《Poor Elijah》


 Prologue

    Orangeville, Ontario


    June 26th, 1963


    In a sleepy little home on a warm day in 1963, 18-year-old Elijah McDougall sits on the floor of his bedroom, his short, wavy brown hair styled¡ªslightly longer on top and neatly combed back¨Cas his fingers gently pluck the strings of his acoustic guitar. The tunes of "Freewheelin'' Bob Dylan" fill the air, the vinyl record on the turntable having already etched its grooves from countless repeated listens in just a month.


    Elijah, leaning into each strum, matches his fingers'' movements to Dylan''s guitar work, striving to absorb every chord. His eyes occasionally glance at the record sleeve, studying Dylan walking down a cold New York street and wrapped in a tan cotton button-down with a girl on his arm with straight hair and high boots. He smiles, picturing himself walking with Bob on those same streets, getting lost in the record sleeve when the door suddenly swings open, revealing Elijah''s father standing in the doorway. His presence looms, the lines notched on his weathered face reflecting a stoic demeanor.


    "Put that goddamned thing away. It''s time to go"


    The atmosphere shifts suddenly. Elijah hastily sets aside the guitar and quickly takes the needle off the record, aware of the disapproval that often follows discussions about his musical aspirations. His father''s stern gaze lingers for a moment.


    "O.K." Elijah says, his eyes barely meeting his father''s.


    "O.K. what?" his father retorts bitterly.


    Caught off guard by the directness of his father''s question, Elijah hesitates for a moment, before looking his father directly in the eyes. "O.K. Sir."


    "Your mother''s waiting downstairs. Let''s go," his father states bluntly, breaking the tension-laden moment with a directive. Elijah stands up and carefully places his guitar back into its case.


    "He''s always getting on my case," Elijah thinks to himself as he leaves his room. "I never asked him to hate me so much."


    As he descends the stairs, he spots his mother at the bottom, flashing him a smile. He smiles back as he shows off his graduation gown.


    "You look so handsome, my little angel," she beams, offering a compliment that brings a hint of pride to Elijah''s expression.


    "Thanks, ma," Elijah says sheepishly.


    Elijah and his mom hug, Her brown curls brush against his shoulder as they hold each other.


    "I can''t believe you''re finally graduating," his mom says, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia and pride as she holds Elijah in her embrace. "Now look. Don''t listen to your father. You keep playing that guitar. You''re getting good at it!" She smiles again and pinches Elijah''s chin as he walks towards the door. He looks over to the living room where his dad is now sitting in a chair listening to the radio.


    "President Kennedy is currently in West Berlin today where he gave a speech to more than 12,000 Germans."


    "Two thousand years ago, the proudest boast was civis romanus sum. Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is ''Ich bin ein Berliner!''... All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words ''Ich bin ein Berliner!''"


    "Yeah, Kennedy. Suck up to the Krauts..." Elijah''s father mutters disdainfully from the living room, his tone carrying a hint of cynicism toward the President''s address. Elijah heads out the door, looks back at his mother, and smiles.


    ***


    September 15th, 1963


    3 Months Later


    Elijah stands in front of the counter at Jeffers'', a local drug store nestled in downtown Orangeville. With a broom in hand, he sweeps the floor, the bristles swishing across the tiled surface, clearing away remnants of the day''s activities. Customers peruse the aisles, and the bell on the door chimes occasionally as patrons enter and exit. Elijah has been working here for a month or so, making some money since graduating high school. As he continues to sweep meticulously, his movements become mechanical, his mind drifting elsewhere.


    Elijah starts thinking about the Freewheelin'' cover and starts imagining himself walking with Bob Dylan on that cold, New York street.


    "Wouldn''t it be a gas to hang out with Dylan?" He thinks to himself, "Just shooting the shit, talking about music..."


    As Elijah absentmindedly sweeps the same spot repeatedly, his boss, Rex, an imposing figure with a striking resemblance to Elijah''s father in both looks and temperament, strides over. Rex''s stern presence looms over the store floor, his penetrating gaze not missing a detail.


    "Elijah!" Rex calls out, jolting Elijah back to attention. "What are you doing? You''re missing a ton of the floor!"


    "Sorry, Rex," Elijah responds quickly, snapping out of his trance-like state and refocusing on his duties with a swift apology. Rex shakes his head and walks away.


    "And cut your hair," Rex says sharply, echoing a sentiment that Elijah''s father often voices.


    "I''m going for an Elvis sort of look. You don''t like it?" Elijah retorts with a hint of sarcasm, a smirk playing on his lips as he challenges Rex''s directive about his appearance.


    Rex''s stern expression remains unchanged, his gaze fixed on Elijah, unruffled by the hint of sarcasm in Elijah''s tone.


    "Elvis, huh?" Rex responds dryly. "Customers come in here expecting a drugstore, not a rock ''n'' roll show," he adds.


    Elijah chuckles, acknowledging Rex''s point with a wink. "Got it, boss. Drugstore style it is," he says amiably, as he resumes sweeping.


    Later that night, Elijah stands outside the store as it''s being locked up. He and Rex nod at each other as Rex walks to his car. Elijah starts his stroll down the street when a worn-out Chevrolet Apache, its engine sputtering slightly, eases towards him and halts by the curb. The window of the car rolls down, revealing the familiar faces of his friends Johnny and Ralph, their grins big and wide.


    "Hey there, Elijah!" Johnny calls out with a hearty wave, his voice filled with excitement.


    Ralph, seated beside him, offers a friendly nod and a smile as the car idles beside Elijah. Johnny and Ralph are a few years older than Elijah and both sport slicked back hair and black leather jackets. Elijah chuckles to himself. He can''t help but find irony in their image¡ªsporting slicked-back hair and the quintessential black leather jackets that define the cool ''greaser'' look, all while cruising around town in a weathered pickup truck.


    "What''s happening, guys?" Elijah asks with a friendly grin, leaning closer to the car window to chat with Johnny and Ralph, eager to catch up and see what they''re doing.


    "Not a goddamned thing, as usual," Johnny replies with a chuckle, his tone tinged with a hint of playful sarcasm. His words carry a sense of laid-back resignation, hinting at the routine nature of their evenings, filled with mundane happenings in their small town. "But listen, Ralph and I are gonna drive down to Toronto tomorrow. You wanna come with?"


    "Yeah, and bring your guitar, man," Ralph says, leaning over Johnny in the passenger seat. "We need a troubadour to help us pick up chicks."


    "Yeah, of course!" Elijah responds with a grin, his enthusiasm evident. "What time were you guys leaving?"


    Johnny glances at Ralph with a smirk before turning back to Elijah. "We''re thinking around 8 pm, man," Johnny replies, "We''ll pick you up at your place. Just make sure your old man doesn''t see us. I don''t think he likes us."


    "Ah, shit. He doesn''t like anyone." Elijah smirks, "Not even me. But 8 it is."


    "You want a ride home?" Ralph asks.


    "No thanks. I''ll enjoy the walk home." Elijah responds with a smile. Johnny rolls his window back up as he and Ralph start driving away, the engine of Johnny''s car sputtering as it begins to pull away from the sidewalk. The beat-up truck slowly fades into the evening as Elijah starts to walk home.


    Less than 24 hours later, Elijah is sitting in the back of Johnny''s truck as they cruise to Toronto. The radio station crackles to life within the Chevrolet Apache and the radio is turned up at almost full volume as the fading light of the day sets on the city''s distant lights on the horizon. The dial, adjusted to a local station, emits a warm golden glow from the dashboard, its tuning knob surrounded by a halo of light as it is turned to lock onto the frequency.


    "Send your membership card today to the Happy Fellows Club and win a year''s supply of free food for a family of four. Plus a year''s supply of clothing for a family of four to the tune of $1,800. A prize valued at $3,620 to be awarded soon to some happy members of the CKLW Happy Fellows Club. Here''s the No. 1 song this week. Those delightful dames The Ronettes with ''Be My Baby'' on CKLW."


    Johnny and Ralph begin tapping the steering wheel and the dashboard in unison with the rhythmic pop song playing on the radio.


    Elijah sits in the bed of the truck with his guitar propped on his knee, strumming along to the radio, enveloped in the sounds of music. His gaze fixates on the scene before him, a picture of rural Ontario bathed in the waning evening sunlight, rolling fields and lush green landscapes sprawling before him as he soaks in the ambiance and the sights. Elijah looks over at Ralph and Johnny who are smiling and singing along to the radio as they cruise through the winding country roads. As the trio approaches the outskirts of Toronto, Elijah marvels at the sight of the illuminated buildings that rise majestically above the darkening skyline. The lights seem to grow larger and larger, creating an illusion that the group is getting ever closer. Elijah realizes that he''s never seen anything as spectacular as this. He grins, enjoying the sights while soaking in the moment.


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    By the time the sun begins to set, the three of them reach Yorkville Village. Cars crowd the streets as they park and wander the bustling avenues, immersed in the energy and atmosphere that engulfs the area. An eclectic mix of musicians perform in front of an audience gathered on the sidewalks. Hip young adults gather under awnings of storefronts to watch the performance or indulge in conversations, sharing drinks, or smoking. Elijah looks on, absorbing the spectacle around him. The bright colors, loud music, and excited chatter of a buzzing community are in stark contrast to Orangeville. Elijah sees a large group of people around his age hanging outside of a car. The radio in the car is blasting "My Boyfriend''s Back" by The Angels.


    "There''s a club around here we should check out," Johnny says "This one right here," Johnny says with a gesture as he turns the corner to walk into the entrance. The street with faint neon signs guides them to the folk club entrance. The three of them enter, greeted by the familiar scent of tobacco smoke and spilled beer. A low hum of conversation fills the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter. Stepping in, the vibe changes to the mellow strums of live acoustic folk music. Inside, it''s cozy with candlelit tables, the sound of guitars and heartfelt vocals filling the air. As the three of them sit down at a table near the stage, Ralph nudges Elijah in the ribs, his face alight with mischief.


    "Check it out, Elijah!" Ralph exclaims with a nod towards the bar where a slender young woman wearing a miniskirt and white go-go boots straddles a stool. Her long dark hair falls in loose curls framing her face.


    "She''s quite something, eh?" Johnny teases, his eyes fixed on the woman as she sips on a drink. "Not really my kind of chick, but she''s alright."


    "I dunno, I kinda dig the mod look," Elijah muses, his gaze still trained on the young woman as he fiddles with his guitar strings.


    Just then, a man climbs onstage, moving to the microphone. The room falls quiet, and the crowd watches in anticipation.


    "Alright, folks. You know tonight on Fridays here at The Purple Onion we have an open mic.." the MC''s voice booms across the room, announcing the weekly event. "So if any of you cats have any music you wanna play, just come right up on the stage." The host pauses and steps aside, ceding the microphone. The stage remains empty as the crowd looks on, waiting expectantly. The MC scans the audience, his eyes searching for volunteers. "Come on, someone, let''s not waste precious time, yes?"


    Elijah looks at Johnny and Ralph, Johnny winks at him and Ralph motions for him to get on the stage.


    "Go on, Elijah. Show them what you got," Johnny says.


    "You''ve been practicing," Ralph adds.


    Elijah stands up, reluctantly picks up his guitar, and makes his way towards the stage, feet dragging slightly as he moves. As he walks up the stairs to the stage, his footsteps amplify with every step. His heartbeat quickens and his hands begin to tremble ever so slightly as he goes to the microphone. The M.C. smiles and puts his arm around Elijah.


    "What''s your name, son?" He asks, his voice low and soft.


    "Elijah. Elijah MacDougall," he replies, his voice wavering.


    "Alright, Elijah MacDougall," the M.C. repeats, "Where you from?"


    "I''m from Orangeville," Elijah states, his confidence growing as he becomes more comfortable.


    "A small-town boy! Well, there you have it, folks! From Orangeville, we have Elijah MacDougall! Come on up and give us a song, son."


    "It''s good to meet you," the M.C. adds as he steps away from the microphone.


    Elijah grips his guitar tightly and closes his eyes. He starts to play a few chords as the audience falls silent. He begins playing Bob Dylan''s "Don''t Think Twice, It''s Alright" and then adds his rendition of Carl Perkins'''' "Blue Suede Shoes". He hears a few whistles from the crowd and notices a couple of people clapping, which urges him to keep going. He sees Johnny and Ralph dancing in their seats to the rhythm of the music as he continues to play. When Elijah finishes his last note, the audience claps in approval.


    "Very nice, Elijah, very nice indeed! Put your hands together, everybody!" The MC declares enthusiastically, raising his arms as Elijah walks off the stage, and heads towards Johnny and Ralph. As he sits back down at their table, Johnny and Ralph slap his back with wide grins.


    "Now that''s what I call hip, Elijah!" Johnny praises as he smacks Elijah''s back once more, a broad grin across his face.


    "Well done, man!" Ralph agrees.


    Afterward, Elijah, Johnny, and Ralph stay out late talking, drinking, and listening to live music. Elijah learns that some of the performers on the bill tonight were in a band that had recorded a hit single recently. Standing outside, a large bearded man walks up to the three of them and looks at Elijah''s guitar.


    "That''s a beautiful Martin," the man comments, admiring the instrument.


    "Thanks, it''s a 1950. Picked it up in a pawnshop in Kitchener a while ago," Elijah replies proudly, holding the guitar a bit higher for the man to see.


    "You did good up there, kid," the man remarks as he holds out his hand to shake Elijah''s, "I''m Marty. What''s your name again?"


    "Elijah and these are my buddies, Johnny and Ralph," Elijah answers, nodding to the two men standing by his side.


    Marty shakes Johnny''s and Ralph''s hands before turning his attention back to Elijah. "Listen, I bartend for a club down in New York City. I think you''d do pretty good down there. You''re a good-looking young kid with some talent. You ever think of playing in the Village?"


    Elijah''s ears perk up at the mention of New York.


    "That''s been my dream ever since I graduated, man. That''s where Dylan started!" Elijah gushes.


    "Well, kid, if you ever want to do it for real, consider coming down to NYC. I think you could make a go of it. Make some dough if you''ve got the nerve. Maybe get yourself some new threads, too," Marty adds with a laugh, his eyes running up and down Elijah, taking in his tattered T-shirt and faded jeans.


    "Thanks, I''ll think about it, it''s a big decision," Elijah replies politely.


    "Well, keep it in mind, kid. You look like you''re ready for a change, and a little taste of the Village might do you some good. But listen, it''s getting late, and I gotta run. Here''s my card. Keep in touch. I''ve gotta head out," Marty says before bidding the three farewell, waving goodbye as he disappears into the night.


    "I told ya coming to Toronto would be good," Johnny says with a grin as the three of them walk back to his car.


    "Yeah, man," Ralph concurs, "it was a cool night, for sure."


    "It sure was," Elijah says with a nod and a smile as Johnny''s truck pulls away into the city streets.


    ***


    The three of them make it back to Orangeville in the early hours of the morning when the first light of the day is beginning to cast its faint rays over the horizon. The town''s empty streets, enveloped in the calm and tranquility of dawn, offer a stark contrast to the buzzing activity that filled the streets only hours before in Toronto''s Yorkville neighborhood. Elijah watches the quaint Ontario scenery roll by as the car rumbles along the familiar roads. The view brings a smile to Elijah''s lips¡ªa scene of the world as it usually is, orderly and peaceful, the town blanketed in falling leaves. John and Ralph drop Elijah off outside his house with a casual wave before driving away in Johnny''s car.


    Elijah opens the door as the adrenaline of the night before is still buzzing through him. He feels like he couldn''t sleep if he tried. So, he goes to walk to the living room but then notices his father sitting alone in the kitchen. He''s looking out the window and Elijah slowly walks into the kitchen. His father looks up at him, his face hardening.


    "What''s going on, pop?"


    "Sit down, Elijah." His father responds curtly.


    Elijah looks at his dad curiously as he sits at the table.


    "Is everything okay? Where''s ma?"


    "Your mother is in the hospital, Elijah." Elijah''s father responds, his voice firm and somber. "While you were out galavanting with your little punk friends in the city, she had a heart attack."


    Elijah is taken aback. "Wh...what?!"


    "You heard me, boy. She''s in the hospital and who knows what''s going to happen?" He replies gruffly, rising from his seat. "So, no, Elijah, everything is not okay. My wife is in the hospital, and here you are, sneaking in like the lowlife you are."


    His father paces angrily as he glares at him.


    "So, don''t you dare ask me if everything is okay because nothing is okay! Nothing will ever be okay as long as you carry on the way you do. Now get out of my sight and get to your room. We''re going to see your mother in the afternoon."


    Elijah gets up slowly and goes to walk away. He looks at his father and takes a deep breath. He can feel his hands start to ball into fists as he thinks of everything he wants to say to his dad, but he tries to suppress his emotions, knowing that whatever comes out of his mouth right now is only going to add fuel to the fire.


    "Ok," Elijah mutters.


    "Ok, what?!?" His father bellows.


    "Ok...sir."


    ***


    Later that afternoon, Elijah sits with his mom in her hospital room, clutching his mother''s hand tightly. His dad stands silently in the corner of the room, his face fixed in a stoic expression.


    Elijah leans towards his mother, tears streaming down his face.


    "Please don''t die, Ma..." he sobs. "I love you."


    His mother turns her head to the side, her eyes opening slowly, focusing on Elijah.


    "I love you too, Elijah," she says softly.


    She lifts her hand, placing it gently on his cheek as a smile crosses her lips. "I''m fine, you know. Just tired."


    "That''s good, ma." Elijah sniffles, wiping the tears from his face with his shirt sleeve.


    "And how about you?" his mother asks, "How was Toronto? Tell me all about it!"


    Elijah''s father scoffs before storming out of the room.


    Elijah sighs as he watches his father leave.


    "I''m sorry, Elijah, he means well," his mother reassures, squeezing his hand.


    "It''s alright, Ma, it''s not your fault."


    Elijah sighs and takes a deep breath as he turns his attention back to his mother. He tells her all about Toronto, relaying the details of his trip while she listens intently, interjecting with an occasional comment or question.


    "So when are you leaving for New York?" she asks.


    Elijah is shocked and taken aback by his mother''s question. How could he have even considered going to New York? With his mom here in the hospital, and his dad in such a mood, how could he even consider leaving her behind?


    "Ma, I don''t think I could-"


    "Elijah," his mother interrupts sternly, "I need you to go to New York. You have been put on this earth for a reason, son. And it''s not just so you can work in a drug store or a factory or a coal mine. Go, go, and make a life for yourself. Go find yourself."


    Elijah nods his head and rises from his chair. "Okay, Ma. If that''s what you think is best, then I''ll go."


    His mother smiles up at him, reaching out to pull him into an embrace.


    "Good. Because if you don''t and I die here, I''m going to haunt you forever. Is that understood?" she jokes as Elijah returns her hug.


    "Yes, ma''am!" he replies, unable to hold back his laughter as a single tear rolls down his face. Elijah gets up and leaves the room, seeing his father sitting in a chair. His father looks at him with contempt as he walks past him in the hall.


    "That''s right..." his father snaps. "Leave us all alone..."


    Elijah takes a deep breath and then turns around, grinning at his father.


    "Ok, sir." He retorts smugly. Elijah turns his back on his father, walking away without giving him a second thought.


    As Elijah gets to a pay phone, he pulls the card out of his jeans pocket that the man named Marty had given him the previous night.


    "Marty? Yeah, hey it''s Elijah MacDougall, we met at the Purple Onion last night. Do you remember me? The guy with the Martin? Good... I want to talk to you about that offer. Give me until after Christmas and I''ll be there in January."

 Chapter 1: New York Ferry Reverie

    Outside the Cafe Wha?, November 25th, 1965


    Elijah is having a smoke outside in frigid November weather. He''s at yet another gig, an indifferent crowd. No matter how many gigs he plays or songs he writes, he can''t seem to break through. Elijah glances at Marty, the burly bouncer for the venue who is also enjoying a smoke outside. "Hey Marty, have you heard my single on the radio yet?" he asks, releasing a puff of smoke out into the night.


    Marty chuckled and shook his head, "Nah, kid, I ain''t heard it yet."


    Elijah shrugged, took another drag of his cigarette, and said emphatically "I think it''s gonna be a hit. It''s good stuff, some real folky Phil Ochs shit, you know?"


    "Yeah, well we''ll see. If it starts playing on the radio stations old farts like me listen to, maybe people will come to your shows. That''s what it takes, man. You gotta get your name out there. Marty emphasized, gesturing with his hands toward the city skyline.


    Elijah sighs. He thinks to himself, "Yeah, I''ve heard this all before. I''m talented but I''m not getting anywhere. It''s like the city is swallowing me whole. What does my talent get me if no one wants to hear my shit?"


    "You got any advice for me?" he asks Marty.


    "Advice? Kid, you need more than advice. You need luck, connections, and perfect timing. It''s a whole different world here. You''ve got to navigate it right, or you''ll get lost."


    Elijah finishes his cigarette and stamps it out with the toe of his boot, "I guess you''re right Marty. It''s fucking tough out here though."


    Elijah re-enters the Cafe Wha? weighed down by disappointment and with a lump in his throat. The ambient sounds of the caf¨¦ surround him, the soft hum of conversations, a nearby guitar strumming, and the dim, smoky atmosphere.


    He takes an open seat next to some people around his age and watches a folk trio play their set. They''re singing the same old folk songs that everyone in the city sings. Elijah turns to one of the people he''s sitting next to and leans in towards him. "You can only hear ''This Land is Your Land'' so many times before you want to blow your brains out, am I right?" There''s been a growing divide between the more "folkie purists" and the more laid-back people who welcome change in music. Elijah finds himself more on the latter side.


    Elijah chuckles and nudges the man, but he just glares at him shaking his head in disagreement before looking back towards the performance. Elijah awkwardly turns his head away, looking down at the floor.


    "Shit," he thinks to himself, "I''m not trying to be a dick. I thought that was pretty funny. Must be a die-hard folkie."


    ***


    The next morning Elijah wakes up in his small apartment, still feeling disheartened from the night before. He fumbles his way out of his blanket-strewn bed. Though the night before was hard, he shakes the cobwebs out and looks forward to another day. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he rummages through his faded jeans that are on the floor. There are only a few more dollars left. Elijah anxiously sighs as he knows his rent is due soon. He picks up his guitar and strums a few chords. Outside his window, the city is waking up, bustling with life. The gentle hum of cars fills the streets, and people hurry along the sidewalks, their footsteps creating a rhythmic percussion that echoes in Elijah''s head. Neon signs from jazz clubs and diners flickered to life, casting colorful reflections on the rain-slicked pavement. The distant sound of saxophones and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from nearby cafes added to the ambiance of these New York streets. He sighs and wonders why he doesn''t feel like a part of it. Looking over at the record player on his bedside table, he picks up the 45 of his own single "New York Ferry Reverie," and places it on the player. Strumming along to the song, he recalls the moment when he first debuted and released it.


    ***


    April 23rd, 1965 (7 months earlier)


    The Gaslight Cafe, 116 Macdougal Street


    Elijah is anxiously waiting backstage before his first performance at the popular Gaslight Cafe. He paces back and forth with his acoustic guitar slung across his back. The wool fabric on his black turtleneck itches and he nervously scratches at it. Another musician is sitting in a chair, green oval sunglasses perched ever so slightly on the tip of his nose. "Man, Dylan really pissed off a lot of people last week at Newport, huh?" the musician says.


    Elijah stops pacing and nods. "Yeah, I was there at the Folk Festival. I couldn''t believe all the people getting mad at him for having an electric guitar and a band behind him! I get that''s not what they were expecting, but to actually ''boo'' Bob Dylan? Crazy man."


    The musician continues flipping through his newspaper, "Well, the people want folk singers, not rock and roll singers." He then pulls the corner of his newspaper down and raises an eyebrow at Elijah "You are a folk singer, right?"


    "Uhh..yeah, of course!" Elijah responds awkwardly, smiling. "I wouldn''t have a gig here if I wasn''t, right?"


    "Alright, man." The musician says, chuckling, "Well you better play real good or they''re gonna eat you alive out there." Just then, a voice comes booming from the stage.


    "Hey, Elijah. You''re up!"


    Elijah takes a deep breath and walks towards the stage. He peeks out from behind the curtain and sees a small but excited crowd. Some of the men are also wearing black turtlenecks and chunky, beaded necklaces, the women are wearing black skirts with black pantyhose. Elijah looks down at his own worn-out leather chukka boots and listens to the MC begin his introduction.


    "Alllllright, everybody. We''ve had a boss night so far, real boss. We have another cat about to come on stage and he''s here all the way from Canada. He''s only been here in the Village for a few months so let''s give him a welcoming round of applause! Dig, Elijah Macdoooougggalllll!"


    The audience politely claps as Elijah slowly walks onstage and sits down on the wooden stool placed in the center.


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    He begins tuning his guitar and smiles at the crowd. "Thanks for the introduction, Chip," Elijah says, methodically turning the tuning knobs on his acoustic guitar. "Like he said, I came here a little while ago from Ontario. You know, I got tired of living in a cold, snowy place...so I came to New York in December."


    A few chuckles ripple through the audience at Elijah''s joke. Elijah smirks, strumming a few chords of his guitar. "But honestly, it''s been a gas here in the Village so far, and I''d like to play a song I wrote about it all," Elijah says, making himself more comfortable on the stool. "It''s called New York Ferry Reverie."


    Well, I hopped aboard a ferry, headed to New York town


    With the wind blowin'' in my hair and the water all around


    The skyline gettin'' closer, my heart beatin'' fast


    I knew I had to get there, my dreams were comin'' at last


    I left behind a cold grey town where nothin'' ever seemed to change


    Where the folks were always frownin'' and the skies were always grey


    But I had a fire burnin'' deep, a passion for my sound


    And I knew that New York City was the place I had to be found


    New York Ferry, gonna find my way around


    New York Ferry, gonna make some sweet new sounds


    Well, I hopped aboard a ferry, headed to New York town


    With the wind blowin'' in my hair and the water all around


    Touching down on Broadway, the journey took too long


    But as I looked at the city, I began to sing this song.


    New York Ferry, gonna find my way around


    New York Ferry, gonna make some sweet new sounds


    As the final chords echo through the intimate venue, the smoky air is filled with a chorus of snaps and cheers, the audience expressing their appreciation for Elijah''s ode to their city. Elijah, with a contented grin on his face, acknowledges the applause with a humble nod.


    Elijah plays for another 20 minutes, mixing mostly traditional folk ballads and some Dylan. After he''s finished, he places the guitar gently on its stand and stands up, the spotlight casting a warm glow on his face. "Thank you, thank you," Elijah says, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and passion. "I''m glad you dug my set. Good night."


    Outside the venue, under the glow of neon signs and the distant hum of the city, Elijah finds himself surrounded by people eager to share their thoughts on his performance. A young couple approaches him, expressing how his lyrics resonated with their own experiences in the city. Elijah nods, genuinely interested in their stories. A guy in a leather jacket offers him a cigarette, and they share a moment discussing the history of the Village.


    The night air is filled with the sounds of the city¡ªcar horns, distant music, and the murmur of conversations. Elijah leans against the brick wall, absorbing the vibrant atmosphere that drew him to New York in the first place.


    ***


    Elijah opens his eyes, back in the present moment as the needle on the record player reaches the end of his single. The room is left in the soft pulse of the record player winding down and Elijah, grabbing a cigarette from his table, lights it up, takes a drag, and sighs deeply.


    "What the fuck happened?" he says out loud to himself, taking another look at the record sleeve. "There seemed to be momentum after the Gaslight gig and I thought people were gonna buy the single, but it never happened. It''s almost like one day I was on the brink of breaking to the next level but now I''m still slumming it at dive bars, trying to scrounge up enough money to eat."


    While sipping his coffee, Elijah picks up the day''s newspaper and, while leafing through it, he sees an article about the wave of groups making noise in San Francisco. Groups fusing pop and folk into a new sound that''s capturing the attention of the West Coast scene. Elijah feels a spark of inspiration as he reads the article.


    "Maybe this is the kind of opportunity I''ve been looking for. Frisco looks hip. Real hip. Maybe this is where it''ll all happen." he thinks to himself, smiling widely at the newspaper.


    Elijah starts researching the scene in San Francisco, learning about the groups that are making waves and the venues that are hosting them. He scours newspapers for reviews of the latest happenings in the West Coast music world, immersing himself in the sounds of the emerging folk-rock fusion and the revolutionary scene thriving in the Haight-Ashbury district. Finding himself dreaming of sunny skies and open highways and imagining the thrill of performing for audiences that are hungry for new sounds and experiences, he decides that he''s going to pack up his guitar and head west.


    Elijah walks to the Cafe Wha?. It''s not open yet but Marty always lets him hang out and drink beer there. Marty grins as Elijah sits down. "Why do you look so serious, kid?" Marty asks.


    "I gotta tell you something, Marty." Elijah nods his head slowly. "Yeah, man. So, this will be the last time for a long time I''ll be here. I decided I''m gonna hitchhike to California and try to make it there. There''s a scene happening that I need to at least try to be a part of."


    Marty cracks open a beer, hands it to Elijah, and thinks about it a bit. "Shit, that''s a big move, kid. You sure about it?"


    Elijah nods, "Yeah, I''m done with this city. It''s just not working out for me, like I''m just spinning my wheels here, you know? I need a fresh start, somewhere new and exciting. California sounds perfect for me, man. I think it''s where I need to be."


    Marty smiles. "Well, I wish you the best, kid. Don''t let anyone hold you back, okay?"


    Elijah finishes his beer and stands up, he shakes Marty''s hand and heads back to his apartment to pack up his life. He sprawls out a map on his cluttered apartment floor, tracing his finger along the winding roads that connect the East to the West. He takes a deep breath and looks out the window. He can''t help but sigh with relief at the thought of leaving behind the relentless chill of the city.


    "It''s been a tough year here in New York," Elijah speaks out loud to himself, "I don''t know what''s gonna happen out west, and I''m gonna miss this city in a way, but I''m sure as hell not gonna miss bitter winds and icy sidewalks or the gray skies that seem to linger endlessly. I think the indifference of the guarded, distant, stubborn, and stuck-in-their-ways people I''m gonna miss the least. See ya down the line, NYC." Before leaving his apartment, he decides to write a letter to his mother.


    "Dear Ma,


    I''m happy to hear you''re still doing better than when I first moved away. I didn''t want to leave you in the hospital, but we both you''re the boss, so when you told me to go follow my dreams, I wasn''t going to say no. I''d like to say I already achieved my dreams here after only a year and some, but...it''s been hard. People are hard here. I don''t want to sound like I''m giving up, because I can just hear Dad''s voice in my head every time I get to that point, but it''s been a struggle.


    I''m writing you to tell you that I''m leaving New York and hitchhiking to San Francisco. I know that sounds crazy and it''s on the other side of the country, but I already have everything mapped out. I have a few bucks left so I''m gonna hitch a Greyhound bus ride to Chicago and take it from there. I know, I know. I''ll be safe, don''t worry.


    I don''t know what you''ll say to Dad about all of this. I don''t think he''d be happy about it, but then, I don''t think he''d be happy if I came home either. Just tell him whatever. You''re always good at knowing what to say. I just want to make you proud.


    Your little angel,


    Love, Elijah

 Chapter 2: On The Road Again

    Elijah has been on the road for a week now. Sitting on a Greyhound Bus making an early morning stop in Chicago, he thinks about the trip he''s already been on. First hitchhiking from Manhattan, he was picked up by a truck driver who drove him straight through Pennsylvania all the way to Cleveland. Elijah remembers being amazed at how much the farmlands of Lancaster reminded him of his own home and how seeing the Amish men and women made him feel like he was on a different planet.


    As Elijah steps off the bus and into the bustling terminal in downtown Chicago, he looks up to see a giant clock tower with two bell towers perched atop it. The structure reaches upwards, looming over the city''s skyline. It''s nearly 1:30 a.m. and crowds are thinning out for the night from bars and stores as the people disperse onto the city streets to seek refuge from the cold winter air and snow.


    Elijah goes to light up a cigarette when a young black man approaches him and beckons him over.


    "Hey, man! You look like a brother, I''ve got a great deal for you. 5 bucks for some grass. You wanna feel good? Like get real high, stoned, loose, ya know?"


    "I''ve never smoked before," Elijah replies skeptically. "Is it OK?"


    "Yeah, man. Whatever," the man says. "It''s good, brother. Don''t worry about it."


    Elijah rummages through his pockets when sirens blare from another street down.


    "You know what, brother? I gotta go," the young man says nervously as he hands Elijah a small plastic bag of marijuana.


    "Here, take it for free. On the house. And you should split too. The pigs are comin''!"


    Before Elijah can utter a word in reply, the young man slips into the crowd, and disappears into the masses. Elijah stares blankly at the bag in his hand. He looks towards the street and nervously thinks about what to do. He stuffs the bag into his pocket and slinks into the shadows of the nearest alleyway, attempting to blend into his surroundings. As he steps into the darkness, Elijah lets out a sigh of relief and slides down the brick wall of the building until he is seated. He places his guitar case by his side as he settles in, trying to figure out what to do next.


    Leaning back against the wall, Elijah stares up at the sky, taking in the dark stretch of clouds that move slowly across the horizon. He looks around and sees trash cans and dumpsters, some overflowing with waste, lining the alley, their metal exteriors glistening with frost. Old, rusting fire escapes and utility pipes are visible on the sides of the buildings, with icicles hanging from some of their edges.


    He takes the bag of weed out of his pocket and picks out a joint. Placing it between his lips, Elijah fumbles to find his lighter, almost dropping it in the process. He takes a hit and instantly starts coughing. He takes a second to catch his breath, then laughs to himself. He remembers his first cigarette and how harsh it was, but then how holding in the smoke helped. He takes another drag and holds in the smoke before breathing it out and coughing again. He leans his head back and closes his eyes as he savors the feeling. A sort of light-headedness envelops him, accompanied by a gradual relaxation that starts in his body and seeps into his mind. It''s as though invisible hands massage away tension, leaving behind a feather-lightness that cradles his body.


    The world feels warm and fuzzy to Elijah, like a soft blanket wrapping him in a cocoon of comfort. Everything around him seems to melt away as he sits there with a smile on his face, watching the black night sky and listening to the sounds of the city outside the alleyway around him.


    A cool breeze brushes against Elijah''s cheek, causing him to shiver slightly as he gazes up at the starry night sky once more. The scent of dampness from melting snow or frost, mixed with the aroma of exhaust fumes from passing vehicles along with the smell of old bricks and a faint hint of coal smoke from nearby chimneys lingers in the air. It''s almost like Elijah can hear his own thoughts and he begins speaking aloud to himself.


    "I gotta make this work, man," he says to the sky above. "I gotta make it work for Ma. I''m gonna do it for you, Ma, I promise. I''m going to do it for you."


    There is no response from the skies, but Elijah continues to gaze upwards anyway.


    "I miss you. I''m sorry I couldn''t make any money in New York. Sorry, Dad. But you didn''t want me there. No matter what I did, it was never good enough for you. I always knew you weren''t happy with me. Maybe it''s better that I''m not there. You''d probably be happier if I had stayed in Orangeville and worked in the mines like you, wouldn''t you, Dad?"


    Elijah chuckles to himself as he takes another drag off the joint. Even though pain and sarcasm is coming from his words, he can''t help but laugh.


    "And I can just see you now. The look on your face if you heard I was going all the way to California.. But you know, maybe that''s where I belong. Out there, in the sun, doing my thing, writing my songs. I think Ma would understand. She was always good at understanding."


    Elijah finishes his joint and tosses the remnants into the snow. He rubs his hands together for warmth, standing up to lean against the wall.


    "I''m talking to myself. This grass is good. That''s crazy, man." Elijah says as he reaches into his pocket for another joint. He tries to wipe off the snow from his pants as he stands up.


    As he lights the joint, another siren pierces the silence, echoing through the streets. Not sure if it''s the same siren as before or a new one, he jumps as he looks in the direction of the noise. His heart is pounding as he searches for a place to hide. He ducks behind a nearby trash can and peeks out, scanning the area.


    "Fuck! What am I going to do now? Where can I go? Think, man, think! Fuck, what do I do?"


    Elijah hurriedly grabs his guitar and starts running. His mind is racing as he starts looking for an escape. His boots crunch in the freshly fallen snow as he runs. The chill of the frigid air seeps into his bones with each step and causes him to shiver slightly. He sees an all-night diner and hurries inside. The scent of grease and coffee permeates the air as Elijah seeks shelter from the cold.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Can I help you, son?" the waitress asks.


    "Uh yeah. Can I get a cup of joe and some scrambled eggs?" he responds, his teeth chattering as he stands at the counter.


    The woman eyes him suspiciously before turning and leaving to get his order. Elijah drops into a booth, settling onto the worn-out vinyl seat with cracks and patches. The faint scent of lingering cigarette smoke wafts through the air. His heart continues to race from the recent scare outside, making it difficult for him to catch his breath. Despite his hunger, the butterflies in his stomach only intensify the discomfort.


    He sits in silence as he looks more around the diner. Now that he''s calmed down a bit, he starts noticing the clinking of dishes, the clang of utensils, and the sound of sizzling bacon, frying eggs, and hash browns cooking on the grill. The normalcy helps him calm down. After about 5 minutes, the waitress returns with his order.


    "Here you go, dear. Enjoy," she says with a smile, handing Elijah his plate.


    "Thank you," Elijah responds, his mouth watering at the sight of the hot food.


    Elijah quickly eats all of his eggs, enjoying every bite. He takes barely any time to breathe, swallowing them down with the delicious black coffee. after eating, he gets up to leave, stopping at the counter to pay the bill.


    "Do you know where I could find a place to stay?" he asks the waitress.


    "Try the YMCA downtown, sonny. They may have a room."


    "Thanks, Ma''am," Elijah picks his guitar up off the floor and makes his way out of the restaurant.


    The street lamps illuminate the snow-covered sidewalks with their artificial glow. The sound of tires rolling across the pavement can be heard in the distance, and the smell of exhaust lingers in the air. Elijah steps into the street and is greeted by a blast of cold wind. He pulls his jacket tightly around him, shivering as he begins to move towards his destination.


    After walking for several blocks, Elijah turns a corner and comes upon a large brick building. On the front, there''s a sign that reads ''YMCA.'' Elijah pauses for a moment, before heading inside.


    ***


    The following day, Elijah sits on a bench in a crowded bus station, waiting for a Greyhound bus heading to Denver. Elijah sings softly to himself, strumming his guitar absentmindedly. A man slowly walks towards him. The man is disheveled, his clothes are wrinkled and dirty, and his eyes are bloodshot.


    "Hey man, you sound good." The stranger says, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Gotta cigarette?"


    Elijah keeps strumming his guitar, only briefly looking towards the man, "Yeah, sure. Here ya go, buddy"


    Elijah hands him a cigarette, which he eagerly accepts.


    "You know, you have an aura about you," The man remarks as he takes a drag off the cigarette. "Something about your presence. Do you believe in reincarnation?"


    "I don''t know," Elijah shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I''ve never really thought about it before."


    "Well, I do," the man asserts confidently. "I think we''ve all lived before, and that we come back to learn lessons from our previous lives. Our souls are on a journey, a mission if you will, and it''s our responsibility to fulfill it."


    Elijah looks at the man with skepticism, unsure of what to say.


    "Maybe." He replies. "Whatever you say, man."


    The stranger smiles as he takes another drag off his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply before blowing it out in a long stream.


    "I think you''re special, brother," he tells Elijah, grinning. "You have a gift. I can sense it. And I know these things because I''ve been reincarnated into this body you see before you as Dan Smith."


    "Dan Smith? That''s your name?" Elijah asks, amused by the strange man.


    "Indeed it is. And what is your name?"


    "Elijah McDougall." Elijah shakes the man''s hand.


    "Interesting," the man observes as he shakes Elijah''s hand vigorously. "I can see your aura, Elijah MacDougall. It''s purple and gold."


    Elijah smiles politely as if to humor the man.


    "That means you''re a creative soul, and I''ve been given a gift to tell you things about yourself that I could never know."


    Elijah scratches his head, wondering what this strange man might know about him.


    "What kind of things?"


    "For example," Dan states, his eyes boring into Elijah''s with a penetrating stare. "You ate a steak dinner last night."


    Elijah smirks, realizing the guy is full of it, but he decides to humor him since he''s been friendly.


    "Sure, Dan," Elijah concedes.


    "Also," the man adds with a wink, "you enjoyed the company of a lady friend afterward."


    "Ahh, right." Elijah nods as Dan''s story sounds nicer than the truth. "Well, Dan...it''s been nice meeting you, man, but I think my bus is here."


    "Elijah," the man whispers, leaning close to Elijah''s ear. "This one time I''m telling you the truth, brother. You need to listen. I have an important message for you."


    Elijah turns towards the man, raising his eyebrows, surprised by the man''s seriousness.


    "Be careful. Follow the vibrations and don''t stray from the path. Follow your heart. Good luck." Dan asserts with finality.


    "Uhh, thanks, Dan. I appreciate it. Take care of yourself, OK?" Elijah says, standing up and patting the man on the back as he turns away.


    Elijah heads toward the bus, carrying his guitar case. He climbs aboard, settling into a seat near the back, while the bus fills up with other passengers.


    As the bus doors close, Elijah glances out the window and sees Dan waving goodbye, a smile on his face.


    The bus pulls away from the curb and drives down the street, headed for Denver. After a while, Elijah feels himself getting tired as he watches the scenery pass by through the windows. Drifting off, he can hear the opening lines of "Bob Dylan''s Dream" in his head.


    "While riding on a train goin'' west


    I fell asleep for to take my rest


    I dreamed a dream that made me sad


    Concerning myself and the first few friends I had"


    Elijah wakes up a bit and shakes his head. He thinks about his friends that he left behind: Johnny and Ralph, and wonders how they''re doing. The warm fuzzy feeling Elijah felt back when he smoked that joint in Chicago is now replaced by a cold sinking sensation of doubt in the pit of his stomach. He rests his head against the window, hoping to shake off that feeling.


    In the distance, Elijah catches sight of undulating hills that ascend towards the horizon. As he continues his drive through the Midwest, Elijah''s uncertainty lingers¡ªhe''s not quite sure if he''s in Ohio or Indiana. He''s only checked a map of the U.S. a few times. Nevertheless, he gazes at the expansive stretch of wilderness before him, briefly taking in the scenery. He closes his eyes once more, hoping to slip back into sleep as the journey continues through the heartland.


    But even in his slumber, his mind races with questions and concerns about what lies ahead.


    "I wonder what''s waiting out there in California? Is anyone going to understand me? Do I even deserve a second chance or am I just going to fuck stuff up?"


    As sleep overtakes him, his dreams are filled with images of his childhood home in Orangeville, surrounded by fields of wheat swaying in the wind. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Elijah can hear the voice of his mother whispering in his ear.


    "It''s going to be OK, baby. We all make mistakes sometimes and that''s alright. You''ll figure it out. I love you."


    Her words bring comfort and calm to Elijah, helping him to relax as he falls deeper into his slumber.

 Chapter 3: To Everything There Is A Season

    December 21st, 1965


    After a week of traveling, Elijah has finally made it to San Francisco.


    Standing in Chrissy Field, he looks out over the bay at the Golden Gate Bridge, which glows in the late afternoon sun. He is awestruck by the view as he gazes upon it for the first time.


    To Elijah, everything seems brighter and more vibrant here than it ever was back home in Ontario. There is a certain energy to the place that he can feel in his bones. The people seem looser, more laidback than in New York, especially more so than in Colorado, where the people seemed to be hardened from the cold mountain air, or Nevada, where the people seemed to be driven only by money and the growing casinos.


    A cool breeze blows off the water, making him shiver as he stands watching the boats travel beneath the bridge.


    "I was expecting it to be warmer," Elijah says to no one in particular. "But it''s a hell of a lot warmer than it''s gonna be back home so I guess I shouldn''t complain."


    He stuffs his hands in his pockets and begins walking towards Marina Boulevard. He takes in his surroundings as he walks. People are bustling about while others hang out on park benches or in the grassy areas dotting the cityscape. Some of them sit alone, smoking cigarettes or talking among themselves, some walk in pairs or small groups of three or four chatting away loudly. Elijah notices many girls wearing long, colorful dresses and flowers in their hair.


    Elijah chuckles, finding it all so strange and interesting. He hasn''t noticed that he''s been walking for over an hour when he turns off of Green Street. He''s been admiring the buildings and how many are beautiful Victorian designs. When he reaches the corner of Green and Grant Steet, Elijah stops and looks up at a small coffee shop. A simple, hand-painted placard reading "Coffee Gallery" hangs above the door, swaying gently in the breeze that carries the distant sound of folk music. The exterior, with its brightly painted facade adorned with murals and the warm, inviting glow of its interior lights. He also notices another sign that reads "OPEN MIC TONIGHT".


    A bell jingles overhead as he enters the cafe, and Elijah is greeted with a smile from the cashier. She has long, straight brown hair and freckles all over her face. She wears a buttoned shirt tied up just above her navel and a short pleated skirt.


    "Welcome! Can I help you?" The girl asks with a wide grin.


    "Yes, uh, could I get a coffee? And I saw there''s an open mic tonight." Elijah asks.


    "There sure is! First come, first serve. Coffee will be thirty-six cents. Cream and sugar are there too." The girl informs him. "We''re always looking for new people to perform! There''s usually always the same people every week."


    "Yeah?" Elijah smiles back at the waitress. "Thanks. I think I may give it a shot tonight, then."


    "Awesome! Here''s your coffee. If you want to perform, sign up is in the back corner. Starts in about 2 hours." She winks at him and goes back to reading her magazine.


    "Thanks," Elijah tells the girl, picking up the coffee. He walks around the caf¨¦ looking for an empty table. Finally, he finds a table with only two chairs at the very front of the room. Elijah sits down and takes a sip of his coffee. It tastes good, but not too strong. He puts the cup down and leans back in his chair, observing the various patrons of the coffee shop.


    ***


    Later that night, more people have piled into the coffee shop for the open mic. Elijah sits at his table, tuning his guitar and preparing himself mentally to perform.


    A man steps onto the stage and clears his throat as he approaches the microphone. The audience quiets down to hear him speak.


    "Hello everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight." The man begins. "I hope you enjoy the show. First, we have a newcomer to the scene." The man looks over to where Elijah sits, "He is coming all the way from Canada and he wants to share something with you guys. Give it up for Elijah!"


    The man gestures towards Elijah''s table and the audience applauds enthusiastically.


    Elijah gets up and walks to the stage, feeling nervous. He takes a deep breath as he reaches the microphone and adjusts the height of it slightly before beginning to speak. He notices that unlike in New York, the other artists are sitting in the audience actively watching the show rather than lingering in the back smoking.


    "Hi, everyone." Elijah greets them. "My name is Elijah. I''d like to sing a song I wrote about living in New York."


    The crowd gives another round of applause in response, making him feel less anxious about being onstage. Elijah strums his guitar once before beginning to play. His fingers move swiftly across the fretboard as he plays the opening chords to "New York Ferry Reverie".


    His voice carries throughout the room, echoing off the walls and bouncing back to him from every direction. The sound reverberates in Elijah''s chest as he sings and he gets lost in the music, completely forgetting where he is.


    Elijah''s eyes drift shut and his shoulders begin to sway slightly. The audience remains silent, listening intently to Elijah''s performance.


    After about two minutes, Elijah opens his eyes and finishes playing the song, finishing the final note with a flourish of his hand.


    "Thank you." Elijah exhales, satisfied. The audience claps loudly. Some even whistle and hoot as they stand up from their seats. "Thank you very much," he repeats, grinning sheepishly. He instantly notices how much more responsive the California crowd is compared to the ones he encountered in the east. He then begins playing a cover of Bob Dylan''s "Don''t Think Twice, It''s Alright".


    After finishing the cover, Elijah takes a break to catch his breath. He takes a sip of water, noticing that most of the audience members are paying attention to him. Several girls glance in his direction, smiling and whispering to each other.


    Elijah can feel the energy in the room building as the excitement rises. He thinks about the final song to play but then has a flash of a memory to back in New York City.


    ***


    "Here''s one you all may know," Elijah says, his hands moving across the frets.


    He breaks into an upbeat strumming pattern for a familiar song. He starts playing The Beatles'' "She Loves You."


    As he sings, once the crowd recognizes the song, a low murmur falls amongst them. It almost sounds like booing, but Elijah ignores it and continues playing. He smiles at the audience, closing his eyes to keep focused. He begins singing the chorus with gusto.


    "She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah


    She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah."


    As Elijah sings the second verse, he feels something hit his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he sees that it was a wadded-up napkin that someone threw at him. This time, the booing is loud and clear. Elijah carries on but can hear heckles from the audience.


    "Pop shit!" Someone yells out.


    "That''s plastic, man! Plastic!" Another adds. "Fuckin'' sell out!"


    The atmosphere turns tense. The audience jeers louder, shouting insults towards Elijah. They start throwing things at the stage. Some of them laugh and point.


    Elijah stops singing abruptly, the noise becoming overwhelming. The crowd becomes even more restless as they grow louder with their heckling. Elijah can''t take it anymore, grabbing his guitar and jumping off the stage to run for the exit.


    As Elijah leaves, the audience starts booing and booing. Some throw empty beer cans at him, but Elijah ignores them all. He bursts out the door, running into the dark street and disappearing down a side alley.


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    ***


    Elijah snaps back to the present, where he begins to sweat. He wonders if he should try the Beatles again, but quickly decides to go for it. The crowd already seems more open-minded and accepting.


    Elijah breaks into a version of "A Hard Day''s Night", this time with no booing. The crowd cheers and sings along to the song. After a minute or so, he concludes the set, bowing before leaving the stage. The audience applauds with genuine enthusiasm as he walks off.


    "Bravo, bravo!" A man calls out as he passes by. Elijah thanks him politely and sits down at his table. He breathes deeply, feeling drained yet proud of himself.


    He catches the eye of a blonde girl who is still clapping. Elijah gives her a nod and a wink as he grabs his cup of water to take a swig. The girl blushes and giggles as she looks away.


    A young man dressed in a long-sleeve striped shirt and faded jeans with thick curly blond hair approaches Elijah''s table.


    "Hey, man! That was killer. I really dug that Dylan song you did." The man says, extending his hand to Elijah.


    Elijah takes it and the two men shake firmly.


    "Thanks. I appreciate it. I''m glad you enjoyed my set." Elijah replies with a smile.


    "No problem. You''re one of the better performers I''ve seen around here, actually. I dig your style. I''m Tommy."


    "Elijah. Nice to meet you." Elijah replies.


    Tommy nods. "Listen, man. You staying anywhere close by? My friends and I were gonna hang out. Maybe smoke some grass later on, if you''re interested. You could join us?"


    Elijah''s interest perks up at the mention of marijuana. He hasn''t smoked any since Chicago and could use something to chill him out after his performance.


    "Yeah. Sure, man." Elijah agrees. "I literally just got here into town today, so I was thinking of finding a place to crash somewhere."


    "What?! No, man! You can stay at my place until you find something. Come on. Grab your stuff, I''ll give you a ride home. Let''s go!"


    Elijah is taken aback by the friendliness of this stranger but appreciates it nonetheless. He grabs his guitar and stands up, following Tommy as he makes his way through the cafe and outside to the parking lot.


    In the parking lot, Tommy points towards a beat-up old Chevy station wagon. He pops the trunk and Elijah places his guitar inside, slamming the lid down hard.


    "Let''s roll, man." Tommy smiles, getting into the driver''s seat of the car. Elijah follows suit, climbing into the passenger seat next to him.


    As the vehicle sputters to life, Elijah peers out the window and sees a group of people on the corner in front of the coffee house. They are all in their late teens and early twenties, with long, straight hair and flowing clothes. One of them stands out from the rest because she is wearing a large, billowing purple dress that reaches her ankles. She also has flowers in her hair. She smiles at Elijah, waving to him. Her red lips are parted in a grin.


    The engine revs, and the car pulls out of the parking lot. As they drive down the road, Elijah watches as the girl disappears behind the corner. They drive for about 10 minutes before arriving at a small apartment complex.


    "Here we are, man. Home sweet home!" Tommy declares as they pull up to the curb. He parks the car, shutting it off before stepping out. Elijah grabs his guitar from the trunk before heading towards the building with Tommy.


    They enter into the apartment and Elijah instantly notices how different it is to the cold, grey apartments in NYC. On the walls, there are paintings of various abstract designs, mostly consisting of colors such as yellow, orange, and green. A record player sits atop a coffee table near the entrance. Next to it lies a bong made from an empty wine bottle, the resin floating near the bottom of the bottle. The furniture itself is mostly a light wooden material with blue floral printed fabric cushions.


    A rail-thin hippie girl in a black beaded top and skirt wanders over to greet them. She has long brown hair and bright green eyes. She smiles as she reaches out her arms, hugging Tommy tightly.


    "Welcome home, babe!" The girl says in an enthusiastic tone. "How was the show?"


    "It was groovy, love. Check out our new guest, Elijah, this is my old lady, Brenda." Tommy introduces them.


    Brenda wraps her arms around Elijah, hugging him too. Elijah hesitantly hugs back, a bit caught off guard by the woman''s affectionate demeanor.


    "Welcome! So nice to have you here, Elijah." Brenda greets him with a grin.


    Elijah returns her smile awkwardly before turning his attention towards Tommy.


    "Thanks for letting me crash here for a while." Elijah says gratefully.


    "Not a problem, man." Tommy responds casually. He looks at his girlfriend and grins. "You want some grass, baby? Spider and Buzz should be here soon. We''re gonna party hard tonight."


    Brenda claps her hands together in excitement. "Sure thing, Tom!"


    "Come on, man. You wanna toke up with us?" Tommy asks Elijah.


    Elijah nods eagerly, following the couple to the kitchen table. As they walk, he notices more people entering the apartment. A few girls wander over to greet them with friendly smiles and warm hugs. With them are two mean-looking men with leather jackets, one with long hair and the other with short bushy hair. Elijah can see that one of them has a spider tattooed onto his neck while the other has a skull on one of his arms. The man with the spider tattoo has long shaggy brown hair that reaches past his shoulders and blue eyes. The other man with the skull tattoo has short black hair styled in a crew cut and is slightly shorter than his counterpart.


    The girls, both wearing dresses like the one Elijah saw earlier, introduce themselves to Elijah as Patty and Lisa. The two men look at him with interest but don''t say anything.


    "This here is Elijah. He''s an artist. From New York, dude!" Tommy says proudly. The others stare at Elijah silently, eyeing him up and down suspiciously.


    Patty breaks the tension by reaching out and embracing Elijah warmly. She has shoulder-length reddish-brown hair that frames her pale face beautifully.


    "Oh, you poor boy! Welcome! It''s been a while since we had someone from ''back east''." She exclaims. Lisa then joins in on the embrace as well.


    "Well, hello to you too, ladies." Elijah smiles at them.


    "Let''s get some grass on the go, man!" Spider, the taller of the two guys with the tattoos, suggests.


    "Dig it! Have you smoked before, Elijah? Can you hold your smoke, brother?" Buzz, the shorter man asks him.


    "Well..." Elijah says sheepishly, "I''ve actually only smoked once before..."


    Everyone stares at him in disbelief. Tommy raises his eyebrows in surprise and even the girls seem surprised. Elijah laughs nervously as he tries to explain himself.


    "I, uh, it was back in Chicago and these dudes offered it to me... I''m sorry."


    Spider and Buzz exchange glances before chuckling. "Tommy, man...where do you find these squares?" Spider asks in a playful tone.


    "I can handle it, man." Elijah defends himself, not wanting to feel like he is being judged or pitied.


    The group breaks out into laughter. Elijah sighs, unsure if this is a good idea, but decides to join in anyway.


    "Far out..." Buzz remarks, impressed.


    "We''re all cool. No worries. You dig us, and we dig you, Elijah. Just having fun, man." Spider adds, wrapping his arm around Elijah''s shoulders.


    "Alright, alright. Enough with the chitchat! Let''s get fucked up!" Buzz interrupts, pulling out a bag full of weed.


    He places it on the table and everyone gathers around to watch as he expertly rolls several joints. Once finished, he distributes one to each person who is eager to accept it."


    Elijah finds himself sitting beside Lisa on the couch in the living room. She places her hand gently on Elijah''s forearm as she smiles sweetly at him. Elijah feels a warm sensation in his stomach upon making contact with her skin.


    "Make yourself comfortable," Lisa says in a soothing voice before leaning forward to take a hit of the joint being passed around. She exhales slowly, letting out a wispy cloud of smoke that hovers above them before fading into nothingness.


    She passes the joint to Elijah. "Take it easy now," she advises, watching carefully as he puts the joint to his lips.


    Elijah takes a big inhale and coughs immediately after, trying to catch his breath. The room suddenly starts spinning and everything looks fuzzy. He continues smoking, however, ignoring his discomfort and trying to prove that he can take it like the rest of them.


    "That''s it, that''s it." Lisa encourages him. "Nice and steady."


    Elijah nods his head slightly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the pleasant feeling that begins to wash over him. It feels just like back in Chicago, only this time, he''s in a nice warm place surrounded by people who are enjoying the same thing he is.


    As Elijah takes another puff, he notices that the room appears brighter somehow, almost as if all of the furniture has been coated in a thin layer of glowing white paint. The air smells sweet and fragrant, making his nose tickle a little bit.


    Elijah starts giggling. Everyone turns to look at him, but nobody seems upset by his behavior. Instead, the others all start laughing with him, and the entire room fills with laughter.


    ***


    It''s been a few hours, and everyone is still smoking and having a good time. Elijah and the rest of the group continue passing the joints around, taking occasional breaks to drink beer.


    "So Elijah," Tommy says slowly, his eyes squinting as he stares directly at Elijah, "What are you looking for here in Frisco, man?"


    Elijah glazily stares up at the ceiling before answering, "I just want to play music...I couldn''t make it in New York but maybe I can here?"


    "Totally, man. But the folk solo bag? I think you gotta drop that. You know what you need to do?"


    "What''s that?" Elijah asks curiously.


    "You need to find a group. That''s what''s happening here."


    Elijah contemplates Tommy''s words for a moment before agreeing. "I guess. I don''t really know anyone else though."


    "You could just put up some posters around town looking for cats," Tommy says, smiling, "Actually, Spider knows someone who posters, dontcha, Spider?"


    Tommy looks down on the floor where he sees Spider, Buzz, and Lisa all passed out. Tommy laughs.


    "Hey, Elijah, looks like you can hold your grass," Tommy says. He playfully kicks Spider. "You hear that, Spider?"


    Spider just rolls over and grumpily mutters, "Get fucked..."


    "Yeah, you should definitely, man. You should get some sleep too." Tommy tells Elijah.


    "Okay," Elijah mumbles, standing up, his vision still swimming a bit. "Where can I go?"


    "There''s a mattress in my room, but my girl and I are gonna have a lot of fun with it." Tommy tells him with a snicker.


    Elijah rubs his tired eyes. He stumbles to the hall, entering the first bedroom on the left. Inside the room is a bed that''s occupied by Patty, one of the girls who was with Brenda earlier in the evening. She is completely naked, sprawled out on her side, her bare breasts exposed. She turns over, flashing Elijah as she smiles.


    "You look like you''ve never seen a naked woman before." Patty teases him.


    Elijah shakes his head quickly, "Well...I uh-" he cuts himself off before turning away bashfully.


    Patty laughs loudly, her giggles echoing through the empty room. She sits up and grabs Elijah''s arm.


    "Don''t get ahead of yourself, lover boy," she warns him jokingly. "We''ve had a long night. Let''s go to sleep."


    "Good idea." Elijah replies.


    Elijah lies down next to Patty and pulls the covers over both of them. She nuzzles up to him and rests her head on his chest. Within seconds, he falls asleep.