Thunder rumbles
in the distance.
A clock ticks
away monotonously.
Jonathan lays on
a soft mattress, looking at the dusty ceiling fan above his head. His
eyes bloodshot and blackened, his colourful hair, dry and brittle.
Jonathan sits up
and looks around the bedroom.
A small room,
reciting a level of cleanliness unlike his home. A widescreen
television situated in front of the bed, a tabletop desk with a sign,
'No Smoking'. The walls were a dulled yellow and had a subtle
spade pattern to its wallpaper. The air was stuffy but clean, like
any hotel room. Beside him, a sleeping beauty, who he had hooked up
with from the club the other night.
Jonathan moves
his legs out of bed and sits on the bed. He feels something soft
beneath his feet and looks to it.
A gray shirt. He
then notices two sets of clothes strewn on the floor, indicating a
wild and fun night.
Jonathan stands
up slowly and feels his mind wobble from the hangover. He dizzily
makes his way to the bathroom. As he closes in on his destination, he
picks up the pace and prepares himself for the upcoming battle.
Jonathan dives straight to the toilet bowl and starts puking out his
dinner.
As he was
finished, he mutters to himself incoherently and wipes his mouth. He
flushes down the vomit and walks to the sink. Jonathan flicks the tap
open.
Cold water gushes
out of the tap. Jonathan looks up to the mirror and inspects his
features. A disheveled man. His eyes were droopy, his beard unshaven,
a man of 25 wearing the mask of a hardened veteran who had just lost
his job. The tattoos imprinted onto his body have long been past its
prime stage. The large tattoo in the middle of his chest was vivid
reminder to his past mistakes.
Jonathan splashes
the cold water onto his face. He turns the tap off and his eyes stray
to a medication bottle on the sink's counter. He picks up the
bottle and checks the label. Citalopram.
Jonathan pops the
cap on the bottle and shakes it. Two pills roll out to his hand. He
swallows them whole and exits the bathroom.
Jonathan reaches
for his clothes on the floor and begins to dress himself, as he does,
he could hear the distinct sound of noisy shuffling at his back. He
turns his head and sees the woman on the midst of waking up.
"There's some
money on the table, use it to get home. I'll be going off now."
Jonathan finishes
buttoning up his shirt and walks off to the door.
"Wait!" A
tired yet worried voice spoke.
Jonathan stops.
"Will we see
each other again?"
Jonathan pauses
and ponders the thought. He turns his head and gives a sad smile. The
woman acknowledges the smile and looks away sadly. Jonathan opens the
door and closes it silently.
The
sun shines brightly on a Friday morning. Jonathan parks at a familiar
Italian restaurant. He walks up to the entrance and peers into the
restaurant. The restaurant glows a scarlet red with makeshift
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Picture frame of Italian chefs,
pasta, pizza and customers of the restaurant are hung on the reddish
walls. The restaurant is devoid of life, except a few customers
eating their famous linguine and the employees using their phones to
pass the time. Jonathan enters the restaurant, alerting the nearby
waiters. The waiters scramble to their feet and greets him.
"Welcome sir,
how many are with you today?"
Jonathan looks to
the waiter and smiles pleasantly.
"Just me."
The waiter nods.
"Right this
way, sir."
The waiter shows
Jonathan to his seat and brings him a menu.
Jonathan thanks
the waiter and opens the menu. The menu has a pristine black cover
with a vintage looking sheet of paper as its menu. On it, an
assortment of Italian food images could be seen on the paper.
Jonathan flips the pages of the menu and finds the food item that he
wants. Jonathan calls for A waiter.
A waiter scurries
to his table.
"One Linguine
with clams and shrimp please."
The waiter jots
down the order and thanks Jonathan. After which, he takes away the
menu and walks off.
Jonathan looks
around the restaurant, admiring its vintage dor. Just then, a
voice from the kitchen echoed through the restaurant.
"Johnny!"
Jonathan turns to
the voice and finds a greasy, chubby, yet somehow posh, old man
raising his hands in the air.
"My boy! How
have you been doing?"
Jonathan smiles
and greets the old man in kind.
"Uncle Fabian!
Good to see you!"
The two of them
reach in for a hug.
After the hug,
Fabian places his hands on Jonathan's shoulders and gives a bubbly
smile.
"You look well,
my boy! How has the industry been treating you?"
Jonathan answers
with a sheepish smile.
"Its been
great, Uncle! Been hitting those numbers ever since my debut!"
Fabian laughs
heartily.
"That's good
to hear! I'm sure your father would be proud of you!"
Jonathan forces a
short laugh.
"Come! Sit!"
Fabian sits at
Jonathan's table and Jonathan follows suit.
"Uncle, how is
business doing?"
Fabian stares at
Jonathan, expecting him to ask that question, and sighs.
"Business has
been slow, not many customers come around these parts to taste my
pasta."
"I'm sure
they'll catch on to the restaurant, your linguine has always been
delicious!"
Fabian hangs his
head.
"This old
restaurant is well past its prime. I am not sure how long we can keep
up with our competition..."
In a morbid
silence, Jonathan looks down at Fabian, concerned about his uncle.
Suddenly, Fabian
jolts his head up and smiles.
"Enough about
my business, I won't disturb you any longer, please, enjoy your
meal."
As he says that,
a plate of linguine appears before them. Fabian stands from his seat
and makes his way to the kitchen.
Jonathan stares
at the plate and smiles sadly.
"Competition
huh..."
Jonathan picks up
neatly arranged utensils from his table and savors the taste of
Fabian's delicious pasta.
As he was done,
he calls upon a waiter to get him his bill as he ponders a thought
that had crossed his mind.
The linguine was
delicious. The quality of pasta, its smooth yet starchy texture, a
brilliant blend of the oils and spices, and lastly the freshness of
the seafood that came with it. It was a delectable dish, second to
none he had ever tasted in his life. It boggled his mind as to why
many other restaurants were outcompeting this humble little place
that was his uncle's livelihood. There had to be a way for him to
give back those years of fatherhood his uncle had provided him with.
So, there he was.
At the center of the restaurant, Jonathan rose up, paid his dues, and
left the restaurant. His eyes focused on one objective from the day
forth.
Jonathan reaches
for his car and mutters a single line.
"Never forget
from whence you came, no matter where you're at."
Jonathan rode off
into the horizon, towards the direction of a studio he had bought.
Jonathan enters
the studio, determined and driven. The studio was empty, a perfect
environment for the artist. He grabs a pen and paper from a shelf and
begins jotting down a series of phrases. For hours on end, Jonathan
will begin voicing out the lyric phrase by phrase, attempting to
create a song of sorts. However, Jonathan knew only one way to convey
his words into any sort of meaning, and that is to rap out the words
in a violent and obnoxious manner. Nevertheless, the man had to try;
to create a song that will help his uncle's business.
As dusk begins to
settle on Jonathan's hometown, Jonathan had managed to write the
first draft of the lyrics. Fatigued and famished, he calls it a
night, and closes the studio doors. He leaves the piece of paper on a
desk held by a paperweight.
The lyrics were
not as amazing as anyone would think. It was your average violent and
obnoxious hip hop lyric that would turn anyone's brain to mush.
However, in it held Jonathan's own frustrations, sadness,
happiness, failures and regrets in the only way he knew how to convey
those sentiments. In it were words that described Jonathan as a
person, yet somehow would be acclaimed to be just another modern hip
hop song.
It was not just a
meaningless song to him, it was his life story, and that story began
with the title, "Linguine".
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