Music is food
For the soul
Chapter 2
The next day at work, Tim buzzes around the restaurant doing his usual stressful, non-appealing duties. His audition is today, and he felt anxious to set off for the venue, but he tried not to let his anxiety show, for fear of arousing any unwanted suspicion. His usual closing time is five o'clock, but since the audition is scheduled for four o'clock, he thought it better that he leave the restaurant by three. The one-hour time difference will give him enough time to find the place. But first, he has to get his boss, Mr. Croogan, to permit him to leave by three o'clock, and he knows only one way to make that possible.
At three o'clock, he went to Mr. Croogan, explaining that he needed to take his father for his monthly check-up. In reality, his father's next appointment was scheduled for Saturday—his day off. Mr. Croogan was tired of the excuses. He knew about Tim's father, but hearing about it constantly felt like a guilt trip he hadn't signed up for. It was an added layer of resentment he didn't need, especially considering Tim wasn't in his good book.
The fact was, he felt threatened by Tim. It was as if Tim's presence alone kept the other employees from seeing him as the legendary boss he desperately wanted to be. It wasn't that Tim commanded the formal respect or obedience that belonged to the man in charge; it was worse. Tim was genuinely loved and appreciated, while he—the one actually putting money in their pockets—remained an outsider in his own business.
"When will your father's checkup be over?" Mr. Croogan retorted. He would have preferred to refuse Tim's excuse, but that would make his dislike for him too obvious. So, he reluctantly let him go. Nevertheless, Tim knew he would have to work two extra hours tomorrow to make up for the hour he's short of today.
As Tim walked toward the audition, he couldn't shake the image of Mr. Croogan's face. It was that specific look—the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes seemed to track him across the room like he was waiting for a mistake. Tim tried to pin down why, but it wasn't the obvious stuff; they were both Black, so that easy answer didn't fit.
Tim searched for an answer, wondering if a stray rumor had soured the well or if he'd made some mistake that he wasn't aware of. He had checked every box: he worked late, filled the gaps, and never missed a deadline. Still, Croogan's bitterness hung over him—an unrelenting shadow he simply couldn't outrun.
The truth was, Tim often felt a little unsure of himself. To feel better, he tried his hardest to be the kindest person in the room. He made a point of remembering every birthday and anniversary, and whenever a co-worker needed to vent, he was there to listen. He would even cover shifts on his days off if someone had an important place to be. His colleagues often showed their gratitude with small gifts and kind words, but Tim had no idea that their appreciation was fueling a quiet, bitter jealousy in Mr. Croogan.
When Tim finally reached the audition venue, he found the area deserted. He checked his watch; it was twenty minutes to four. Finding Brown Avenue had been easier than expected, and the journey hadn't taken nearly as long as he'd anticipated. Since he knew the location was near the Dillon area, he had simply walked to Dillon and asked for directions.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to wait," Tim thought. He hopped up and sat on the boot of an old, dusty car that didn't have any wheels. He looked around and realized the garage was totally empty and quiet. It looked like no one had been there for a long time. Broken car parts were everywhere—some were hiding in the tall, wild grass, and others were leaning tilted against the walls. Behind him, a big, heavy lock held the door shut. That must be where they rehearse, he told himself. He was starting to feel a bit anxious about the audition. They had already ridiculed him once, and he was desperate to impress them this time—if only to prove their mockery wrong. "I'd better rehearse a little before they get here," he muttered. He cleared his throat and began to sing a Bryan Adams song:
"Still feels like the first time together
Feels like the first kiss
Still getting better, baby
No one can better his
Still holding on
You're still the one…." His voice creaked.
"I'm certainly not going to impress them if I sing like this," he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "I'd better warm up properly before they get here." He cleared his throat and started singing: "La-la-la!" He sang high notes that reached up to the ceiling, then he sang low notes that he could feel buzzing in his chest. He kept practicing over and over. He was listening closely to make sure his voice didn't shake or crack. He wanted to be perfect so that no one could make fun of him again. Finally, his voice sounded strong and smooth.
Tim had been practicing his singing for about five minutes when a van drove up slowly. He stopped singing right away and watched it closely as it pulled up in front of him.
A girl was sitting in the front seat. She hopped out but didn't even look at Tim. Tim stood there, waiting for a "hello," but it never came. He felt like he was invisible. The way the girl ignored him made his stomach sink. He had been working so hard to make his voice perfect, but now his throat felt tight again.
Then, the side door opened with a loud scrape. He watched the two men jump down from the van. They didn't smile or wave; they acted like he was just a piece of old junk in the garage. Tim felt a little bit small and very lonely. He started to wonder if he should even be there. His heart beat a little faster, and he gripped his hands together, hoping he wouldn't look as nervous as he felt.
The driver climbed out of the van and looked at Tim. He was the same guy who had given him the address. "Glad to see you're early," the guy said. His voice was serious. "That's a cool start. Come with me."
Tim's heart gave a little thump. He slid down from the old car and followed the man, his legs feeling a bit like jelly.