Eventually, Freddy had to find a job. He got into a nine to five routine that really began at 6:30 am and ended around 6:00 pm. His job was okay by him. It paid the bills.
By the time Freddy ate dinner, did the dishes, folded his laundry or handled whatever other chore required his attention, he was tired enough for bed. But Freddy could never just go to bed.
At first it was a fiddle that kept him up late. For a while after that it was a drum set. Most recently his obsession became an electric piano he bought as soon as he'd saved enough cash. He found himself losing hours on a wooden bench, fingers sliding down white and black keys, practicing scales and feeling his way through songs. Some nights it was one or two or three in the morning before he fell off the bench onto his futon and passed out.
One night he played all three instruments, alternating every hour or so. Before he knew it, the sun shone through his apartment window and, feeling more wired than tired, he took a shower and went to work.
He expected to come home from work that day and go straight to bed, but a rhythm stuck in his head wouldn't quit. Down he sat to play some chords and up he rose with fiddle in hand and once again the hours disappeared.
Three days and three nights passed and Freddy didn't sleep a wink. At work he drank coffee, at home he just jammed.
Eventually, Freddy went to sleep on a Friday night. When he woke midday Saturday, reentering the world from a dream, a voice sang softly inside his head. The melody flowed to his finger tips and down he sat once again, lost in a world all his own.
Showing posts with label Freddy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freddy. Show all posts
Freddy the Fiddler
Freddy sat alone with his fiddle, alone because his girlfriend had dumped him the day before. He thought about the good job where, up until last week, he sold men’s clothing, the good job he couldn’t stand but the one that used to pay the bills. Hobbies prevented him from losing his mind during the five years he worked there: he grew various vegetables and played cards and wrote songs on his fiddle. Now, the girlfriend gone and the job a thing of the past, the hobbies were all he had. Figuratively, that is. Literally, he had the hobbies and a bottle of scotch and a futon that alternated between his couch and his bed and a very small kitchen where he stocked Ramen noodles, Apple Jacks, and 2% milk. He had a Panasonic three disc changer with double tape deck too; he’d found it on the sidewalk. One man’s trash was another man’s entertainment center. He bought random CDs and old tapes from the discount rack. The vegetables grew in a small garden he kept on his very small back porch.
He decided to wait a while before looking for a new job, his plan to do as close to nothing as possible for as long as possible. America much underrated doing absolutely nothing, he thought.
After a while doing nothing gave way to doing nothing in between long sessions on his fiddle. He played Earl Johnson and Charlie Bowman and Doc Roberts but mostly he just messed around and made up his own stuff.
One night he’d had a couple of glasses of scotch and thought about his girlfriend, their break up. He told her he’d lost his job and she asked about his plan. He didn’t pretend to have a plan, just shrugged his shoulders and their relationship didn’t last much longer. Another scotch and the bottle was empty.
He didn’t think about it, just grabbed his fiddle and walked to the pub down the street where he’d been a regular when he used to have a paycheck. He told the owner he was broke and asked if he’d let him play his fiddle on the little stage in the corner. The owner told him he couldn’t pay him, but Freddy said all he wanted in return was one glass of cheap scotch. It was a deal.
He jammed and jammed and jammed without saying a word. People were into it, but he preferred to pretend they weren’t there. He wasn’t nervous, just focused. For some reason it was the first time in his life that he felt truly free.
Suddenly he held the strings still and stomped his feet and tucked the fiddle between his arm and the side of his body. Clapping his hands, he sang:
“She said ‘Play that fiddle, fiddle-diddle-dee!
Play it for pay or play it for free.
Dance in a circle or dance in a square,
Play your life away, see if I care!’”
He took up the fiddle again and jammed again and could hear some shouts and cheers from the crowd. Still he paid them no mind.
He tucked the fiddle again and sang one more time:
“And I said, ‘Oh I’ll play this fiddle, fiddle-diddle-dee!
I’ll play it all day and I’ll play it for free.
I’ll dance in a circle or I’ll dance in a square.
I’ll play and play and won’t have a care!’”
This time the crowd cheered louder. Freddy looked around, took a bow, and everyone watched him walk to the bar, his scotch waiting for him. He drank it down, nodded to the owner, and walked home.
He decided to wait a while before looking for a new job, his plan to do as close to nothing as possible for as long as possible. America much underrated doing absolutely nothing, he thought.
After a while doing nothing gave way to doing nothing in between long sessions on his fiddle. He played Earl Johnson and Charlie Bowman and Doc Roberts but mostly he just messed around and made up his own stuff.
One night he’d had a couple of glasses of scotch and thought about his girlfriend, their break up. He told her he’d lost his job and she asked about his plan. He didn’t pretend to have a plan, just shrugged his shoulders and their relationship didn’t last much longer. Another scotch and the bottle was empty.
He didn’t think about it, just grabbed his fiddle and walked to the pub down the street where he’d been a regular when he used to have a paycheck. He told the owner he was broke and asked if he’d let him play his fiddle on the little stage in the corner. The owner told him he couldn’t pay him, but Freddy said all he wanted in return was one glass of cheap scotch. It was a deal.
He jammed and jammed and jammed without saying a word. People were into it, but he preferred to pretend they weren’t there. He wasn’t nervous, just focused. For some reason it was the first time in his life that he felt truly free.
Suddenly he held the strings still and stomped his feet and tucked the fiddle between his arm and the side of his body. Clapping his hands, he sang:
“She said ‘Play that fiddle, fiddle-diddle-dee!
Play it for pay or play it for free.
Dance in a circle or dance in a square,
Play your life away, see if I care!’”
He took up the fiddle again and jammed again and could hear some shouts and cheers from the crowd. Still he paid them no mind.
He tucked the fiddle again and sang one more time:
“And I said, ‘Oh I’ll play this fiddle, fiddle-diddle-dee!
I’ll play it all day and I’ll play it for free.
I’ll dance in a circle or I’ll dance in a square.
I’ll play and play and won’t have a care!’”
This time the crowd cheered louder. Freddy looked around, took a bow, and everyone watched him walk to the bar, his scotch waiting for him. He drank it down, nodded to the owner, and walked home.
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