We started booking it across the parking lot. “WHAT WAS THAT??!?! WHY!?! JUST WHY?!? WERE YOU TRYING TO GET THIS OUTCOME?!?!” I shouted.
“Save your breath. We’ve got to RUN!” We ran down a side ally. I was getting tired. Composers aren’t known for their athletic ability. We zigged and zagged for at least 5 blocks. I couldn’t keep up. I stopped.
“Not here!” She hissed. “Can’t you hear the sirens?”
I could. I started running again. After another block I could go no further. I collapsed against a wall and slid to the ground.
“Get up you pussy!” She yelled.
“Nice... (pant pant) thing... (pant) to say (pant) to a (sigh) Suicide (puff) case! (huff)”
“Sorry! Get up you wuss!”
“(Huh) Better.” Suddenly, out of the shadows comes a thickly accented voice:
“Pssst. Hey you two. Are you the reason for the sirens?”
So Branwen comes out with a “Who wants to know?”
“Someone who could help.” says the mysterious voice. Whoever it was was hard to see. They were standing in a darkened doorway to what appeared to be the back door to a small curio shop.
“Branwen, how do we know this isn’t a trick!”
“Shhh.” she says to me, then to the mysterious voice she says “How do we know this isn’t a trick?”
“Hey, that’s what I just said!”
“Shut up! He could help us!”
“Or kill us and leave our bodies in the dirt!”
“Says the suicide case.”
“You people know I can hear you, correct?” Says the mysterious voice. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that the voice belonged to a twenty-ish-year-old man. He was very, very black. Just dark.
“Sorry” we say.
“Do you want my help or not?”
I look at Branwen, sigh, and nod.
“Yes please.”
“Then get in here, I hear footsteps.” I heard them to. We rushed forward.
Once he had shut the door, I asked “What’s your name?”
“Agwe. I heard her name is Branwen. What is yours?”
“Nehemiah. It’s Hebrew.”
“Agwe is Haitian. That’s where I’m from.”
“Branwen was a tragic Irish heroine.”
“So how did you two get in trouble with the police?” Agwe asked.
“Grand theft doughnut.” I said. “We didn’t pay for our breakfast.”
“Ah. Still hungry?”
Branwen smiled. “No thank you. He stole our fill.”
“Good, good.” He smiled back at her. “I’m very glad.”
I didn’t think I liked this guy. He had a certain coolness to him. I felt a bit jealous as I saw Branwen start to flirt with him. I didn’t really know how to flirt; this man seemed to do this all the time. He was well muscled, I was lanky and thin. I had asthma, knock-knees, and slight scoliosis. He was tall, had a dimpled chin, and stood straight. He was everything I wasn’t.
But at least he probably wasn’t musical. No doubt he was an artless person. He probably spent all his time working out…
My hopes for him were dashed as we walked in to the next room. We could begin to see that we walked into a music room, covered in instruments. If he owned the shop he must be an instrument seller by trade, and I hadn’t met one yet that couldn’t at least read music. That meant that he must be at least partially musical.
I asked him, “Is this your shop?”
“No, it is my late great uncle’s”
“Did you inherit it?” asked Branwen.
“My brother did a few years ago. I only came to this country about a week ago.”
“You said you were Haitian. Are you a refugee from the earthquake?” I asked.
“Yes. I brought my father and mother with me.” Branwen smiled at him approvingly. Apparently she liked family men. One more thing Agwe had that I didn’t. “Would you like to meet them?”
“Yes we would.” said Branwen. I did too for some reason. I think it had to do with the fact that they were refugees. That kind of adventure was something I had never experienced. I had to admit (to myself) I was curious. I wanted to experience some culture, for I had never even been out of D.C. Life gets boring when you’re the sheltered artist type. One day I wanted to see some of the world besides my own backyard.
“Hey, would you like to hear some of our music? We play here on Wednesday nights,” said Agwe, shattering my last hope that he wasn’t musical. “You’re already in the building so you wouldn’t have to pay to get in.”
Before I could answer with a snide ‘no thank you.’ Branwen piped up.
“We would love to, wouldn’t we, Nehemiah!” I enjoyed her saying my name so much I didn’t think to refuse.
“Good, good.” responded Agwe. “Come meet my family.”
We walked up some wrought iron spiral stairs to a green-painted room. I could smell something spicy cooking. Yum. Whatever it was smelled good.
Agwe yelled, “Mother, I have company.”
There was a flurry of activity in the next room. A tiny woman burst through the doorway like a tidy hurricane. She picked up all in her path and set in its correct place. She said with an accent, “Agwe! Why didn’t you tell me we had company? The place is a mess, I haven’t done my hair and makeup today, and I only made dinner enough for…” Then she caught a glimpse of us. “Oh… I made dinner enough for them. Look how thin! They won’t eat much!”
“The house is wonderful, you look wonderful, dinner smells wonderful.” Said Agwe. “Don’t worry yourself, Mother.”
“Oh, you good boy, you’re just saying that. Who are these young guests?”
“This is Branwen, and this is Nehemiah.” Said Agwe.
I said, “Its Hebrew.”
“Branwen was a tragic Irish heroin.” She said.
“I am Agwe’s mother, Felicite Alpuente.”
“Pleased to meet you.” We mumbled politely.
“My husband Simon is in the other room. I’ll go get him.” She bustled out again. Through the thin walls we could hear. “Simon, we have company! Agwe’s new friends!”
When they walked back into the room, I could sense a kind of yin-yang quality to the two. Where Agwe’s mother was a buzzing bee, his father was as cool as a cucumber. He was calm and collected, and he moved with a kind of understated power. I could see who Agwe got his looks from. They were doppelgangers, except for the father’s white hair.
Agwe nodded gravely to his father. “Father, this is Branwen, and this is Nehemiah. Branwen, Nehemiah, this is my father, Simon Alpuente.”
Branwen muttered, “Pleased to meet you.”
I offered my hand. “How do you do.” We shook.
“Good morning. What brings you to our home?” Simon asked.
“Agwe invited us to listen to his band,” said Branwen.
“We were running through the ally when we met him.” I said, not wanting to lie. “We were escaping from the police. We didn’t pay for our breakfast.”
Simon looked at me evenly. “So you are criminals.” Agwe looked uncomfortable. Branwen looked terrified.
“I wouldn’t say that-“
I interrupted her. “Yes sir.” Somehow, I didn’t think lying to the man would be helpful to our cause.
“Well, any man as honest as you are is welcome in my home.” He said, breaking into a smile. “Have a good time with my son.” Then he left the room.
Agwe smiled uncomfortably. “And that was my father. Let’s move back to the ground level. Good bye Mother.”
We walked back down the stairs. Branwen asked me, “Why did you tell him that. He could have called the police.”
“But he didn’t.”
“He could have.”
“But he didn’t.”
Branwen glowered at me. I glowered right back.
“My father has that effect on people,” said Agwe, without looking at us. “Don’t fight. He wouldn’t have called the police for guests in his home.”
I nodded. “I got that impression from him.”
Branwen sighed. “I don’t like trusting strange people.”
Agwe and I stared at her. “Branwen, you trusted me enough to come talk to me, even though I was a crazy person going to jump of a pier. You don’t even know me.”
“You don’t know me either. I am some face from an ally to you. I would say that perhaps you are too trusting,” said Agwe.
“Just so you know, this kind of thing doesn’t happen all the time. I reached out to Nehemiah so that he wouldn’t kill himself, and with him-” she stopped. “I’m not usually so trusting.”
As I wondered about what she was going to say, we came again into the music store.
“We will be playing here tonight, from nine till everyone falls asleep,” said Agwe, smiling. “Usually that takes all night. I will bring some couches in here, and we have a bar on wheels that we will use. No one will go without a drink.”
Branwen smiled. “Is this a public showing or just friends?”
Agwe gave her a look and a smile that sent me writhing in jealousy. “Hopefully not just friends.”
Branwen blushed. I wished I knew a cool line like that. Agwe just oozed charisma and charm. I had never been around girls enough to pick up on stuff like that. I hadn’t even had any friends to learn pick-up lines from. Being a shut-in had it’s disadvantages. Instead of just going with the flow on that though, I grumped. “Huff.” Said I.
“What.” Asked Branwen.
“Oh… nothing.” It was my turn to blush. “Something caught in my throat.” Having someone better-looking and more charismatic than me is hard pill to swallow. No wonder it got stuck.
Agwe seemed to catch on to my discomfort, finally. He looked uncomfortable, which seemed to be something of a constant so far. “Nechemiah, why don’t you help me move these dividers away? There on wheels, so…” Was he assuming I was a weakling? He was correct, but I would have to defend my honour in front of Branwen. Luckily for the both of us (Mostly me) he recovered quickly. “So… you can carry more than one if you want to.”
We started to move around the furniture. We left all the instruments on the walls, but the ones out on display we put in a small back-room. We took down the dividers, which were quite easy to move, and we placed cushions and couches in strategic places. The front desk was on a raised platform, so we took that down by unplugging the ancient computer and dragging the desk into the back. With all that cleared away, and a few beers set out on a wheeled bar, it looked like a pretty cool place. There was enough awesome guitars on the walls that they didn’t need decoration. The place looked fun. Agwe grabbed a small hand-made sign from the back and hung it on the front door. It read: “The band’s playing tonight” in big red letters. Within ten minuets the joint was jumpin’.
“Wow. Agwe sure knows how to throw a party.” Said Branwen. I had to agree. “Lets go get some drinks, shall we?”
“Branwen! Neither of us is twenty-one!” I was shocked.
“So? This is a party, isn’t it?”
“Its illegal, and you will rot your brain!”
“Goddess, you sound just like my mother! Its not like we’re doing heroin, Take the stick out of your butt.”
I had to agree with her on that. “Well, bottoms up then!” I grabbed one off the bar and took a swig.
