“Hey, man, can I borrow that for a minute?” The recipient of the request, a tall, bearded guy who had just come down from the small stage and was on his way back to his group of friends, looked around at Cappie. He glanced hesitantly down between the ring-fingered hand resting on his shoulder and the guitar held loosely by the neck at his side, then shrugged and nodded. Cappie smiled his thanks and took the proffered instrument. He’d noticed the gap on the line up sheet soon after the Open Mic night had begun earlier that evening but he’d felt sure it would get filled sooner rather later. Open Mic slots at Dive were always fully booked, usually before the performances had even started. When, after an hour, it was still there, he’d made a deal with himself that, if no one had stepped in by the time the preceding act took to the stage, he’d have a go.
It was busy, as it always was during Open Mic nights, and he’d half expected Abe to tell him to go take a running jump when he’d had a quiet word about his plan but the older man had simply mumbled something about gum duty before consenting with a nod and a scowl.
So that was that. With the guitar in his hand, a five minute slot on the line up with his name on it and the rest of the night off work, Cappie had run out of reasons not to take to the stage.
His Breckentale alter ego had felt entirely at home on stage and even the real him had never been a wallflower when it came to performing to an audience but this, playing a song that he’d written (well, the Breck version of him anyway) about a real (Breck real) experience, was something altogether more scary. Even the Rioters had mainly stuck to the songs they’d penned together, rather than using Cappie’s solo attempts. Was he mad for doing this? He didn’t even like talking about his emotions; why did he think that singing about them would be any easier?
“Get on with it,” someone yelled jovially from the audience and Cappie realised that he’d come to a stop mid-way through climbing the three steps onto the small, corner stage
“Hey, you can’t rush genius,” he called back, hoisting his composed facade back into place as he stepped up to the mic and slipped the guitar strap over his head. It felt very strange to have a guitar back in his hands again. It felt foreign but very familiar all at the same time. He quickly strummed a few chords and was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t left the knowledge of how to do so behind in Breckentale.
“Okay, here goes,” he breathed, the private moment unnervingly amplified by the microphone. He gulped then began to play.
~
Cappie couldn’t hold back the grin on his face as he stepped down from the stage amid the applause and whistles. It was the first time he’d smiled - really smiled - in days. The bearded owner of the guitar he was still wearing approached him and clapped a large, heavy hand down on his shoulder.
“Nice song, man. It yours?”
Cappie nodded proudly as he handed the guitar back, still feeling a little dazed.
The crowd, which had parted to let him down from the stage, slowly closed back in behind him, engulfing guitar man and leaving him on his own near the bar as the next act started to play. Before he’d clocked off, he’d left a paid-for beer open behind the ice bucket and he leaned over to retrieve it before taking a seat on a bar stool. He wasn’t sure how he felt at that moment. He was buzzing from the performance and the audience’s reaction but it was tinged with sadness. The song had been about Octavia. He’d written it years ago in Breck, before he’d started dating Rebecca, back when there had been obstacles in their way but, ultimately, hope. After the other day, though… Well, she’d made it clear that there wasn’t any hope for them here. All he could do now was get the fuck over her. He guessed singing songs about her probably wasn’t helping.