The Barback. Story 1.

My bar back Gustavo has wild golden hair. Most night he pulls it back in 2 pony tails, one low behind and one on the top of his head. On nights he doesn’t tie it, it waves around his face like a lion’s mane giving the effect that he’s underwater, and a bit surprised. Compared to my 5’5” frame he is massive, with muscles and hair, tan skin and a rugged face that must wreck the beautiful girls back home. I don’t know much about him, past or present. He works quietly for the most part. As he’s gotten used to me, he’s warmed.
Yesterday as we stood about in a slow moment he looked down his strong nose at me, “Kin I ask you a queestion?” he posed, his eyes unblinking. “Sure,” I say with a smile, wondering what is coming. “Queestion,” he begins in his low beautiful accent, “Do you think there are robots living among us? Pretending to be real people?” “No,” I reply quickly. He looks at me as if to see my soul, or to see if I am perhaps one of those same robots. “Really…” he finally says, not as a question, and that is that. We were distracted, someone needed me at the end of the bar, he saw a bottle that needed replacing.
He is from Argentina. He is here studying to be an actor. He says it proudly. He isn’t afraid or shy to say that that is his dream, his passion. As he cuts lemons he says his lines to himself. Today when it was empty at the bar, he recited Miller for me. The text seemed to come out of nowhere and it took me several lines to pinpoint it. The lilt of his accent as he spoke the words of John Proctor were so beautiful and rare; so precious in a way. His version of this American classic, spoken through his accent, gave it all new life. It brought back a memory of sitting in the wings of a dark theater, hearing those lines night after night; watching John beg Elizabeth for forgiveness. His version made me re-imagine the play. It made me see his classroom, the chairs and his teacher watching. This teacher who had known to give him this text as it was such good casting.
It was enchanting and also painful. Theater is such a painful thing to love and a heartbreaking dream to have at times. These dreams we all have of speaking this kind of text, of being on stage, of bringing plays to life and yet so rarely get the chance. Almost every waiter and bartender and manager here dreams of another life where they are making art, not tips. It seems a little indecent to bring the theater into here; to have her see us like this. I call theater the insatiable mistress, a cruel one at that who left me pretty battered after our last fight. It’s raw for me, so as Gusto cuts lemons and speaks his memorized lines, for a moment I feel magic beneath my skin and in the next I am plunged into myself, lost in a sea of sorrows.
Gustavo shows me pictures of paintings he makes on the tiny screen of his flip phone. They are squiggly lines and bright colors that find themselves into almost distinguishable shapes, a face in one, a hand in another. He shows me one of a man and a woman facing each other. It is looks angry and beautiful and passionate. We both look at the glowing screen for an extra moment. “You know what that ees?” he asks, “It is theeese.” He reaches in his wallet and pulls out a picture of him and a beautiful girl from a black and white photos booth. They are in the same position that the man and women in the painting are in, but in this their open mouths look happy, celebrating. He looks at me the same way he’d done before when he’d asked about the robots, looking for an answer in my eyes. The action has the effect that for a moment I get lost in his and I can tell that there is a story with this blonde beauty. He shrugs and sighs. I don’t ask any more questions. The picture goes back safely in the wallet. We turn our attentions to the bar again.