The Other Side

"No," Paul replied. "I can tell I don't belong here...I'm heading out tonight." He and Dan were sitting in a bar, having a beer before Paul had to catch the bus.

"Alright man," Dan said. He finished his beer and set it down. "Drop me a line sometime, okay?" He shook hands with Paul.

"Sure, man. No problem," Paul replied. "See ya later."

Dan nodded and left the bar.

"Leaving, huh?" the bartender asked. Paul looked up. "Yeah," he replied.

"Where ya headed?"

Paul frowned. That had not occured to him. "I'm not sure," he replied. He finished his glass and stood up. "But I guess I'll know when I get there," he replied with a grin. He stood up and left the bar.

Paul sat on the bus and stared out at the road. A single suitcase was in his overhead compartment, that he'd borrowed from Tony and Marianne. He promised them that one day he would bring it back, but they had insisted he keep it.

"It might come in handy," Marianne had told him with a smile, and no amount of protesting on his part would change her mind about it.

"And have a good trip," Tony told him, placing an envelope of money in his hand. "This is to help you along," he added with a smile.

Paul had protested that extra hard. "I can't take your money, Tony," he told him. But Tony hadn't budged.

"What do you have, five bucks in your name? Take it!"

Paul had grudgingly accepted the money and learned afterwards that it was five hundred dollars. He groaned when he'd finally opened it. If he'd opened it in front of Tony he would have been able to give at least some of it back. But now it was too late.

He sank into the seat and fell asleep.

Paul stepped off the bus into the small town's center street. He rubbed his eyes in the bright sun. Unsure of if he was even in California anymore, he simply decided that here was where he had to be. Besides he didn't have enough money to go any further. He was determined to save Tony's five hundred as long as possible.

Paul looked up and down the streets of the small town he had entered into. It was very small. He wondered if he'd be able to find a place to live or a job here. But he tried to think on the positive side.

He entered the drug store on the first corner and bought himself a sandwhich. He went to the corner to pay for it and asked the clerk if he knew if anyone was hiring.

The tall man with auburn hair and thick rimmed glasses behind the counter frowned momentarily. "Lookin' for a job?" he asked as he gave Paul his change.

Paul nodded. "Yeah," he replied. "Just got into town and I need a job and a place to stay."

"Music store down the corner," the man replied. "They need somebody for a month or two. One of the guys that works there broke his leg pretty bad and they want somebody to fill in."

Paul frowned doubtfully. "Music store?" he asked. "I don't know much about music..."

"You?" the man looked surprised. "You look like a music lover to me."

"I do?" Paul asked.

The clerk nodded. "I can usually tell what sort of a person people are. Maybe you do love music, you just forgot about it."

"Maybe," Paul mused to himself. He thanked the man and left the store.

"Amnesia? You gotta be kidding me!" the man in the wheelchair said skeptically when Paul explained his predicament.

"No sir," he replied. "I've had amnesia for the past month. Can't remember anything. My landlord back where I come from gave me the name of Paul because he thought I looked like one."

The man in the wheelchair shrugged. "I guess it fits you," he replied skeptically. He frowned. "You can have the job," he told Paul. "But don't touch none of the instruments! Let the others handle that." He frowned even deeper. "Don't wantcha to break em," he added.

Paul nodded in understanding. "Thank you sir," he replied. Before he could speak another word, the man continued his grumbling.

"You'll take care of the register and the appointments for the music lessons. Della teaches them. Let her or the boy handle the instruments."

"Yes sir," Paul replied, but the man didn't acknowledge his response.

"You better take good care of my store, boy!" he snapped. Paul nodded nervously as he wheeled out of the store in a huff, letting the door slam behind him.

Paul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and relaxed.

"So you're the new help, huh?" a female voice asked him. Paul nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned.

"Um, yeah, that's me," he replied. The woman nodded.

"Don't mind George, he's a bit of a grump," she told him with a smile as she held out her hand. "I'm Della."

Della was a thin, dark-haired woman with olive eyes and dark skin. Those two atributes combined with the purple, shiny, dress she was wearing to give her a very exotic look.

Paul didn't speak for a moment. He shook his head to clear the haze. "Paul," he managed to stammer after a moment, hoping he didn't look too much like a total fool.

Della didn't seem to notice. "Nice to meet you. I hope you will forgive my overhearing your conversation; I couldn't help it. I was in the next room and happened to catch the end of it. Amnesia, huh?"

Paul listened but barely paid any attention to her words. Her voice was as exotic as her appearance, and he had to wait a moment for her words to sink in. "Um, yeah," he managed to say.

"Terrible shame," Della replied. "Let me get you settled in around here."

"Okay," Paul replied, beginning to come back to his senses.

Della noticed his suitcase. "You need a place to stay?" she asked. He looked down at the suitcase.

"Um yeah," he replied. "Just got into town." He groaned inwardly. 'I must sound like a total moron,' he thought to himself, and could almost hear a voice laughing at him.

"The guy at the Deli has a room for rent," Della informed him. "Name's Chris. Tell him I sent you and he'll fix you right up."

Paul nodded. "Thanks," he told her. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Good luck," Della told him, waving good-bye from the door.

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