Chapter 14 The Song of Doom #2
“That was just recharging our energy.” I chuckled as I got up.
“Come on, let’s get dressed.” I had spent so many years away; it would be interesting to see some of the downtown places I used to frequent before they closed.
Now, with the diner newly renovated, I wondered what else might have changed.
“I’d love to go downtown, if that’s okay with you. ”
“Aren’t you worried someone might see us again?”
“No? We just have to keep our hands to ourselves. And if we run into anyone, I’ll tell them what I told my parents—that I’m here to study. No one can deny me a break.”
“That... sounds reasonable.” Alex slapped his hands on his thighs.
“Okay. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a place downtown I like to go to recharge sometimes.
If you want, I’ll show it to you.” He winked at me and reached for his pants, which were still lying on the floor by the door from when he’d tossed them there two days ago.
When I lived here, I would go downtown every now and then. It was only about a twenty-minute walk down the hill if you knew all the shortcuts through people’s backyards.
We didn’t hold hands or anything as we climbed through bushes and cut across yards. We didn’t even talk much. But we stole glances that made me smile so hard I had to rein it in whenever someone drove past or noticed us walking by.
Eventually, we reached the old town hall, the only building whose doors and windows weren’t boarded up.
Downtown had never been big—just two streets with ten to fifteen stores each.
But seeing all of them empty and abandoned like this twisted my gut more than I expected.
It was a sunny day, warm enough to be out in just a shirt, and fifteen years ago, this place would’ve been full of people.
“I still remember when everyone came here after work,” I said as we strolled down the sidewalk. “Not even to shop, just to meet friends or get some ice cream.”
At least the trees planted along the sidewalk weren’t dead. All of them had grown leaves, the green a perfect contrast to the blue sky.
“So, this is where I wanted to take you,” Alex said.
We stopped in front of an old bar that my family and I used to frequent years ago.
The sign above the entrance was gone, and the windows were covered with faded newspapers.
Alex scanned the street before pointing to a small passageway on the left side of the building.
He led me between two brick walls toward the back.
Hidden behind the building was a paved area with four tables covered in a decade’s worth of dirt and a few metal chairs chained together. Moss covered the walls, growing wild and rampant.
“I feel like one of those urban explorers on MyTube,” I giggled, keeping my voice low.
“It gets better.” Alex turned to the glass back door. Next to it was a broken window that allowed us to see into a dark, winding corridor. He reached through the hole and fumbled around with practiced ease.
A second later, a click rippled through the air, and the door creaked open.
Holding it with only the tip of his index finger, he led the way, gently pushing the grimy glass so I wouldn’t have to touch it as I slipped inside.
Alex’s decisive step pulled me after him.
As the door fell into its frame behind me, a little dust fell from the ceiling onto us.
The smell reminded me of my grandparents’ attic.
The walkway led us past the restrooms on the left and into a dining room that was still fully furnished.
Framed pictures were left hanging on the walls.
On the right, next to the covered display windows, there was a bar with nine stools in front of it.
The dark green paint on the wooden countertop had already peeled in places.
The empty shelves that had once held all the bottles of alcohol still reminded us of the better days this place had seen.
On the far left was a small raised platform that had been either a seating area or a stage, depending on the day you came, but it was now stacked with tables and chairs, leaving only a narrow strip to stand on.
I remember coming here to listen to people play their guitars for everyone to enjoy; my grandpa had sometimes been one of them.
“This is my secret refuge,” Alex said, lifting his hands to show it off as he walked onto the stage. “I come here whenever I feel a little lost. I don’t know why, but being here always clears my mind.”
“When I was young, this place was bustling with people.” I wandered toward the bar and ran my fingers over it, regretting it right away as they turned black from all the dust that had settled on the countertop.
My eyes drifted across the barstools. The third one looked like it had been cleaned recently.
I walked over to it, skimmed it carefully, and seeing that my fingers didn’t turn black, I sat down.
“So what do you do here when you feel lost?”
“Not much… Sitting around, looking at the pictures on the walls, maybe scribbling down some words or singing to myself.”
“So you do sing?”
“Doesn’t everyone sing sometimes?”
“I mean, I know I do. But you mentioned so often that you hated your voice that I didn’t expect you to still do it.”
He hid his hands in his pockets. “Just because I hate my voice doesn’t mean I can’t sing for myself every once in a while.”
“Can I hear it?”
“What for? You’d just hate it, too.”
“How do you know? Maybe I’ll be the first person to like your voice. I certainly enjoy listening to you speak.”
“You said yourself that speaking and singing voices aren’t the same.” Alex stood on stage like a lost child who wanted to sing but didn’t have the courage.
“I’ll give you a kiss if you sing me a little song.”
“As soon as we get back home, you’ll give me a lot more than a kiss, even if I don’t sing,” Alex laughed.
He probably wasn’t wrong.
We stared at each other for a few seconds, and just as I was about to tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to, he sighed. “Okay, fine. But don’t be harsh.”
He swallowed, raised his head, and opened his mouth.
It took a few seconds before his voice filled the room.
The emptiness of the place gave it a soft reverb.
He was shy and held back the strength he could reach with a little practice, but his voice wasn’t as ugly as he made it out to be.
On the contrary. It made me question whether I should really be the one to sing his songs.
With a voice like this, he could easily do it himself.
The words and melody he sang were new to me. It was a ballad about a man’s hopes for a woman’s future. The chorus hit me hard:
“All you deserved / more than I could afford.”
So many of his songs seemed to be love songs, but when you read between the lines, there was so much more. They were full of hurt, yet still hopeful about the future. Words I could never have written. Melodies I could never have come up with.
As he repeated the chorus, his voice gradually quieted, though he didn’t stop.
I put on an encouraging smile, and only then did I realize I had started humming along again without noticing.
When he reached the chorus again, I joined in as the catchy line was still stuck in my head.
“All you…” I sang with him.
Alex faltered on the next note. Our eyes locked.
I nodded toward him and quieted my voice because I didn’t want to outshine him.
Just then, he found his rhythm again. Our voices joined, growing more enthusiastic with each shared note.
The muscles in his neck tensed as he leaned into it and let it all out.
“… deserved / more than I could afford.”
The song ended with the chorus, and I clapped. As his only audience member, I gave him the loudest applause I could. I cheered as if I had a hundred hands to clap with. Alex looked at the floor, blushing. It only made me applaud louder.
“You’re incredible! Why did you hold yourself back?”
He stepped off the stage and moved around the bar as if he were just a waiter who didn’t know how he had ended up in the spotlight in the first place. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Why would I? Just to kick myself out of the band I so desperately want to be in?”
“I could never do that without you. My voice isn’t nearly as beautiful as yours.”
“But your songs are at least ten times more beautiful than my voice.”
He glanced up, frowning, but I wasn’t having it.
“I’m not kidding,” I quickly added. “When you stood on that stage and sang, I questioned why I was even here with you. What would someone as talented as you need me for? I’m just a has-been who can hold a note and strum a few chords on a guitar. You, on the other hand, have got real talent.”
“What are you saying?”
“That you should try singing your own songs, too. Believe me, if you’d heard what I just heard, you’d think differently about yourself. With some training, you could do all of this on your own. Not that I want you to, but you could.”
My words made his shoulders slump.
“That’s not true,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t be where I am right now without you.
I wouldn’t have written that many new songs in such a short time if it weren’t for you.
I wouldn’t finally have demos I always wished I could produce.
And”—his voice broke—“I wouldn’t have had so much fun doing this.
Until now, it was more like an escape. But ever since I met you, it feels like I have a purpose.
I want people to hear the voice that turned my life upside down. That voice is yours.”
He shivered. His legs trembled as if they might give way at any moment.
I was probably not as good at encouraging someone as I’d thought.
“Hey, come here.” I got up from the stool, rushed around the bar, and opened my arms. He fell into me right away, letting me hold him.
“I’m not saying you should do this alone.
It just means we can think about doing duets, too.
We should try that. It could enhance some parts where we felt something was missing. ”
“We could give it a try,” he mumbled, resting his head against my chest. “But I can’t promise anything.”