The Jukebox

As I sat inside my local diner, sipping a coffee and wine, I listened to the music from the jukebox. Wonderful, wonderful music flowing slowly, so that I could hear the humming at my fingertips. Graceful, graceful heavy metal… Like empty ribbons of lead that ground in a strangely harmonious melody, swinging back and forth through his bones, again and again.

I sighed and sighed, thinking I could hear my brain buzz and my eyes water and my heart scream out in pleasure. Ah, yes! The dully lit jukebox playing random notes, placing those strangely chaotic, fast, screaming notes in glorious melody. Nostalgia rippled down my spine while I thought about grand pianos and the flickering color of blue screens.

I went up to the bartender, a fat, gross man who could barely stand up, and ordered a round of drinks for myself. Drinking and drinking those grand martinis and gross little olives out of the cup, I felt a shock of bliss and transcendental emotion that pumped through my shriveled heart so fast that I could not breathe.

At the end, I woke up in a blur, looking around the room, and saw a golden light erupting into view from the beautiful melody.

Then, I decided to buy the jukebox.

“How much does it cost?”, I yelled and shouted over the melodious music.

“What?”, yelled the man standing near the counter.

“I want to buy the jukebox!”

“You want to buy the what?”

“The jukebox!”

The man froze, his hands twitched, and his eyes watered with fury.

“It’s not for sale…”, he muttered aloud and repeated, “It’s not for sale! Get out! Get out of here!”

“I’m willing to pay millions, billions! Just please! Give me the jukebox”, I yelled, tearing out my hair, and clutching my palms together, begging.

“No, I…. can’t… I shouldn’t… No… No… No… I….”, he paused and stopped. Contemplating for a moment, before straightening.

“But I can pay! I have the money!”

“Show me it then!”, the man yelled. “Give me the money…”

I shuffled through my pockets and tossed my wallet onto the table.

“My entire fortune”, I nodded, frantically, and then pointed to the jukebox again. “Now give me the machine! Give me it now!”

Silence, silence, silence. The music was silence, it had stopped playing. Then, the man walked over to the jukebox, pulled out a screwdriver and unscrewed the supports and the base, and pulled out the wires.

“What are you doing, are you crazy?! Stop that! Stop that!”, I rearranged the screws, and tried to tug the screwdriver away from his hands.

The man paused, stared at my soul, shook his head in his hands, frowned to himself. He stopped, and put his hands on mine.

“This is not a jukebox”, he said silently. “It’s my cousin, Gary.”

“What? Who’s Gary? Then, what plays this music? Tell me now, tell me now, you low-life! Tell me!”

“He’s my autistic brother. A long, long time ago… I had to take care of him after my mother died, and he had a tendency to hum any song from memory. So… He’s in their…. Alive still…. Do you still want him?”

A horrible filthy, thingly, sweaty smell erupted into my nose as I leaned against the jukebox. I felt the thrum of a soft beating heart, and heard thousands of other sounds erupt into view. The creak of a floorplank, the scratch of a cat’s claws, the tinkle of a beer glass, and then the disgusting ray of light hitting the stars.

I smelled the horrible sweat and grime, grimaced and wept a little bit as a horrible rotting stink filled my nose, like dead skin, peeling away, rotting away in great heaps.

“George? George is that you?”, called a melodious voice, far, far away, in the metal box.

“I’m here Gary! Someone wants to meet you!”

“Hello!?”, I called out, “I’m here to buy you! Me and your brother have made… arrangements!”

The voice quieted, faded, and then stopped.

“Gary? Gary!”, I called out again.

I reached toward the jukebox cover, trying to lift it away. But the man pushed me away, onto the dusty floor.

“I’ll give him to you tomorrow,” grunted the man. I nodded and left in a hurry, carrying my bag as I went, humming to the tune again and again.

After the day, I went back to the dinky, lonely, watery, filthy streets. Into the deep dark chambers of the Subway System, past the muck and filth, to the lovely melodies of the Jukebox. It was singing! Singing those glorious soft sharps and flats in allegretto. Those guitars softly humming dark bass, and zig-zagging, twanging, swinging back and forth, so I could see it frothing in my eyes.. God! God! It was wonderful! Wonderful! I loved it all! Where was that jukebox? Where was it?!

I ran to the door, saw the sign, passed a rotting chair, and two cracked glasses. Silence, as I screamed out for the owner of the bar. After a while, I stomped forward to the door, hating that stupid idiotic man.

I rushed into the door of the employee section. On the ground, I saw the hurried rush, the chaos, the blood, the spilt flesh, the music, gone. The gears and fat fleshily, wriggling in horrible patterns. God! Dissected by God, gone from the world. I saw chaos.

It was a man. A square shaped man. He was humming, with wriggling arms, singing softly, eating from a dog-food container, wearing a name tag, Gary. God! Oh God! The… The…. mouth…