flowing and pooling like honey through this small, stolen moment. His eyes unfocused, only to refocus on about the most gorgeous man Jesse has ever laid eyes on. A classic Hollywood filter appeared around him in his imagination, caressing the hard edges of the stranger’s jaw with soft, diffused light. Oh, and the lights—the spotlight reflecting off his wooden guitar bathed him in a golden-cherry glow. His itch got worse, and he winked his eye, trying to shake it off. In an instant, everything soured. Oh, fuck. He just winked at the beautiful man. You absolute idiot. Fuck. Fu—and then the impossible happened.
He winked back, a smile easing across his lips like a cat stretching in the morning sun. God, it was unfair to be so effortlessly radiant.
Against his better judgement—no, against literally all his mental faculties, Jesse decides to follow with a cover.
Hey, hey, hey—
I got a condo in Manhattan,
baby girl, what’s happenin’?
You and your ass invited,
so go ‘n get to clappin’—
The crowd cheers their appreciation, some people standing up to dance around their seats. Jesse’s percussive thumps on the body of his guitar matched his pounding heart. He relished the look on the man’s face, eyebrows shooting upwards from his nose bridge piercing towards his inky black hair. His mouth had fallen open just a tad, reasonably shocked at Jesse’s blatant audacity. But, Jesse noticed, there was a slight twinkle in the other’s eyes that tempered his shock. The man pursed his slips, smiled again, and mini-toasted him after a sip of his drink. He was so fixated on observing the man that he finally resurfaced at the coda.
You say you want a good time,
well here I am, baby, here I am baby,
talk to me, talk to me, talk to me
talk to me, tell me what’s on your mind,
if you want it, boy come and get it,
all this is here for you.
Tell me baby, tell me, tell me baby,
what you’re tryna do.
Cool jewelry shining so bright,
strawberry champagne on ice.
Lucky for you, that’s what I like,
That’s what I like.
Sex by the fire at night,
silk sheets and diamonds all white.
Lucky for you, that’s what I like,
That’s what I like.
With that last double strum, Jesse finished his set. “Thank y’all again for comin’ out and letting me borrow your ears for a while. Hope to play again for you sometime.” Over the applause, he stood up, gave a sheepish bow and a wave, and exited the stage.
Jesse didn’t even have time to be nervous or overthink what would happen after his obvious flirtation—the man snuck up on him while he crouched underneath a table to retrieve his guitar case.
“Hello,” said the man.
Even though Jesse knew who it was, it startled him, causing him to bang his head against the underside of the table. “Ow! Oh, fuck. Er, howdy.” Jesse rubbed his forehead, standing up to his full height.
The other was a little shorter than him, even when wearing nice, chic leather boots. His face was utterly breathtaking, decorated with a few piercings, a single freckle above his left eye, and saying something. Jesse shook his head comically. “Sorry, sugar, what was that?”
“I said, my name is Hanzo, since you were just about to ask me,” he repeated with a mirthful smirk.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet ya. I’m Jesse, but you probably heard that during my set” Jesse said, extending his hand and nearly shivering when Hanzo took it. “I promise I’m more charming when I have some food in me. Right now you’re getting low blood sugar Jesse.”
Hanzo laughed, and the skies parted. “What a creative way to ask me out to dinner.”
“Naw, I didn’t plan that, I swear!” He must have looked visibly distraught, because fate blessed him with another laugh. “But, I would love to have dinner.” Jesse paused, hoping his suggestion wouldn’t scare Hanzo off. “There’s a really great place just up the block. It makes excellent, and I mean the best fuckin’ grilled cheese west of the Pecos, and great sweet potato fries, but it’s not exactly first...date material. There’s probably other places I can think of if that’s not okay—“
He was rambling, and Hanzo snapped him out of it with a hand-wave. “No, that sounds great. I love grilled cheese! What can I do to help you finish up here?”
Jesse nearly tripped over himself with excitement, but managed to snap his guitar case shut and slide it out of sight without hitting his head again. And jeez, it still hurt. “Nothin, darlin’. I can leave it here with Linda—most of this stuff is hers anyways—and then I’ll swing by to pick it up in the morning.” He hopped back up with a lop-sided grin. “Ready?”
And so the pair meandered down a quaint street that bordered a college campus, weaving in and out of the paths of passersbys. The summer night was pleasantly cool and called many other couples to enjoy the perfect date-night weather. Walking with a complete stranger through a nearly-foreign city, Jesse felt more at home than he had in years. There was a deep magnetism that drew him to Hanzo, something instinctual and more powerful than the tectonic plates they strolled across. They kept bumping into each other in playful flirtation. Hands swinging and meeting; barely touching fingertips whispered an electric promise.
“Hanzo?” Jesse suddenly asked, underneath the pink and blue neon of the sandwich shop’s sign.
“Hm?” Replied Hanzo, letting his hand fall from its reach to the door. “What is it? Are you really worried about going here? It sounds amazing.”
“No, no, it’s not that.” Jesse said, meeting his gaze with softness. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but can I kiss you? There’s just something about you that I—“
Then, it happened. Hanzo was already kissing him, both hands cupped around his scruffy jaw, tenderly pressing his lips to Jesse’s. Time slowed down. His breath caught in his throat, their freckles aligned. And he knew he had found the one.