The trees were dancing manically as the howling wind threatened them with a premature death. Noah Puckerman silently cursed as he pulled his beanie further over his ears that were starting to freeze, as was his nose. He sniffled and hastily shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket silently berating himself for not grabbing his gloves when he left home.
Rounding the corner toward the large decorated wooden door, he peeked into the window while pulling out a bunch of keys from his front jean pocket. He tried desperately to turn the lock but his fingers were numb with the cold. Open! Damnit. Finally, he felt the click and pushing down the handle, he entered the place he called his second home.
Walking into the dark room, expertly avoiding the tables and chairs that littered place, he flipped the switch. Lights slowly began to flood the room as warmth started to fill the place.
"Thank God Lee got someone to fix the heater", he mumbled rubbing his hands together willing them thaw. No one had expected this sudden bout of cold weather.
He picked up the mail that lay on the floor and dropped it onto the bar top as he continued to regain feeling in his fingers. Going through the mail, he began picking out the bills from the vast amount of junk. Being an up-and-coming "it" place in New York, "Stacks" had been inundated by a vast amount of fliers in the hope that Noah would put it up on the brick wall designated for it. When he had first started "Stacks" he knew that he had to have a place for young, struggling musicians and businesses to advertise, after all he knew what it was like to be in their position, helpless, afraid and unsure of where to begin. Venues were hard to come by and he knew he had to do something about it.
It was then in the middle of the pile, at the corner of his eye, he saw it. It looked innocent enough, a crumbled flier for "West Side Story", and her name emblazoned across it, in big white, bold font. Trust her to know how get ones attention. Sighing, he walked over the wall and tacked the fliers for customers to check out later on.
The papers had been flooded with news of her lately, of how she was making a comeback after an unprecedented sabbatical almost a year back. She's out of your life, Puckerman. I think she made it clear enough when she ditched you.
When he left his hometown of Lima, Ohio for New York City almost 10 years ago he had on his back a change of clothes, his guitar case in his hand and nursing a broken heart. Up till that fateful day 2 years ago, he bartended at night and busked in the day. Sometimes the odd gig would present itself and he'd have a sizable paycheck to live on for a while. That was till he got a phone call, the phone call that would change his life forever. His father, his good for nothing father who had walked out on his mother too long ago had died. While he may have remarried he and his wife, Anne Marie never had any kids, making him the sole heir his assets. A lot, of "assets."
He remembered Anne Marie's voice as she recounted his father's half-assed excuse of "making up for the absence" in his life. The money, she said had already been wired to his account.
Then, he stumbled onto Louis', a small family owned diner and bar that was "For Sale". He walked in, and after answering a series of questions; he put a down payment on the place and quit his job. The walls were stripped, the place refurnished and renamed "Stacks", a place where one could find reprieve away from work, from home, from the heartache they might feel.
Walking through the place now, he took a seat facing the little stage that had been constructed where his Guitar, sat majestically in it's holder at it's place next to the bar stool.
Walking toward the stage, he picked up the rosewood Gibson. Running his fingers across the the indent at the back where his name had been engraved and stamped in gold leaf, he smiled.
He stared into space for a moment enjoying the solitude before picking at the strings, a familiar melody, one that had been haunting him for awhile now and he had finally put words to two nights before. The lyrics had come to him fairly quickly as he had sat playing in his studio apartment, almost like it wrote itself.
"This my
excavation and today is Kumran I keep
throwing it down two-hundred at a time
Everything that happens is from now
on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed
It's hard to find it when
you knew it
When your money's gone
And you're drunk as hell"
He smiled at the memory of it and lost himself in the song as a familiar voice seemed to ring out in harmony to his song.
"I've twisting to the
sun I needed to replace There's a
black crow sitting across from me; his wiry legs are crossed On your back with your
racks as the stacks as your load This is not the sound of a new man or
crispy realization
"On your
back with your racks as the stacks as your load
In the back and
the racks and the stacks are your load
In the back with your racks
and you're un-stacking your load"
The fountain in the front yard is rusted
out
All my love was down
In a frozen ground
And
he's dangling my keys he even fakes a toss
Whatever could it
be
That has brought me to this loss?
In the back and the racks and the
stacks of your load
In the back with your racks and you're
un-stacking your load
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift
away
Your love will be
Safe with me"
His eyes stayed closed as the final note rang out through the empty room as he savoured the moment. Her voice, her harmony felt so real, like she was next to him, breathing the same air as him, singing his song.
A sudden crash broke him out of his reverie. Jerking his head up, he caught the sheepish look on Lee's face.
"Sorry Boss, tripped over the chair… that was really good though, new song?" Puck smiled and placed his guitar back on its stand .
"It's okay dude,
thanks for getting the heater fixed by the way. Has the… Shit."
It was 4.30, where had that hour gone?
Quickly updating Lee and Lucas, who too had arrived, on what to do they went their separate ways in prepping the place for the early evening crowd that was expected to arrive soon.
Going out the backdoor, he lit a cigarette, the early crowd had started to arrive and was filling the tiny bar. The boys could handle it though, he needed a break. Leaning against the wall of the alley he tilted his head back and took a nice long drag. The cold that had earlier been piercingly cold had now become a comfort, a reminder that times had changed and he was where he was now.
Throwing the last of the cigarette on the floor, he stepped on it to put it out and made his way toward the door.
"Puckerman." Turning back alarmed, he stared. For almost a second, he thought he was dreaming. In the distance was a vision in white. She stood with poise, with an unmistakable confidence that he had fallen in love with so very long ago.
He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them again.
"Noah." She said again and he could almost feel her smile through her voice.
She was real.
His chest tightened and a lump began to form in his throat.
He tried to, but he couldn't.
10 years later and she still took his breath away.
Song: Re: Stacks by Bon Iver.