Dreaming in Blue

He eyed the other teenagers gathered outside the record shop, playfully pushing one another and laughing periodically at little jabs from the louder mouths. Had he gone to school he’d probably share a classroom with them, and he stood daydreaming of another life in their company while he waited impatiently, shifting his weight between feet, for his wristwatch to hit 9:04am.

The record shop opened at 9:04am every morning and closed after 8pm, depending on how late Blue decided to stay. He owned the place; he was one of the few black business owners successful on this side of town, and the record shop was his life’s work.

Kids lined up to get into the shop, it was the ‘it’ place for older teens to hang out, mainly because Blue would let you listen to a record for free without buying it. That was how Oscar usually spent his days, but today he idly turned over several loose coins in his pocket – today he would buy a record.

8:59am. He turned to watch the blue Cadillac role up from the traffic lights and signal left before the shop. Jazz danced from the open window, and the reflection of Blue’s shades dazzled Oscar's eyes for a moment as the car swung into the alleyway. Something about Blue’s unshakeable punctuality was pleasing to Oscar, who relished the routine, it seemed to steady him, and he stopped shuffling, turning again to face the door.

9:01am. The lights were about to turn on in the back of the shop, then the front. A bead of sweat ran down Oscars forehead and he wafted his suede jacket to air his middle, this coat wasn’t meant for a July in Louisiana, but today he needed the luck. It was always cool inside Blue’s anyway, he’d spent enough days sitting at record booth 4 to know that after a while he’d be glad to have the jacket.

9:03am. He released the sticky coins from his grasp and wiped his hands on the front of the jacket, ready for Blue’s appearance. The group in front obviously didn’t frequent the shop; they stood complaining about the heat and how it was past opening time. One kid – Jackson was his name, apparently – kicked the dust up and turned to his friends in exasperation,

“This is ridiculous, if I owned a business, I wouldn’t run it like this, keepin' payin' customers out here in the sun. He must employ some young types that probably don’t even care about music, probably to save money so he can keep this old shack open…”

He trailed off as a shadow loomed, and turned to find Blue standing behind him, bemused.

“Well ain’t you just a kind young fella,” he smiled, winking at Oscar.

“You kids best hurry in before the boss hears you out here tearing his name up and down the street” he said, enjoying the now quiet teens who meekly shuffled past him with their eyes down and filed into the shop.

“Big day, Oscar, huh? Thought you oughta stay home celebratin’ this’n, sure as they don’t come by often” he smiled warmly and a large reassuring hand greeted Oscar’s shoulder.

He was just about to reply when he saw more people entering the shop and hurried past Blue, afraid they would take his booth.

The familiar old smell - part musk, part wood - greeted him as he stumbled past the group from earlier, who were now noisier and more boisterous than ever. He was sure they’d spend more time flirting than listening to music, and as for appreciating the shop, they wouldn’t know how. He side-stepped past an older couple and proceeded to the back of the shop, hastily removing his jacket and placing it over the back of the chair etched ‘4’.

With a sigh of relief, he now turned nervously to examine the shop. He hadn’t been told where it would be displayed, but spent last night thinking up the likeliest places and decided first to try the alphabetized boxes in the middle.

T, T, T, V, W, W, his fingers expertly flicked through the records until he found several of surname WEST, but not what he was looking for. He faltered for a moment, before turning, head down and approaching the ‘TOP SELLERS’ wall which lined the entire right side of the shop, from behind the cashier desk which stood to the right inside the door, all the way to the stock room at the back. He stopped near the end, scanning the T’s, V’s and W’s for the record, but his brow began to furrow at finding no new edition on the wall.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure his booth was still free, he turned and stared at Blue, sitting behind the cashier desk, apparently oblivious to Oscar’s growing desperation.

Oscar slowly made his way to the desk, hovering over several boxes of records and tracing them with his fingers, his eyes never leaving Blue, before finally letting his anguish get the better of him and walking right up to the desk corner, which was home to a stack of mismatched records and a Louis Armstrong bobblehead, who nodded affectionately every time someone walked past on account of the loose floorboards that lined the cashier desk. Blue had once told Oscar he had loosened the boards to help with 'light-fingered visitors' as he put it, though Oscar couldn’t imagine anyone that would steal from Blue. His reputation reached well outside Louisiana, and even if – by some miracle – you didn’t know him, his 6’8” frame and gold-toothed smile would demand sufficient respect from any petty thief.

Oscar cleared his throat a little and looked down when Blue met his eye, embarrassed, and unsure of how to proceed.

“Mornin’ again, Blue.. say, you wouldn’t know if that record came in last night? Maybe there was a hold up with the truck, or maybe it’s not today it should be comin’, or maybe-”

Blue’s lips twitched, and he tilted his head back, a booming laugh escaping his chest causing the rowdy kids to turn and stare.

“Well child, I hope there was something interestin’ goin’ on on that pavement out there, since you didn’t lift yo head this mornin’”, he smiled at Oscars confusion and slowly rose from his chair. Louis nodded in agreement as Blue moved past Oscar and out the front door. Oscar followed, confused.

Blue stood left of the door, hands on hips, smiling out at the street.

“Well ain’t it such a nice day out here today, no wonder you ain’t seen much” he said. Oscar was just about to graduate from frustration to anger at Blue’s behavior when he saw him turn and stare, smiling just as hard, at the shop window. Oscar followed his eyeline, and his jaw dropped.

There it was, in the window. More than one, actually, a whole display, with a banner running on the bottom of the window which read:

LOCAL ARTIST NEW RELEASE

Oscar stepped forward in awe, stopping an inch from the window, his eyes dancing over the plastic wrapped record sleeves. The cover art depicted a calm blue ocean and lighter blue sky, with one image breaking the uniformity of the picture, a ship on the horizon. A single red sail stood perpendicular to a white hull, upon which was painted in small cursive ‘Booth 4’. Above the ship, in simple white writing:

Oscar West

And beneath it, the title:

Dreaming in Blue

Blue’s hand came to rest on Oscar’s shoulder as he continued to gaze at the shiny display, his name boldly staring out at passersby.

“Reckon you might wanna give it a listen?” Blue asked and Oscar nodded, slowly turning and stepping back inside.

Louis bobbed as Oscar stopped at the cashier desk and dropped his coins on the counter, knowing already he had the exact amount. His heart was racing, hands sweaty and shaking, as Blue laughed at Oscar’s decision to pay, and handed him a record from a large stack of identical ones behind the desk.

He held it in both hands, the blue from the art reflecting on his face, and he returned to his seat, putting on his jacket once more before sitting. Removing the plastic, he was shocked anew at the appearance of the sleeve without the added sheen.

Suddenly deciding he couldn’t wait a second longer, he tipped the vinyl onto the player and hastily dropped the needle, shoving old chewed headphones over his ears.

A single tear left a darkened spot on his jeans, then another, as he heard his music come to life like he never had before, the familiar background crackle of the vinyl grounding him. His eyes closed, he was transported from the booth by the sax’s mellow, lazy, floating notes and dropped onto a boat deck, the sun beating down on his shirtless back. He stared up at his father, who smiled back, and touched Oscar’s cheek affectionately.

“Well boy, your gonna just bubble up under this sun with nothin’ on ya” he said, removing his suede jacket and placing it over Oscar’s shoulders, as he did every time they were on the boat. It was almost grazing the floor, and Oscar was careful not to let the sleeves drag on the deck.

A lump formed in Oscar’s throat, knowing all too well what came next. The third song ended, and with the beginning of the fourth, the tone darkened considerably. Oscar was pulled from the boat and dropped on shore, jacket now fitting his frame, gazing out at the red sail perpendicular to the white-hulled boat, and his father's silhouette, as it disappeared into the blue for the last time.

Tears streamed down Oscar's face as the fourteenth song finished, and the record stopped playing. He turned to catch Blue’s eye but gasped to discover he was hidden by a large buzzing queue which disappeared outside the shop. He caught a glimpse of Blue’s rings as his hand reached down to the pile of Oscar’s records behind the desk. There were four left.