![]() Rebecca smiled, but was solemn opposite of Marcus’ light tone attempt. So tell me about yourself Rebecca, Marcus chuckling, since I actually don’t know anything about you, thanks to Jeanie. Who actually left here saying, you know what, I’ll buy one of these. Marcus thought about how overpriced they were. The dimly-lit restaurant was adorned with second-rate paintings of valleys and horses. A kind of woman whose looks blew out the lights and confidence shut the door and pictures circulated military barracks on a calendar. Marcus thought how Rebecca was really quite extraordinary, a character perfected from a 60’s stereotype. ![]() Marcus knew this place would cost him, but so it was, he knew he could afford it. They knew it’d begin now officially, and so it did with have you been here before, everything sounds good on the menu and two wines. A right this way and they went to their table, smiles, thank you’s and menus. The simple how are you’s and I hope you weren’t waiting long and did you find it okay transpired timidly.Įntering the restaurant. In simultaneity, expressing their pleasurable acquaintance. To his right was a woman, dark woven hair and olive complexion and large blue eyes. The time, when it came, his fame and recognition, would shut up the world and the talkers and the laughers.Īre you Marcus, asked with an intonation somewhere between unenthusiastic and somewhat enthusiastic. So he would fantasize these conversations a lot and practice his perfect response, which he never had, since when these incidences happened, it was always a slightly different situation and wordage. When he knew he’d have to explain who he was and what he did, he spent a lot of time envisioning their criticisms or backhanded comments surrounded by subtle passive aggressiveness making it difficult and or awkward to rebut. Marcus anticipated criticism from others. However he wasn’t sure if he should regret the life choices he made which could have led to a better paying job. Regret was never a word associated with his music. Generally Marcus got along well with others, but harnessed a lot of quick anger, which he bottled. He was good at convincing people he was content and calm when he actually wasn’t. Marcus always wondered how people perceived him and feared assumption regarding his person, which meant an affable expression was commonplace amongst the place between his engaging green eyes and square stubble chin. One of the priests and Marcus made eye contact. Marcus’ attention came back to anticipate the figure who’d emerge, but was two brothers of the cloth. His job was utilitarian.Ī taxi pulled up and the door opened. His work was his music, and it was a life’s work. Typically, people viewed his craft and artistry in a positive light, but he often found that non-artistic individuals had difficulty understanding the differentiation between his work and his job. I’ve always been playing and I always will and being a janitor is just to pay the bills. A gifted composer, trumpeter, and pianist, he rode peaks of blaring confidence and valleys of self-doubt. These mock conversations rambled on inside his head. Marcus was heading south back to Los Angeles and was convinced by their mutual friend to stop through to meet Rebecca for dinner. Diverting his eyes from above to his phone, he received indication that there was still about ten minutes until Rebecca Abell would arrive. Their measureless reason, moving through the sky from this fixed perception. ![]() On the edge, hunched forward, his arms lay across his knees, the stars among their empyrean bed. Marcus sat on a bench in the main street park of Ojai. The soft shaking of the trees from the planet’s natural breath. The sun bowed out giving way to fresh crisp air, an indication of Autumn. But his lips to the mouthpiece, synchronicity of the band, produced utopian sound. Dry mouth, the initial silence of the room that precedes the beginning of play. Nervousness rising from toes to a tingling head. Marcus Breck was recalling stepping on stage the first time. ![]() Then successively, each a blare in order, one two three, then two three one three four with the line through, beat ripitum boom, ba, riptum boom, now hear it a little faster, just a little faster, lips to instrument, trumpet, three valves, infinite notes to jot to sing to blow, perched lips, fat cheeks, cosmic energy of the union, the intertwined with keys of ivory. He mainly works on short fiction and poetry. It is published with the permission of the author.ĭaniel Alvarado is a writer and cyclist from Los Angeles, California. “Dizzy Moods,” a short story by Daniel Alvarado, was a runner-up in our 38th Short Fiction Contest. ![]()
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