Chapter 8

The bar hadn’t changed a bit in the years I’d been gone. Some of the regulars that came when I would sneak in were still showing up, mostly older gentlemen. Each had their own drink that I’m sure had a backstory. As I took my seat at the bar, I nodded a greeting toward Eileen, the waitress who eventually figured out John and I weren’t of age but let it slide. In the years since we met, she’d slowly become more involved in local politics. I think she was starting a mayoral campaign.

“It’s just not as lively as it used to be in high school,” John admitted, interrupting my thoughts. He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t my dream, but it sure has become my passion. I’ve kept this place open all on my own.” I smiled as he handed me my beer.

“You’ve done a great job,” I said. “It needed a good guy like you as the owner.”

“I’ll drink to that.” As we toasted, an older man came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw a familiar face.

“Billie!” Paul addressed me by my fake ID name. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you in these parts. I see you in TV all the time though!”

I gave him a hug and laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it’s no secret I’ve been busy.” I looked down at the beer in my hand and thought of my sobriety. Three months down the drain. It was worth it.

“Say, do you still play the piano?” It was a question I hadn’t been asked since I became famous. There was a perfection to my music, one that could only be created by a computer. But the answer was yes. I looked at the grand piano sitting in the corner of the room. “Sing us a song.”

“I take good care of it. It gets tuned every year,” said John. “No one ever has the heart to play it.”

My love of music had been destroyed by the meat grinder known as the music industry. With a tear in my eye, I walked over to my first love.

I sat down on the bench, gently running my hands along the ivory keys. The beautiful, dark red wood piano felt just like it used to. I played one note, then a scale. I reacquainted myself with its form and its sound. It sang as lovely as ever. My heart skipped, recalling all the memories I had of playing in the bar.

I played a few cheerful songs that I knew everyone would recognize. Some of my favorites from back in the day, ragtime songs like “Mr. Sandman” or “Hail, Hail The Gang’s All Here”. I remember being rusty and getting help from an elderly man named Davey when I was first starting off on piano. This bar helped make me who I am.

Slowing down the mood, I changed to more romantic songs. As I sang the words of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart”, an old favorite of the bar’s patrons, I thought of when Courtney and I met. She took my breath away when she walked in, her bright eyes locking with mine. Her beauty and her charm set her apart from the rest of the room. It took everything to not miss the next notes in the song, both then and now. Looking solemnly at the piano, I choked out the final words.

“... I’m in love with you.” I suddenly felt so small. As the bar goers clapped and gave me tips, my humble beginnings came sweeping back to me.

I walked up to John and gave him the tip jar with all of the money, then added some of my own. “You can expect more in the future,” I informed him. “I don’t need it. You have done an amazing job with this place.” A tear fell down his cheek as he smiled at me.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I have something I have to do.” I said, giving him one last goodbye.