Commission ExpandeD piece

It would almost be amusing how out of place he looks if it wasn’t so sad. 

The Guest of Honor. 

The Most Talented Classical Musician to come out of the great state of Kentucky.

Or at least that’s what the program I snuck a peek at said. I didn’t get a chance to read any more before a patron tucked it away, back into what I presume to be a rather expensive clutch. But I did get to see the photo of him that they placed on the front. He looked refined.

Which is nothing like how he actually looked in this very moment. Which I’m guessing is how he actually is, judging from…everything about him.

Because there he was. The Musician. Standing (no pressed up) against the wall, like he wished it would absorb him. Take him away from this place. It’s obvious how uncomfortable he is, the grimace on his face large and pronounced. Plus, I’m pretty sure if he holds that glass in his hand any tighter, it’s going to break in his grasp.

Poor man’s completely out of his element here.

It’s a black-tie event yet he’s in an ill-fitting navy suit, muddy boots, and mussed dark hair. I can tell it used to be neat before he ran his hands through it. Something he had been doing since he walked into the room.

“Pardon me Bartender.”

I turned to face a woman that definitely belonged in this crowd with her finely tailored gown and tightly coiled chignon. So tight that I could see her scalp pulling back. Couldn’t possibly be comfortable but I suppose she’s used to it. Or she’s got so much Botox in her face, she can’t feel anything.

“May I get a martini please? Perfect?”

I nod as my attention moved from him to the task of preparing the drink, casually conversing with the woman as I do.

“Did you enjoy the concert tonight?”

She nodded as she fiddled with the pearl and diamond necklace adorning her neck. “Yes actually. Although I’m surprised to see that’s he’s so…”

She glanced over at The Musician; the man still rooted in his spot on the wall. This time a small group of people have surrounded him. Somehow the grimace has gotten even bigger. I'm surprised nobody's reprimanded him for looking so-

“Not as expected.”

I placed the now finished drink in front of her.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked curiously.

“I thought he would be a bit more…refined. Like he’s a classical musician but he’s dressed like some…dirty cowboy or something.”

She huffed before she took a drink. “His performance was lovely, but I was just so distracted from how boorish he looked. I understand he’s from the country and all but that’s not an excuse to dress like you’re from there you know?”

She took another sip, this time humming appreciatively.

"But I suppose when you're as talented as him, you feel like you don't have to abide by any societal etiquette."

 She didn’t say any more, just simply dropped a few bills in my tip jar, then walked off with her drink.

With a shrug I started cleaning up, gaze examining the room for The Musician once more. He was still in his spot, the crowd even bigger now. At least he’s attempted to look like he’s enjoying the attention. But I can see the tenseness in his shoulders from here at the bar. Hopefully he’ll loosen up eventually. All that tension can’t possibly be healthy.

And it lasted most of the night. As the party went on and the one crowd left him and another came, he just stayed in his place, trying his hardest to be cordial.

Throughout this I had a few people come to my bar wanting drinks. So many passed through that when I was finished, I saw that the man was gone from his perch on the wall.

I took a quick glance around. He seemed to be completely gone from the party. Did he finally get tired and leave? I wouldn’t have blamed him. I can’t wait to leave. Wonder what straw broke the camel’s ba-

“’cuse me Barkeep.”

There he is. The Musician Fella, sitting at the end of the bar, mostly hidden in the shadows. Finally free from all the attention. Guess he wanted a drink before he left. His face was slightly more relaxed now.

This probably wasn’t what he was expecting when he agreed to perform tonight.

Just a simple show, then he’d be able to relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor. Eat expensive food and drink expensive wine. Converse and mingle like everyone else. Get a taste of the finer things in life.

 But no, the show didn’t stop. The performance never ended.

I went to him.

“Yes sir. What can I get you?”

He held up his wine glass. The one I’m surprised he didn’t break. “Another one of whatever they’ve been serving in this glass.”

I grab the bottle and pour him another. I can tell wine’s not his usual drink of choice, judging from mild frown on his face when he took the first sip. Not quite alike the one he’s been sporting for most of the night. When he sighs, it’s wistful.

“What am I doin’ here?” he asked, mostly directed to himself. “I don’t belong in a place like this.” 

I opened my mouth to answer but he kept going. This time he was speaking to me, brown gaze faraway. “I’m just a boy from Kentucky with a taste for Classical music. Much too uncouth for a place like this.”

He chuckles bitterly as he takes another sip paired with a disgusted groan. “But hell, I didn’t really fit back at home either. Everyone thought I felt like I was too good for them. Or like I was some creature they had never seen before.”

He downed the rest of his glass.

“Both places make me feel like a zoo animal. Just something to gawk and awe at.”

Pity filled me as I took in the man. He seemed so…lost.

I motioned to ask if he wanted a refill. He nodded against his better judgement. Don’t know why he doesn’t just ask for something more his tastes. He thanked me quietly, swirling the dark red.

“I just want to fit in somewhere.”

I hummed as I toss the now empty bottle in the trash.

“Maybe you weren’t meant to fit in. Best of both worlds and all that.”

The Musician froze. I did as well. Did I overstep? Here I go trying to analyze some man I’ve never met before. 

Typical bartender. But luckily it seems like he wasn’t offended.

Instead, he looked curious, his head slightly tilted.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I tapped the spare program some patron let on the counter.

“You’re certainly talented, the way you blend both Bluegrass and Classical is quite impressive and apparently quite revered by audiences.”

He rubbed at his arm, smiling shyly.

“So why would you want to fit in here or there? Make your own space.”

Fella’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. Did the idea really never occur to him?

Nonetheless, it seemed like one he appreciated.

“Well then.”

He downed the rest of his drink. Fella chuckled lightly as he held up his wine glass.

“You got any whiskey?”