Original -- Carrying Capacity (Repercussions)
Title:
“Sorry, but you have understand that it’s kind of difficult to see any of this in a positive light.”
Only half paying attention to the conversation, Kale twisted the bolt of his guitar, plucking a string and adjusting the tuning. The wall behind him was slick, constantly wet despite the lack of recent rain, and with a chill the musician could feel the moisture seeping through the thin material of his shirt. With most of his days and evenings spent on the street, playing short catchy tunes in the hope of garnering small but much needed tips from passersby, he was beginning to run out of dry clothes. With Marcus, the primary breadwinner of the household gone, Kale was finding himself increasingly strapped from money, despite the savings his boyfriend had left behind. No matter how much money Marcus had squirreled away, it simply wasn’t enough. Food, when Kale managed to find it in one of the few supermarkets left in the city, was growing more expensive by the day, and before long he found himself unable to afford even the bare essentials. Even with his desire to keep up with what he could, the rent would no doubt go unpaid, and Kale knew it was only a matter of time before he too became a squatter in his own home. His efforts to find a job had proved fruitless; as qualified as he might have been, the positions simply didn’t exist. Most businesses were struggling to merely hold on the staff they had; the thought of hiring anyone new was the last thing on their minds.
With a sigh, Kale laid his guitar across his lap, opening his case in front of him and simultaneously nudging his friend to the side. In the past few years he had become admittedly consumed by his life with Marcus, but even still he managed to hold on to a few of his childhood friends. Aware of his emotional turmoil and financial struggle, they had taken to keeping him company during the long hours he spent out on the streets. There wasn’t much they could do for him; their own struggles to stay afloat occupying whatever resources they may have. To Kale, it was a completely understandable situation, and he held no grudges.
Looking down with a smirk, his friend stepped to the side, helping push the case in place with his foot. There was already a dollar in change scattered across the velvet bottom of the case; coins planted by Kale himself to help motivate strangers to spare whatever money they could.
“But you know, Kale, the crazy doctor has a point. Just think of how many people were able to eat because of Marcus. Rich people, poor people…maybe even you or me.”
With a clatter, Kale’s guitar rolled from his lap and onto the pavement as his hands flew up to cover his ears and block out the statement. “Stop! Just stop, okay? I don’t even want to think about that!” The thought alone was too much to bear, and on more than one night Kale had found himself awakened from a restless sleep with an overwhelming urge to vomit. It was a difficult truth that he would eventually have to come to terms with, but for the time being he chose to ignore it in favor of dealing with his more immediate wounds.
“Sorry. But you have to think of the positive at a time like this.” Awkwardly, his friend settled to the ground beside him, picking up his guitar from where it lay abandoned and handing it back to the distraught musician as he leaned against the wall. “Look, don’t think about Marcus right now. Just focus on your music tonight.”
Morosely, Kale accepted his instrument, brushing the loose gravel and dirt from its face before repositioning it in his lap. He plucked a few strings, a haunting, disjointed tune echoing around the buildings above them before fading out. “That’s easy for you to say, Shel, but how can I not think about him?” With the beginnings of a song in mind, he played a few notes, his mind far from where he was. “It’s just one of those things. One minute he was there and everything was fine, and the next…I never even got…”
“The chance to say goodbye?” Shel finished, raising his eyes to follow the path of a taxi as it passed on the street. “Come on. He knows how you felt. It wasn’t like you left your feelings unsaid or anything. How many times a day did you tell him you loved him?”
“A lot…”
“Exactly.” Looking back, Shel gripped Kale’s shoulder, half in an attempt to comfort him and half in a bid to shake him from the depressing thoughts he knew were running through his friend’s mind. “He knew you loved him, so in a way you didn’t even need to tell him good bye.” Releasing Kale’s shoulder, he directed his attention to his watch, making note of the time with a cringe. It was later than he had originally thought, and unfortunately, he was going to be forced to leave Kale on his own for the remainder of the evening. “I gotta split. If you’re still going to be out here later I’ll come back though.” He got to his feet with only a little effort, brushing the dirt off of his pants as he did so.
Kale shrugged, his playing momentarily forgotten. Shel did make a very good point, but even so the reassurances did little to numb the pain. Time was the only thing that would help him heal now. “I’ll be here.” He answered, repositioning himself on the ground to find a more comfortable position. “I’ll make sure to at least hang around until you get back.” As much as he wanted to just go home and curl up in his now too large and empty bed, Kale knew that the longer he stayed out the better chances he had of making enough money to get through the next few days. If he had to, he would stay all night, playing for the drunks who could still afford to go drinking and the men and woman returning home from late night minimum wage jobs. When dawn came he would return home and grab a few hours of necessary sleep before returning to the streets and finding a new place to sit and play.
“Alright. Be careful then. I’ll see you in a few hours. Good luck my friend.” With a final parting wave, Shel stepped away, careful not to disturb Kale’s guitar case as he made his way down the street.
For several seconds, Kale just watched him leave; his footsteps growing softer as the sound was swallowed up by the buildings. Sitting alone on the street at night was horribly, desperately lonely, and with every passing moment he found himself missing his boyfriend more and more. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he dragged his fingers along the strings, drawing an echoing sound that filled the silence around him. If he was going to make any kind of substantial money he was going to need to focus and play as well as he could. In such hard times, no one was going to pay for sub par music, no matter how generous they were. After a few seconds of contemplation, he settled on a song. What he had in mind was far more somber that what he usually played, but with the mood he was in he could not imagine being able to play something more upbeat. His heart just wouldn’t be in it.
Nimbly, his fingers moved across the fret board, pulling the notes from the instrument with practiced ease. Before long, he was completely immersed in his playing, the worries and cares about his life slipping away. The numb ache and constant memory of Marcus was still present, but the pain was tinged with the recollection of happier times. He loved playing, knew Marcus loved his playing, and that helped to ease the pain.
Few people passed on the street, slowing as they took in the music, but unless Kale heard the distinctive clink of coins in his case, he paid them no mind. Even so, he made sure to thank each and every person that gave him even so much as a few spare pennies left over from breaking a dollar. Even the smallest amount of money could be crucial to being able to eat another day, and to think that complete strangers were willing to donate to him in exchange for the few short seconds of music they were able to hear touched him.
Slowly his mood began to improve, the heaviness that had gripped him earlier dissipating. Still, he maintain the somber tone, the slow dramatic music seeming more and more fitting for the night ahead. After hours of playing he could feel his hands begin to begin to cramp up, his fingers growing stiff with each passing note. Between songs he began to take short breaks, never more than a minute or two long, just enough to crack his knuckles and shake out the numbness. He simply couldn’t play like he used to anymore; the hardships of his day to day life taking their toll on his body. Even though he wasn’t even in his mid-twenties, there were days when he felt twice his age. Despite his growing exhaustion he played on, refocusing his attention on his music and blocking everything, including passersby, out in favor of keep his attention on the movement of his fingers on the strings.
He was midway through one of his more complex compositions when a sudden intense pain gripped him. It radiated up from his abdomen; his insides twisting and cramping without warning. The unexpected pain caused him to gasp, the song cutting off with a harsh note as he clutched at his stomach. The best he could manage were short, shallow breathes, his head bowed as he waited for the pain to pass. By now he was familiar with the feeling of extreme hunger pains, and while they came infrequently, they were nonetheless excruciating.
It took several seconds for the pain to disappear, but to Kale it might as well have been hours. As the twisting in his stomach disappeared, he straightened up, letting out a deep breath and trying to compose himself once again.
“You alright down there?”
The unexpected voice brought his attention back to where he was, and with a little confusion he looked up, focusing on the man standing over him. The stranger was well dressed, his suit un-crumpled despite the late hour. There was a look of mild confusion on his face mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity, so Kale just nodded. If the man couldn’t figure out what was wrong, then he was just dense. Taking hold of his guitar again, he shrugged noncommittally.
“I’m fine.” He muttered, plucking out a few random notes as he tried to make up his mind about what to play next. The way the man was staring at him wasn’t exactly frightening or creepy, but nonetheless he didn’t like being watched so closely.
“You aren’t going to finish that song?” The man asked, his eyes darting between Kale’s lowered face and the movement of his fingers on the strings.
“No. Probably not.”
With a shrug, the man dug in his pocket, withdrawing his wallet and dropping a few bills into the open case. The movement was blasé, as though he was used to handing out money in such a way. “A shame. I liked that one. Good luck.” Without another word he continued on his way, stepping past Kale and making his way down the street.
When Kale could no longer hear his footfalls on the pavement, he risked a look up, pausing in his playing to peer into the case and see what the man had left. As his eyes fell on the two new bills laying among the change, his jaw dropped open. At the most he expected to have received a dollar or two; the two crisp five dollar bills lying on the bottom catching him completely off guard. Raising his eyes, he looked down the street, trying to catch sight of the man who had left him such a gift. Whoever the guy had been, he was obviously wealthy beyond measure; no one else could afford to spare so much money.
Stuffing the bills into his pocket before anything could happen to them, he shook his head, looking around to be sure no one had seen.
“Holy shit.”
Genre: Romance, horror, humor
Summary: It's not easy being green...or poor.
“Sorry, but you have understand that it’s kind of difficult to see any of this in a positive light.”
Only half paying attention to the conversation, Kale twisted the bolt of his guitar, plucking a string and adjusting the tuning. The wall behind him was slick, constantly wet despite the lack of recent rain, and with a chill the musician could feel the moisture seeping through the thin material of his shirt. With most of his days and evenings spent on the street, playing short catchy tunes in the hope of garnering small but much needed tips from passersby, he was beginning to run out of dry clothes. With Marcus, the primary breadwinner of the household gone, Kale was finding himself increasingly strapped from money, despite the savings his boyfriend had left behind. No matter how much money Marcus had squirreled away, it simply wasn’t enough. Food, when Kale managed to find it in one of the few supermarkets left in the city, was growing more expensive by the day, and before long he found himself unable to afford even the bare essentials. Even with his desire to keep up with what he could, the rent would no doubt go unpaid, and Kale knew it was only a matter of time before he too became a squatter in his own home. His efforts to find a job had proved fruitless; as qualified as he might have been, the positions simply didn’t exist. Most businesses were struggling to merely hold on the staff they had; the thought of hiring anyone new was the last thing on their minds.
With a sigh, Kale laid his guitar across his lap, opening his case in front of him and simultaneously nudging his friend to the side. In the past few years he had become admittedly consumed by his life with Marcus, but even still he managed to hold on to a few of his childhood friends. Aware of his emotional turmoil and financial struggle, they had taken to keeping him company during the long hours he spent out on the streets. There wasn’t much they could do for him; their own struggles to stay afloat occupying whatever resources they may have. To Kale, it was a completely understandable situation, and he held no grudges.
Looking down with a smirk, his friend stepped to the side, helping push the case in place with his foot. There was already a dollar in change scattered across the velvet bottom of the case; coins planted by Kale himself to help motivate strangers to spare whatever money they could.
“But you know, Kale, the crazy doctor has a point. Just think of how many people were able to eat because of Marcus. Rich people, poor people…maybe even you or me.”
With a clatter, Kale’s guitar rolled from his lap and onto the pavement as his hands flew up to cover his ears and block out the statement. “Stop! Just stop, okay? I don’t even want to think about that!” The thought alone was too much to bear, and on more than one night Kale had found himself awakened from a restless sleep with an overwhelming urge to vomit. It was a difficult truth that he would eventually have to come to terms with, but for the time being he chose to ignore it in favor of dealing with his more immediate wounds.
“Sorry. But you have to think of the positive at a time like this.” Awkwardly, his friend settled to the ground beside him, picking up his guitar from where it lay abandoned and handing it back to the distraught musician as he leaned against the wall. “Look, don’t think about Marcus right now. Just focus on your music tonight.”
Morosely, Kale accepted his instrument, brushing the loose gravel and dirt from its face before repositioning it in his lap. He plucked a few strings, a haunting, disjointed tune echoing around the buildings above them before fading out. “That’s easy for you to say, Shel, but how can I not think about him?” With the beginnings of a song in mind, he played a few notes, his mind far from where he was. “It’s just one of those things. One minute he was there and everything was fine, and the next…I never even got…”
“The chance to say goodbye?” Shel finished, raising his eyes to follow the path of a taxi as it passed on the street. “Come on. He knows how you felt. It wasn’t like you left your feelings unsaid or anything. How many times a day did you tell him you loved him?”
“A lot…”
“Exactly.” Looking back, Shel gripped Kale’s shoulder, half in an attempt to comfort him and half in a bid to shake him from the depressing thoughts he knew were running through his friend’s mind. “He knew you loved him, so in a way you didn’t even need to tell him good bye.” Releasing Kale’s shoulder, he directed his attention to his watch, making note of the time with a cringe. It was later than he had originally thought, and unfortunately, he was going to be forced to leave Kale on his own for the remainder of the evening. “I gotta split. If you’re still going to be out here later I’ll come back though.” He got to his feet with only a little effort, brushing the dirt off of his pants as he did so.
Kale shrugged, his playing momentarily forgotten. Shel did make a very good point, but even so the reassurances did little to numb the pain. Time was the only thing that would help him heal now. “I’ll be here.” He answered, repositioning himself on the ground to find a more comfortable position. “I’ll make sure to at least hang around until you get back.” As much as he wanted to just go home and curl up in his now too large and empty bed, Kale knew that the longer he stayed out the better chances he had of making enough money to get through the next few days. If he had to, he would stay all night, playing for the drunks who could still afford to go drinking and the men and woman returning home from late night minimum wage jobs. When dawn came he would return home and grab a few hours of necessary sleep before returning to the streets and finding a new place to sit and play.
“Alright. Be careful then. I’ll see you in a few hours. Good luck my friend.” With a final parting wave, Shel stepped away, careful not to disturb Kale’s guitar case as he made his way down the street.
For several seconds, Kale just watched him leave; his footsteps growing softer as the sound was swallowed up by the buildings. Sitting alone on the street at night was horribly, desperately lonely, and with every passing moment he found himself missing his boyfriend more and more. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he dragged his fingers along the strings, drawing an echoing sound that filled the silence around him. If he was going to make any kind of substantial money he was going to need to focus and play as well as he could. In such hard times, no one was going to pay for sub par music, no matter how generous they were. After a few seconds of contemplation, he settled on a song. What he had in mind was far more somber that what he usually played, but with the mood he was in he could not imagine being able to play something more upbeat. His heart just wouldn’t be in it.
Nimbly, his fingers moved across the fret board, pulling the notes from the instrument with practiced ease. Before long, he was completely immersed in his playing, the worries and cares about his life slipping away. The numb ache and constant memory of Marcus was still present, but the pain was tinged with the recollection of happier times. He loved playing, knew Marcus loved his playing, and that helped to ease the pain.
Few people passed on the street, slowing as they took in the music, but unless Kale heard the distinctive clink of coins in his case, he paid them no mind. Even so, he made sure to thank each and every person that gave him even so much as a few spare pennies left over from breaking a dollar. Even the smallest amount of money could be crucial to being able to eat another day, and to think that complete strangers were willing to donate to him in exchange for the few short seconds of music they were able to hear touched him.
Slowly his mood began to improve, the heaviness that had gripped him earlier dissipating. Still, he maintain the somber tone, the slow dramatic music seeming more and more fitting for the night ahead. After hours of playing he could feel his hands begin to begin to cramp up, his fingers growing stiff with each passing note. Between songs he began to take short breaks, never more than a minute or two long, just enough to crack his knuckles and shake out the numbness. He simply couldn’t play like he used to anymore; the hardships of his day to day life taking their toll on his body. Even though he wasn’t even in his mid-twenties, there were days when he felt twice his age. Despite his growing exhaustion he played on, refocusing his attention on his music and blocking everything, including passersby, out in favor of keep his attention on the movement of his fingers on the strings.
He was midway through one of his more complex compositions when a sudden intense pain gripped him. It radiated up from his abdomen; his insides twisting and cramping without warning. The unexpected pain caused him to gasp, the song cutting off with a harsh note as he clutched at his stomach. The best he could manage were short, shallow breathes, his head bowed as he waited for the pain to pass. By now he was familiar with the feeling of extreme hunger pains, and while they came infrequently, they were nonetheless excruciating.
It took several seconds for the pain to disappear, but to Kale it might as well have been hours. As the twisting in his stomach disappeared, he straightened up, letting out a deep breath and trying to compose himself once again.
“You alright down there?”
The unexpected voice brought his attention back to where he was, and with a little confusion he looked up, focusing on the man standing over him. The stranger was well dressed, his suit un-crumpled despite the late hour. There was a look of mild confusion on his face mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity, so Kale just nodded. If the man couldn’t figure out what was wrong, then he was just dense. Taking hold of his guitar again, he shrugged noncommittally.
“I’m fine.” He muttered, plucking out a few random notes as he tried to make up his mind about what to play next. The way the man was staring at him wasn’t exactly frightening or creepy, but nonetheless he didn’t like being watched so closely.
“You aren’t going to finish that song?” The man asked, his eyes darting between Kale’s lowered face and the movement of his fingers on the strings.
“No. Probably not.”
With a shrug, the man dug in his pocket, withdrawing his wallet and dropping a few bills into the open case. The movement was blasé, as though he was used to handing out money in such a way. “A shame. I liked that one. Good luck.” Without another word he continued on his way, stepping past Kale and making his way down the street.
When Kale could no longer hear his footfalls on the pavement, he risked a look up, pausing in his playing to peer into the case and see what the man had left. As his eyes fell on the two new bills laying among the change, his jaw dropped open. At the most he expected to have received a dollar or two; the two crisp five dollar bills lying on the bottom catching him completely off guard. Raising his eyes, he looked down the street, trying to catch sight of the man who had left him such a gift. Whoever the guy had been, he was obviously wealthy beyond measure; no one else could afford to spare so much money.
Stuffing the bills into his pocket before anything could happen to them, he shook his head, looking around to be sure no one had seen.
“Holy shit.”
Genre: Romance, horror, humor
Summary: It's not easy being green...or poor.