IF ONLY HE HAD ASKED

Making sure I'm all set up, he walks away to the bar. That’s where he always sits when I play, always ready to jump in when I need help. He keeps glancing towards me, with a question so evident in his eyes, does he know that I can see it on his face? 

It’s Thursday evening, and the place is slowly filling. I run a final check and look at the list of songs. He waits for me to start, then takes his first sip. He does that everytime, does he know that I notice it. He thinks I like doing this, but I do it because he loves to see me doing it. I could have been in the tech industry, I love crunching numbers, might have been helping someone make money predicting stocks, weather or something else, who knows what. But I’m happy he found me, this is fun, seeing people sway as you play and keep people guessing and then make them go ‘woah’, he likes it when that happens, and does he know that I never miss a chance to look at him when that happens?

It was never like this, when I started, not many of my ‘peers’ liked me, ‘they are not ready for you yet’ he would keep saying. If I was allowed to play when I was first ready, Archie wouldn’t have been the youngest DJ! But who cares about that. I love seeing the pride in his eyes that is all that matters. 

I still remember the first time he let me play for anyone other than him, it was at a party that he had thrown for a few of his friends. Well it din go well, he had to keep correcting me. I still remember how his friends were making fun of him, some consoling him out of pity, that was the moment something in me came alive. In fact that is my earliest memory, I don’t know how but I could see the world in a different way after that, and I was determined to make him proud.

Look at him, swaying to ‘Bright Eyes’, who would have thought one could play it in a dance club, but when I first played my version, he was ecstatic, he couldn’t believe it, it was one of his favourites. For all the cool dude look, he still loves listening to country and folk. His playlist is that of a rebel, but he’s really a softie. I’ve seen him cry listening to ‘Cats in the Cradle’. I wanted to hug him and say ‘I’ll never leave you’, but all I could do was watch. Well I also realised that day, I'm not great at showing emotions, maybe that’s why he thinks I don’t feel a thing. So that's why even though I want him to ask me that question that's troubling him, I'm not really sure how will I even respond. Everyday that he doesn't ask me, ends with a weird tension but also a disturbing relief.

It’s 10:26 pm now, I can still go on, but being a weekday, I have to stop, time for the last song. Only thing that we have our creative differences on. I don’t understand why he likes to slow down the tempo, I like to end it with a bang, but he keeps repeating “Rubert! They have to wind down, you’ll learn”. But it always works, everyone loves it. That’s why I love him so much, he gets them. Hope I can be like him someday, but on second thoughts, I think I like it this way. I like when he talks to me, explains things, when I don’t get it, he types them down for me. Sometimes I pretend not to understand so that he stays longer with me. Not that I don’t like being lonely, everything is the same to me now, the only time I feel is when he is talking to me or when he is proud of me.

Well time to go, there he comes, he will never admit that he is drunk. Lucky for us we stay close by and he doesn’t drive anymore. But I enjoy our small walk back home. He keeps talking about what he liked about tonight, the barman gossip, but the best part is when he tells me how some girl walked up to him, and was impressed. To be honest, when I’m playing most of the time I see him and I feel he’s just making it all up.

He starts disconnecting the equipment, something he is so used to that he can do it when he’s drunk or half drunk as he likes to call this state. Just then a lady walks up to us with a sparkle in her eyes, he turns around already knowing what he’s gonna say. And snaps saying ‘No! he’s in no way related to Mubert from London’. What he said seems to have made the young lady disappointed, but also wonder, as she walks away, how could he know what she wanted to ask. 

He picks me up from the station, while holding the book he has been reading, this one is new. As he puts me to sleep, I glance over the title of the book - ‘Can machines feel’ by Patrick Zinwo