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Michael stepped out into the crisp air and shivered. The days were getting shorter, the nights colder and even after finishing another small gig, he still had not enough to get around to a hotel room. Zipping up his hoodie, he carried his small equipment to a small, rusted Toyota and packed it up in the trunk, slamming it close.
“Hey, kid!” A voice called out behind him. Michael turned and saw the shop owner standing at the door. He quickly strode over to him to see what he wanted. “You forgot this.” The man, a kind looking fellow with a big, ginger beard, held out his hand and Michael saw a $20 bill in his hand. He smiled slightly.
“Thanks.” He whispered, and went back to his car. He got in the driver’s seat and turned the engine on, it fighting back until he raged at his and it finally came on. He put it in reverse, not looking at his back seat, and drove around the city of Austin, looking for a quiet, dark place to park.
He found one and turned the car off and locked the doors before crawling into the back. A defeated sigh left his lips and he laid down in his back seat where a makeshift bed was place.
This had been Michael reality for the majority of the year. His landlord back in May had place an eviction notice on his door and gave him a week to move his stuff out because he wasn’t able to afford his rent. Having no friends in the area to take him in, Michael had to make do by living out of his car.
The only thing he had going for him was his violin. It was a black, sleek and electric, and it was his soul and his passion. With violin in hand, and his small amp and portable batter in the other, he busked every day when he could, choosing different street corners and intersections that were pedestrian heavy. And on occasion he would go into cafés and ask if he could play for a bit. Most times he would be denied, but it still never hurt to ask.
A pounding on the door startled Michael awake, him sitting up fast and banging his head on the driver’s seat. Rubbing his eyes clean, Michael looked out the window at an angry man with a handle bar moustache. Once the man saw he had Michael’s attention he pointed to a sign that stated he was not allowed to park there.
“Since you’re in….poor conditions, I’ll let it slide this time. But don’t fuck up here again asshole.” The man growled at him, although the effect was lost as his voiced cracked part way through. Michael just nodded and yawned, quickly covering his mouth. He crawled back into the front seat and started his car up and drove around a bit, looking for a new part of town to busk in.
Meanwhile, an older man sighed as he hung up his phone, annoying spreading over his features. Ryan Haywood, owner of Edgar’s Bar, was upset. He had a gig coming in later, an up-and-coming band that paid for his space, but their opening act had just called him to say they had broken up and was unable to do the show. He lowered his head into his hands and sighed deeply.
“I need to get going.” He mumbled, grabbing his jacket and his store keys and made his way to his bar. It was a short walk, one that he usually enjoyed taking daily. Today though, there seemed to be a fairly large crowed right on the corner. The closer he walked, he could hear why; someone was busking, and they sounded really good.
As Ryan stopped to watch, he was amazed. This young man had only his violin, a speaker and a portable battery, and a switchboard it looked like. He started to play a series of staccato eighth notes in a melody that sounded very familiar. Once he did this for a few measures he stopped, but the notes kept going. He quickly put the bow in his mouth and started to rhythmically hit the strings, creating a bass drum effect. Combined, the two sounds created a great tune. Taking the bow back into his hand, he gracefully pulled it over the strings, electing long and drawn out notes beautifully. Once that part was done, he immediately layered into the same notes, only a few pitches higher to create harmonies.
When Ryan thought he was done creating and adding in the layer, he went and did another, this time drawn out quarter notes. It was with this that the song became clear. The man plucked at the string, piercing off beat notes to the quarters and went back to hitting the strings some more. Combined, all the sounds created a cacophony of music, but to Ryan, it was magic to his ears.
The lead of Hey, Soul Sister finally started to play forth from the violin and everyone else gathered around cheered, finally recognizing the tune. People sang along as the man played, systematically pushing on the petal at his feet to play the different sounds he recorded.
It was magic.
Soon, the song came to an end and people hurried to drop money in his case. The man smiled at them kindly and Ryan clapped, walking up to him.
“You play well. What are you doing out here busking?” he inquired, watching a young girl place a fiver in the case. The man turned to him, glaring.
“What I do is none of your fucking business okay?” he growled out. Ryan took a step back and held up his hand in a surrender motion.
“Whoa there. No need to get feisty. I was just… My opening act cancelled on me and I need a new one and, hell, you’re amazing and I’ll pay you to come play? Now?” Ryan asked, holding a hand out to the man. The other guy looked between his hand and his face before slowly grasping it.
“Sure. Names Michael Jones.” He introduced. Ryan nodded.
“Ryan Haywood. Now, if you’d pack up your gear, my shop is just around the corner.” Ryan gestured and Michael nodded, hastily pocketing his earnings and packing the violin away. Ryan grabbed the amp and battery, which Michael smiled thankfully for. The crowed aww’d and boo’d that Ryan was taking him away as they walked side by side in silence.
They arrived at the bar and Ryan showed Michael where he could set his things and get ready for later. Michael nodded and set his things down before asking where the bathroom was. Ryan pointed to the back of the place and Michael took off with a spring in his step. He was finally able to wash up a bit better than usual.
He must have taken longer than what was usual, for there was a knocking on the door.
“Everything alright in there?” Ryan’s voice inquired through the door. Michael quickly grabbed some paper towel and dried his face before opening the door.
“Yeah. Everything’s peachy.” He replied, pushing by the older gent. Ryan frowned, but didn’t say anything, just looking around the bathroom before turning back.
Soon enough, the band came and Michael was up to play and the crowed started to come in as he started. He played his violin amazingly, his songs fun to guess as he set them up. Different songs from pop to videogames and even some classical. An hour and a bit later he bowed and left the stage as the main band set up.
“You know,” Ryan spoke softly as Michael ordered a beer, “If you want you can crash at my place if you’d like.”
Michael choked on his drink, his face red as he looked up to Ryan.
“Excuse me?” he replied, his voice rising in pitch.
Ryan just shrugged. “Well, I mean, it’s not that hard to put two and two together ya know? Busking on the streets and cleaning yourself up in my bathroom? Let me do something for you. Give you a place to rest at night.” Ryan persuaded.
Michael stared at Ryan intently before taking a swig of his beer
“It would…be nice. But you need to let me help out somehow. I’m not a fucking freeloader.” He finally replied. Ryan grinned.
“Excellent, and don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you be.”
Michael just gave him a small smile as the band played well into the night.