The Muse (14 page)

            “I’m not going,” Calvin said, walking away.

            “Sir,” the officer sighed.

            “I’m leaving,” Calvin said.  “I’ve got someone to find.”

            “You asked for this,” the officer said, approaching with his baton drawn.            You’ve got one last chance to stop where you are and come with me.  If you refuse, I will arrest you.”

            Calvin kept walking.

            The officer’s mood was a mixture of frustration and anger.  “Stop where you are, sir.”

            Calvin did no such thing.  The officer ran after him and grabbed him by the shoulder.  Calvin erupted, turning and swinging his fist in one fluid motion.  The blow caught the officer on the chin, knocking him on his back. 

            The officer growled and jumped up nearly as quickly as he hit the ground.  Before Calvin realized what had happened, the officer was beating him with the baton and forcing him to the ground.  Calvin roared in pain and frustration.  The officer wrestled his hands behind his back and cuffed him.      “You’re making a mistake,” Calvin shouted.

            “The mistake is all yours, buddy,” the cop replied.  “You're under arrest.  Don't say another word.”

            Josie watched it all unfold with a bemused look on her face.  Mission accomplished.  She spotted Gibson across the train station and gave him a quick thumbs up before watching him disappear into a sea of faces. 

            “I hope you find what you're looking for, Gibson,” she whispered as he disappeared. 

Chapter 14

            Gibson ran through the crowd of people, not caring who he bumped into or what they might have thought of him.  All he had on his mind was one thing:  Faith.  Now that he didn't have to worry about Calvin messing things up, he could focus on the dilemma at hand.

            His palms and brow were sweaty.  His heart raced.  His throat was dry, parched by the fear of missing out on this pivotal moment in his life. 

            “Have you seen this girl?” he asked an accountant-type in a trench coat, thrusting the flyer into his hands.

            “Sorry, no,” the man said without really even studying the paper. 

            Gibson ran on, bugging passenger after passenger and praying that he wasn't too late.  He needed to get everyone's attention.  He needed to make everyone stop what they were doing and take notice of him.  The only question was how to do that without getting arrested. 

            The flyers weren't working.  Nobody was even paying them much attention.  He needed to be louder than everyone else in the train station.  He needed to make everyone focus on him for a moment. 

            He knew just how to do that when he saw the two guys playing old Beatles songs on their guitars and panhandling for money.  They were both playing acoustic guitars.  One had an old Martin with mother-of-pearl inlays on the frets and a lot of scratches where the pick guard should have been.  The other had Ovation with a rounded back and a sunburst finish that looked a little like it had been through a fire of some sort.  For their purposes, the acoustic guitars were fine.  The people in the nearby vicinity could hear them without much trouble. 

            Yet, Gibson saw something in their gear that got him excited.  One of them had a small, portable practice amplifier and a microphone.  They weren't using it, but that didn't mean the equipment didn't work. 

            Gibson approached them carefully, knowing he needed to handle this just right. 

            “Excuse me, fellas,” he said, clasping his hands together, preparing what he was going to say.  They were in the middle of playing “Hard Day's Night.”

            The two guys stopped what they were doing and looked at him, perturbed at having their song interrupted.  “Can’t you see we’re playing here?” one of them asked.  

            “I'm sorry to bother you,” Gibson said.  “But I'll give both of you $20 each if you will let me use your amp and microphone for just a minute.”

            “Why do you want to use it?” the one with the Ovation asked, genuinely curious.

            Gibson thought about bending the truth, then decided against it.  “There's a girl that I think I could fall in love with who is about to get on one of these trains.  I can't find her, and I'm desperately looking for her.  I was hoping to use your equipment to make my voice loud enough for her to hear.”

            “That will get us all arrested,” the guy with the Martin spoke up.

            “I'm in a bind here, guys.  Can't you help me?”

            The two guys looked at each other and began to whisper.  They nodded to each other excitedly.  “We have an idea,” they said in unison.

            Gibson heard what they had to say and felt sure that he was crazy for agreeing to it.  Still, he had to try.

            Both of the musicians got to their feet and found straps for their guitars.  “Do you know the words?” one of them asked Gibson.

            “I'll muddle through,” he said, grabbing the microphone. 

            While it would have likely gotten him arrested if he had started shouting into the microphone in an attempt to locate Faith, no one would think much about it if he was part of an impromptu concert in the middle of the train station. 

            The musicians nodded at each other and started to play.  This time it wasn't a Beatles song that they played, but rather, one by George Michael.  Fittingly enough, the name of the song was “Faith.” 

            Gibson felt like an idiot, but this was his only chance to find her. 

            He began to sing the song as best he could, bellowing into the microphone without a clue what he was doing.  People throughout the train station smirked, a few took pictures, and some of them genuinely seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Gibson missed a word here and there, ad libbing to the rhythm of the song, and no one seemed to notice or care.  It was like an impromptu karaoke session right there in the middle of the train station.  Gibson changed things up a little bit when they got to the chorus, singing “I've got to have Faith, Faith, Faith.  I've got to have Faith, Faith, Faith...Watson.”

            They didn't go into another verse, but rather, continued the chorus with Gibson singing out for Faith.  The crowd that had gathered around them began to clap and move to the rhythm. A few of them even threw dollars into the open guitar cases at their feet. 

            Gibson was nearing the end of the song and wondering what he would do to get Faith's attention if this didn't work when she finally pushed her way through the crowd and stared at him with a look of amusement. 

            Gibson dug in his pocket frantically, pulled out $40, and dropped it in the guitar case.  He left them singing and ran toward Faith.  She ran toward him too, and they wrapped each other up in a loving embrace.

            The two musicians, both quick on their feet, starting playing “Can’t Buy Me Love.”  The crowd went wild, and people started tossing dollar bills to show their appreciation.   

            “What are you doing here?” she asked him as he pulled her close.  “How did you find me?” 

            “Trying to keep you from going to New York,” he said.  “And believe me, finding you hasn’t been easy.”

            “You came all the way down here for me?”

            Gibson nodded.  “You're my one chance at happiness.  I'm sure of it, and I couldn't let you leave me.  You’re my lifeboat, Faith, and without you think I might drown.  Please don’t go.”

            “I just don’t want to ruin your life,” she said.

            “You might ruin it if you leave,” he said.  “And I know that we don’t know each other as well as we should, but I know enough to realize I want you to stay.  Will you take a chance on me?”

            The words came out before he knew what he was saying.  He had never pleaded with someone like he was pleading with her.  It was an act of desperation, and he knew he probably seemed pitiful.  But he couldn’t help it.  He looked at her with a deep sense of longing, frightened of what he might see in return. 

            Faith didn’t say anything.  Instead, she kissed him, pulling him into her.  The people listening to the makeshift concert watched them with interest.  A romance story was unfolding before their very eyes, and they wanted to see a happy ending.  They were rooting for this to work.    

            Gibson had an idea.  “Hold on a second,” he said, holding up one finger.  “Don't go anywhere.”

            Faith looked at him with curiosity.  Gibson walked behind the two musicians and whispered something to them.  They both nodded and grinned.  Abruptly, they began to play a song that was both recently familiar and fittingly appropriate. 

            The guy with the Martin guitar began to sing “In the Still of the Night” and soon, his partner began to harmonize with him. 

            Gibson held out his hand to Faith, and she took it without question, falling into his arms.

            And there, in front of everyone, they danced. 

            When it was over, Josie approached them both and handed Gibson a sketch of him and Faith together.  It was the same kind of drawings he used to do in The Square, the kind that had soured him on love because he never thought he might be the subject of one.

            Yet, seeing himself and Faith immortalized in charcoal by an expert hand made him realize just what he had been missing out on all this time.  For so many years, he had seen the world in black and white.  Now, he was finally starting to see it in color.

            He could only imagine how much better his art would be because of it.

            He could only imagine how much better his life would be because of it.

            Eventually, the crowd dispersed.  Some of them needed to board their trains.  Some of them grew tired of watching.  Some of them just decided to find something better to do.

            Gibson and Faith, however, continued to hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes. 

            “Your father is going to hate me,” Gibson said.

            “He will come around,” Faith said.

            “I didn’t make a very good impression on him, I’m afraid.”

            “You went to see him?” Faith asked.

            “I didn’t know how else to find you.  I couldn’t let you leave.”

            “I’m glad you showed up.”

            “I still have an assault charge pending against me,” Gibson reminded her.  “Are you sure you want to be associated with someone like me?”

            Faith thought about it for a moment.  “Let’s see. You’re thoughtful, considerate, caring, selfless.  I think you’re exactly the kind of guy I want to associate with.”

            “We have a lot of obstacles ahead of us,” Gibson reminded her.

            “We can’t plan out our entire lives,” Faith said.  “We didn’t plan on meeting each other, and look how well that’s worked out.”

            “Good point,” he said.

            “Let’s just see where Fate takes us and roll with it.”

            “I can live with that,” Gibson said.   

            “Can we go home now?” she asked.

            “You don’t have an apartment anymore, remember?”