superstar: sings for everybody

Billy sang for the fifth time to Joseph, practicing the song to him. Joseph merely closed his eyes, captivated from the moment he was moved. Their relationship improved, like a paper barrier shattered by the raindrops' breath, now resembling almost friends. Billy even sang a bit of "What a Wonderful World" leaving the old man speechless, sensing a certain aura of esteem in Billy, an illumination of his long age. It wasn't about the years; it was about the wisdom.

-So, I was with my friend Paul, graffitiing the walls with a beautiful drawing, and suddenly the police showed up. Paul is a black kid, you know. This cop grabs him by the neck and throws him to the ground like a doll. I saw red; my only impulse was to jump on the cop's back to prevent him from attacking Paul. He reacted like a lunatic and started screaming. When his partner arrived, they arrested us. In my helplessness, all I could do was spit in his face. The taste of blood and phlegm landed on his face. I think it was my smile, or perhaps my rebellion, that marked my last three months. Twin Towers Correctional Facility is a cesspool of drugs and gangs, - said Billy.

-Hahaha, kid, you're a real punk. In my day, they would've pulled your pants down and beaten you with a metal rod until you came to your senses. The smart ones understood right away, but some, even after many beatings, remained punks, - said Joseph.

-Mr. Joseph, I can say that my experiences are part of my growth, and now with my back against the wall, I can't see it as a big problem. Some things just fall into place with time. I hope I'm not wrong, - said Billy, happily. Only a good moment remained from that event.

-That doesn't take away your punk spirit, - said Joseph.

-Maybe that's true. Tomorrow I'll be discharged, - mentioned Billy from the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The six days in the hospital were like an oasis, a waypoint in a grand desert. The lunchtime chats with his mother and the lived tranquility were like a dream compared to the correctional facility.

-Ah, what a pity. We've had some pleasant afternoons. I'll miss your mother's cooking; she's a woman with incredible seasoning. Of course, at first, I thought my roommate would be a brat, - said Joseph, in his sarcastic way of rejecting people. But for some reason, these events hadn't happened entirely with the Carson family.

-Mama always knows how to enchant people with food, - said Billy, resting. Tomorrow morning he would be escorted, and he felt suspiciously like a criminal, being treated so strictly.

The dark glow of the moon illuminated the clear and precise night like a faint lantern. A small lamp on Joseph's bedside table fed the room. Billy hummed the song "Like a Stone"softly, reciting lyrics that tangled a depth that still gave him an understanding of life and death. Every time he judged a lyric esoterically, he began to think about it from different angles.

-What do you feel when you listen to the song? - Billy asked.

Joseph had golden glasses and, like Billy, was mostly silent, lost in his thoughts. He only read the morning newspaper with unprecedented calm, taking the rest of the day as a break and going for a walk after lunch, with considerable effort.

-My current life, sitting in a hospital waiting for my last days. Although there were moments when I thought it would be the end, I'm still alive and kicking. But now I find myself at the crossroads of my life, and the wait can be exhausting for someone who doesn't know what might happen tomorrow. Even when you're young, you're not thinking about death. It's when you're old that you understand the end is very near, - said Joseph.

-Thank you, old Joseph. It's almost like a stab to my heart. Hearing your words has given me something to think about. I hope the demo I'll make can be sent to the record labels. It's necessary for it to be a massive success. I feel this drive to succeed like never before, - said Billy.

To improve his life, that of his mother, and live in peace. What will be the price of his fame? What will happen in the coming years, what is real, and what is unreal? The violent explanation still tracing circles in Billy's mind, what is music for, and what purpose does it serve? Who are the best artists?

-We all have ambitions, kid. Work on that. Even if you have little, that bite is enough, little Billy. Many with such ambitions achieved what they wanted. I know some who, after twenty years, fulfilled their desires. As a peasant born, my goals weren't high; I dreamed of a nice house and eating pizza every day, - said Joseph.

-How memorable, Joseph. Did you buy the house? - asked Billy.

-We bought it, with effort. Now I own a nice two-story thing. In its time, there were five little ones running up and down like swamp toads. The youngest had a lovely granddaughter last winter, and it's a candid joy to see my family on Christmas Eve. I would like another Christmas like the last one, - said Joseph.

-Now I'm the envious old Joseph, -

I don't know if I was dreaming,

I don't know if I was sleeping,

And the voice of an angel

Said to tell you:

Celebrate life.

Think freely,

Help everyone,

And for what you want

Fight and be patient.

Carry a light load!

Don't hold on to anything

Because in this world

Nothing is forever.

Look for a star!

To be your guide,

Hurt no one!

Spread joy.[1]

-Another good song, - said Joseph, listening to Billy's chorus, recited with such melodious prose that again, in less than a week, his heart swelled with joy. The enduring story of Joseph, who died a week later; his son read the diary, and his brothers shared Joseph's last moments by a Christmas fireplace.

Joseph Glenf's Diary

Elvis Presley is reborn to continue confessing religiously what the mouths of our generation have kept silent. Now he's a battered and stunted boy, but the more I see him, the more glad I am to have known him. When you hear the storm roar, you'll know what I feel right now. As if the stars were stirring in the sky, like floating nebulas spreading strength behind them. Now I'd like to live ten more years and get to know this boy who, in future days, women will cry to hear him sing, men will chant his songs like the French chant the Marseillaise, and children will move their heads and bodies by the work of this boy who has the charisma of Elvis.

...

-A memory, old man, - said Billy.

The song is dedicated to finding inspiration in the beauty of life.

[Axel – celebrate life, a new song delivered, this song touches a very painful moment of your life.]

-Sing it again, kid, - said old Joseph excitedly, adjusting the bed to watch Billy's singing routine. Now without a neck brace, his performance was different; he could hit slightly higher notes, almost brushing that enchantingly soft note that resonated with the song. Even in such a commonplace and simple setting as a hospital room, the color changed into an unprecedented tune of others' memories, almost as if the smoke from December campaigns in the coldest states or the day at the beach, the scent of sun and sand.

[1] Axel, celebrate life (a song that cannot be forgotten.)

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