The Headliner (version 2)

I moved away from “home” when I realized there was nothing for me there. My family members were either dead or almost there, and let’s just say the ones that were still alive didn't matter to me as much as the ones who had already passed. I had no girlfriend, no permanent job, and no possessions that I could not easily move around. Everything fit in my car, and I left for the place I could get to before my car ran out of gas; wherever that was, would be where I stayed.



I got a job at a bank and didn't mind being so sedentary during the day. I hadn't grown up on a farm and didn't ever enter the military, so sitting at a desk was not harsh or boring. I worked with several women but at the end of the day, I went home alone, usually by choice.



I met Jamie when he was playing a local bar I would frequently visit. I'd go there to get my mind off work and although his songs made no sense at the time, the beat was nice, and some even relaxing. He had no specific style of music, and seemed to get fairly emotional during the set as the night went on. Finally, after seeing him several times in a single month, I decided to talk to him.



I introduced myself as "a fan, but you can call me Casey," and he smiled.



"Casey, nice to meet you. You would have loved me a few years ago when what I said actually mattered." He said, sipping his beer grimly as we talked during the intermission.



"Are you telling me that what you say doesn't matter? What makes you say that?" I asked, nervous about the immediate awkwardness of the conversation.



"Man, what I say matters, but nobody listens...nobody listens." He set a half-empty (or was it half-full?) glass of beer on the bar and went back to the small stage. That's when I decided I would make it a point to listen to his lyrics.



At first, it still didn't make sense, until I went home and looked up a few buzz words. The few words that I had caught had the theme of lying, cheating and deception. Judging by that, it looked as if he was singing a country song with a different kind of beat behind it. I continued searching. My napkin, the one I used for notes, was smudged with ink and sweat but the words still legible. Numbers, darkness, losing freedom; it all seemed full of paranoia and crazy theories, until I began watching videos that showed more facts behind these theories and made me rethink my original conclusions. The websites I found with those words labelled began to alarm me. My eyes darted to the sweaty napkin as if it would answer my questions as I began to think out loud about Jamie, the seemingly normal headliner that played in the local bar I would go to unwind.

"What kind of guy is this, and how does he know about this stuff?"

I continued reading the articles, message forums and video comments behind some of the key words and felt as if I'd fallen down a rabbit hole, never to return. I fell asleep that night with what seemed like millions of questions going through my mind. Who writes this stuff? Are there entire communities dedicated to it, but I never knew until it was pointed out to me through a song, from someone who says nobody listens? Whether I'd ever get these questions answered or not, I'd never know, but I made a promise to myself to start searching, finding facts, muddling through false articles and biased information to educate myself. Is this really how it is in this country? Shouldn't I tell more people now that I know about these theories and all the proof behind them?



I went to that bar the next night, hoping to run into Jamie. He wasn't there, and I asked the bartender where he went. She laughed and said "Who is it you're looking for?"



"The man I was talking to last night during intermission, the one that leads the band 3 days a week. His name is Jamie." I said, swirling my finger on a napkin, not interested in my drink anymore.



"Jamie? No, we don't have a singer named Jamie. We haven't had a singer in...months. Are you sure you're at the right place?" Her high pitched voice got even higher at the end of the question as she continued wiping down the bar where other patrons had their drinks only a few minutes before.



"Yes, I'm sure." I said, whether it was to her or myself, I am still not certain. She stopped wiping the bar and leaned in closer.



“Listen, sir, we don't have live gigs here anymore. It was too much trouble to get someone to pay their tab at the end of the night, and nobody wants to work unless they drink for free.” She lowered her voice and looked toward one of the windows. “If you like that sort of thing, maybe you should start drinking in another establishment.” And with that, she turned her back to me and began arranging bottles.



I stared at her for a few minutes, taking in what she had said. I realized she had just told me to leave unless I was going to never mention this singer again. Moments after that realization, I shrugged off that paranoid feeling and put my cash on the bar. I noticed her watching me in the mirror behind the bottles but chose not to mention it or ask why.

I put my jacket on and left, not glancing back as I walked out. I could hear friendly, albeit loud, conversation between the bartender and other patrons as our strange conversation had never happened.

The weather rarely fell below 70 degrees and even if it did, I was pretty sure nobody in the area owned any long pants. Shorts and skirts seemed to be the town's dress code through all seasons. Even when it rained it was still warm and inviting, not cold and miserable what I had come from.

I thought about many things as I walked a few blocks to my home. First I thought about how I had scoffed at the initial things I read on all the things Jamie had sung about. Then I thought about how quickly my mind had been changed once I began reading so many of the subjects and the varying opinions on them.

The entrance to my house faced the street with about 5 feet of sidewalk in between. I had paid too much for it but was proud to say I had a home of my own. I unlocked my door and went inside, putting my keys on the table inside the entrance. I looked around and I shrugged my jacket off, then stopped all movement as I saw a light on beside my kitchen, in a small room where I housed my washing machine.

Slowly, I walked toward the kitchen, briefly wondering if I should have something in my hand to use as protection. I didn't, and wasn't sure how to react if someone was waiting for me. I knew I had not left a light on, and I know that simply because I do everything I can to reduce my electric bill--including putting my lights on a timer to go off in the case they are left on.

Upon entering the kitchen I immediately saw a chair pulled away from the table, and judging by a slight shadow, it was leaning against a wall that was to my right as I entered the kitchen. I took a breath and swung my head forward to look where the chair was.

Nobody was in it. Confused, and worried, I started to push the chair back in when I heard a familiar voice behind me, the opposite direction of where I had been looking.

"Casey, will you be the one to listen to me?"

I slowly moved my head and saw the familiar musician, the one that was headlining that little bar I liked so much. I could only stare at him, wondering if this was real and if maybe I had drank too much or been drugged by that ambiguous bartender.

"How did you get in?" This was the only question I could come up with. Jamie gave me a friendly smile, which somehow eased my anxiety of the situation, and gestured to the chair I was about to push in.

"I think you should have a seat. You'll want to hear what I have to say." Hearing that, I sat down, not knowing what else to do.