Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Once or the musical Once or any of the songs written by The Script, clearly. This is purely for entertainment purposes, based on an idea that my friend and I riffed out while cutting through the crowd in Times Square after seeing Once the musical.
Part Five
The
song was finished. The guy pressed a few keys on his computer and listened to
the playback. This was a more restrained song that any of his past ones. It was
less morose as well. The guy supposed he was moving on from his ex-girlfriend,
which was good. But if he was moving on from her, what would he write about
now?
Going back to the corner where I first saw
you
Gonna
camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not gonna move
Got
some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
Saying,
"If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?"
Some
try to hand me money, but they don't understand
I'm
not broke, I'm just a broken-hearted man
I
know it makes no sense, but what else can I do?
And
how can I move on when I'm still in love with you?
'Cause
if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me
And
your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I can be
Thinking
maybe you'll come back here to the place that we meet
And
you'll see me waiting for you on the corner of street
So
I'm not moving
I'm
not moving
The guy listened to the song all
the way through. There were no other instruments except his voice and his
guitar. It could use some drums and maybe another guitar or a bass or
something, but even this plain acoustic version packed some power to it.
It
only took him a few days after the first lyrics flashed into his mind to have
it all worked out. It sounded poppier that his other songs.
But
who was the song about? He wouldn't sleep out on a corner for his ex-girlfriend,
not now. Maybe back in Dublin he would've.
The
girl. Would he? After everything she'd done for him? Yes.
He
was absolutely certain he would do something as outlandish as sleeping out in
front of her building, if he could win her. But she had her husband and they
were working things out and really, had there been anything there besides their
shared passion for music?
There
was. They exchanged stories and opened themselves up to the other. He liked
her, was confused by her, charmed by her.
"A
married woman? Really, mate?"
On an impulse, he surfed
to Babelfish. What the hell was it that she said to him when they stood by the
shore? He knew it was important by the way she said it, but he didn't
understand Czech.
It sort of sounded
like "miluju" something. What was the second word? Started with a
"T."
He typed in the
first word, unsure how to spell it. Several links were on the screen. He
clicked on the first one. Czech phrases.
Miluju Tebe—I love
you
"Shite."
He glanced at the
clock, calculated the time difference. Da would still be up.
He
reached for the phone and called his father.
*
* *
"Hey!"
Reza called across the room. "Look!"
The
girl came into the living room, holding Ivanka's hand. "What?"
Reza turned the volume up on the TV. The girl heard a familiar reporter's voice off RTE narrating.
Reza turned the volume up on the TV. The girl heard a familiar reporter's voice off RTE narrating.
"…The
song went up on iTunes only three weeks ago and it has already filled the
popularity bar. The poignant song was written and recorded independently by an
Irish singer and he is surprised at just how popular the song is
becoming…"
A
man appeared on the screen. The girl gasped, nearly jumping.
Reza
pointed to the TV and said, "Your Irish man!"
"Shhh!"
He
was speaking: "I was in New York, writing songs, and only having a bit
more success than I'd had back home. I was busking near Bryant Park when the
first line of the song came into my head and it really wrote itself after that…"
"People
seem to see it as a hopeful love or break up song, don't they?" The
reporter asked.
"Yeah,
they seem to," the guy replied. "It's a simple little song about a
steadfast guy who waits for his love to come back and find him."
"There's
plenty more where that came from, by the way. His two EPs are available on
iTunes and Amazon.com and there is a full-length album in the works. For now,
this talented singer/songwriter is back home in Dublin after some time
away."
"'I'm
looking forward to being back home for a bit."
"Did
you write this song for anybody in particular?"
"Em,"
the guy said, with a little half-smile. "No comment."
Reza
jumped up. "You!"
The girl shook her
head. "Me?"
"Yes, you. He wrote it for you."
"Yes, you. He wrote it for you."
"No,
no," the girl protested. "It's probably for his girlfriend. Or for
nobody. Songs fall out the sky sometimes."
"Oh, and
sure," Reza replied in a very Irish tone. "But my God! Irish man on
the telly!"
The girl grinned.
"I know! I wonder if his Da knows!"
* * *
"Fair play to
you, man," Eamon said to the guy. "You could've stayed in New York or
gone to London to record an entire album."
"I wanted to
be home, though," the guy replied. "You've got session players that
can be a backing band, haven't ya?"
"Yeah. Your
Czech friend is my session piano player. Bloody brilliant."
"She is? Oh,
that'd be great. Haven't seen her since I left for New York."
With studio time
assured, the guy went on the next step of his journey for the day. He was in
front of Billy's store. He bought some guitar strings off Billy, who told him,
"I saw you on the telly!"
"Not bad,
eh?" The guy replied, paying for the strings. "When does she get in
for work?"
"Who? Oh! 'Round about four."
"Who? Oh! 'Round about four."
He set up his
guitar case with a card inside that said: No
money here, please. Then he began to play "The Man Who Can't Be
Moved," singing as loudly as he could manage. At first, the people ignored
him. When he finished, then began singing a cover, a few people looked his way.
He interspersed covers with his own songs for a while, then checked the time. Two
to four. Where was she?
He started the
introduction of "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" again, dragging it on
for a few measures. A couple people stopped to look, curious. He heard one lady
say to her friend, "I think I saw him on the telly today!"
"Going back
to the corner where I first saw you/ Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not
gonna move," he sang, keeping his eyes peeled for her. "Got some
words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand/ Saying if you see this girl,
can you tell her where I am?/ Some try to hand me money, but they don't
understand/ I'm not broke, I'm just a broken-hearted man/ I know it makes no
sense…"
She was walking
down the street. She was almost at the storefront. Bloody hell!
"But what
else can I do?/ How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?" He
stretched that out, adding a run or two. Turn
round. Turn round. "'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're
missing me/ And you heart starts to wonder where on earth I can be/ Thinking
maybe you'll come back to the place that we meet/ And you'll see me waiting for
you on the corner of the street…"
She was nearly at
Billy's door and she hadn't turned around. Was she listening to something? Did
she not recognize his voice?
He put more power
into "I'm not moving." Finally, she turned her head quickly in his
direction.
She stopped,
turned more fully. He kept singing, a silly grin coming across his face as the
girl's jaw dropped.
The small crowd
applauded when he finished. They dispersed after a few minutes, after he told
them that he'd be playing in one of the tiny clubs nearby the next night.
She stayed in her
place.
"Hello,"
he called.
She stormed
forward, a hand digging in her pocket. She stopped and held out her hand.
"Here,"
she said. "Five euros."
"Keep your
money," he told her. "Have dinner with me?"
"I—but
I," she turned to look at the store. Billy stood in the doorway, both
thumbs up. The girl turned back. "Then, yes." She cocked her head.
"Maybe a little hanky-panky after?"
"Da said he went back."
"Da said he went back."
"He did. We
are divorced." She grinned. "I'm a divorcee."
"Scandalous."
He returned the guitar to its case, closed it, and picked it up. "Let's
go."
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