The Musician

The musician has been exhausted since moving to the big city to achieve his lifelong music dream. He has been schlepping his way through many local coffee houses, trying to make a buck or two. He has no place to stay and spends nights curled up on the ground, using his guitar case as a solid pillow. His thin jacket was not enough to keep him warm in the terrible January weather. Some nights, he wishes he were still back at school in Minnesota or even back with his family, his annoying little brother, and his parents who love him but don’t understand his dream to be a musician, to be someone, anyone. He wishes for his doting mother in those moments. He’s nineteen and knows better; he is an adult now, and in lonely moments, he should not think of what he wants in that moment. A warm bed, some food other than local dinner meals, and the occasional coffee.

He needs no one, and because he is an adult, he knows he should not want. He can only trudge on and keep trying, as exhausting as it is. It’s also exhilarating, somehow. He had met one of his heroes at the local hospital and got to play a song he wrote for him. The singer was pleased and thanked the young man for such a wonderful gift. Despite being ill with a debilitating illness, the singer gave the young man his info on the back of the card. A joke. “I ain't dead yet.”

“That’s for Damn sure the young man” answered and they both laughed.

That had been a great day. He wished for more like it.

He shivered as he curled in on himself and tried to settle down. He was always on high alert and would sleep with one eye open in case he needed to escape and find somewhere else. He also had to keep an eye on the weather and make sure it wouldn’t start to rain or snow. Yes, it was January in New York, but it had rained a bit since he had arrived, and tonight it looked like a storm was coming. He would sleep on the benches, but because of the anti-homelessness architecture, he couldn’t.

The girl had been watching him. She had an umbrella over her head and was watching him closely. She had seen his performance earlier in the day on her lunch break. He sounded good and almost reminded her of a modern-day Bob Dylan. Sure, Bob was still touring and making music, but it was nice to see people her age making folk music more modern yet sometimes going back to its roots. The world was in constant array, and it seemed folk music was returning. She decided to say hello and introduce herself. He seemed nice enough, besides Gary, the bar owner, had told her he had come from a small town somewhere in the Midwest, where she was also from, and Gary had also said he was probably around her age.

Slowly, she approached him. He was playing his guitar and humming a tune to himself.

“Excuse me? I saw your performance this afternoon at Gary’s and thought it was excellent,” she said.

The young man looked up at her, his long brown hair falling in his face, and he used his hand to move it out of his face.

“Oh, thank you. Not many people seem to care for my shows,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s a shame, cuz I enjoyed it. What's your name again?” she asked.

“Dylan Jacobs,” he replied.

“Is there any possible relation to Bob Dylan? You covered a lot of his stuff and Woody Guthrie, too. Plus, your name is Dylan,” she said.

“Nah, I wish. I enjoy my name, though it does make me think of Bob when I play his music,” he explained. “Say, I didn’t catch your name. Dylan said.

“Oh, I'm Lydia, Lydia Shires.”

“Wait, Lydia Shires of the equestrian world? You?” he says with a shocked look on his face.

She chuckled. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Why are you here in New York?” instead of at a show or something,” Dylan asked.

“Oh, I take vet classes during the year at Cornell,” Lydia said.

“That's nice. Gonna be a vet then?” Dylan asked.

“Well, I have to have a backup plan if I can’t do show jumping or work the stables the rest of my life, and being an equine vet makes decent money. At least for me.” Lydia explained.

Dylan nodded.

“What about you? What brought you to New York?” Lydia asked him. She moved closer to put the umbrella over them as a drizzle began.

“Oh, I wanted to leave my small town after I took a few music classes at my local college. I live in a small town in the Midwest,” Dylan explained.

“Oh, what state? Lydia asked.

Just as Dylan was about to answer, the rain picked up and went from a drizzle to a roaring downpour. Quickly, Dylan put his guitar in his case, and Lydia helped him up under her umbrella. Together, they rushed to a local restaurant. Lydia led the two of them inside, and they laughed as they found a booth.

‘Is the weather always crazy like that?” Dylan asked her. As they settled into the booth.

Lydia chuckled as she properly closed her umbrella. “It depends, although climate change is making things insane, like in the summer it’s super hot.”

Dylan nodded. Then opened a menu.

‘Get whatever you want, ok?” Lydia said to him as he quickly skimmed the menu.

“Are you sure? Dylan asked.

Lydia nodded. “This place isn’t that expensive, and I’ve got plenty of money,” she explained to him.

“Don’t you mean your dad’s money?” Dylan teased as many young men like him knew that some, if not most, of the equestrian community had some sort of family financial support.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’ve had plenty of jobs and yes, the occasional support, but not as much as you think,” she said.

“But your dad owns one of the best stables and you guys have raised successful horses,” Dylan said as if that was a good enough explanation for Lydia to live off her family’s income.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I’m old enough to make my own money. Are you always this clueless?” she asked.

Dylan shook his head. “Sorry, I just don’t fully understand that stuff.”

Lydia nodded. “It’s ok. Are you ready to order?”

Dylan nodded.

Lydia flagged down a waiter, and the two placed an order for lunch. They both got sandwiches and a small sundae.

“Is the ice cream good?” Dylan asked.

Lydia nodded, “Very good. You’ll like it. Hey, you never answered my question about what state you came from in the Midwest,” she said.

“Oh, I’m from Indiana, probably as boring as you can get,” Dylan said

“Aw, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” she said. “I’ve stayed there for shows and things, ​​it’s not the worst. At least I don’t think so,” she said.

“Yeah, but you’ve never lived in a small town where everybody knows who you are and what your business is,” Dylan told her.

Lydia nodded. “That’s true.”

Soon their food arrived, and they ate in silence.

Once they finished their meals, Lydia paid. Dylan thanked her and got up, grabbing his bag and his guitar case.

“Where are you going?” Lydia asked.

“Heading back to my corner, where else would I go?” Dylan asked her.

“Not with the weather like this, you’re not. Besides, you’re all wet and you’ll get sick. You are coming with me,” she said.

“But I can’t intrude, that’s not right,” Dylan told her.

“Nonsense, you need somewhere to clean up and stay for a while, and I know you don’t have enough money for a hotel. Come with me, I promise I have plenty of room. It’s not a dorm its a three bedroom apartment.”

Dylan thought about it for a moment and decided it couldn’t hurt.

Before they left, Lydia opened her umbrella and together they headed out into the rain, and Lydia led Dylan to her apartment building and they headed inside. Lydia closed her umbrella and led him to her first-floor three-bedroom and two-bathroom apartment.

Once inside, Lydia insisted Dylan go wash up in the bathroom and change out of his wet clothes. Dylan agreed and went to shower and change. Once he came out of the bathroom in dry clothes he joined lydia on the couch and the two watched tv together.

The musician decided he could get used to this.