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THE JUKEBOX TEST

II

In those days I was working at this place called Marty’s Guitars, which was, as the name suggests, a Guitar Store owned by a guy called Marty. But it was so much more than that.

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Marty had hired me shortly after selling me my first acoustic guitar, despite my lack of skills and the fact that he wasn’t even looking for an employee. We just clicked. I could listen to him go on for hours about the history of Rock & Roll, all the bands he toured with, and the eccentric characters he encountered along his journey. He was quite an eccentric character in his own right, a fact that should be evident by the hours of operation of his little enterprise, namely, 8 PM to 2 AM, four nights a week. 

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That night I showed up at my regular time, ready to open shop, but Marty had arrived earlier for the first time since I had joined. I could tell he was onto something special cause he was wearing his bomber leather jacket and a conspicuous smile. 

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“What’s up Marty, did you fall out of bed?” I asked. 

He disregarded my question and, rubbing his hands vehemently, asked me if I wanted to see something. 

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“Uhm…yeah, sure,” I replied. 

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I followed him to the supply closet where, with the adorableness of a child magician, he unveiled the project he had secretly been working on. “Voila,” he exclaimed as he opened the closet. He had cleared up the shelves and filled them with an array of memorabilia, ranging from old cassettes, vinyl records, and withered books, to precious gemstones and lucky charms he had gathered throughout his life. “I call it Marty’s findings,” he revealed proudly. I gave him the cue I knew he was expecting to start relating the story behind each object. He picked up a well-preserved wooden stereoscope as the first item, but before he could begin, I noticed something. 

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“Marty, do you believe in signs?” I asked, while turning my gaze at the vinyl section. 

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“Of course,” he said, wide eyed. “Why?” 

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“See the singles collection? You put the ‘Janie Jones’ single at the front.” I told him the full story: “…I sat at her table…...the cake…...her birthday…...Janie! Can it just be a coincidence?”

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“There are no coincidences,” he said. 

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I inherited the curse of rationalism from my father. I know that there is such a thing as a coincidence. I know that you’ll find signs everywhere if you’re looking for them. But still, sometimes, on rare occasions, I suspend disbelief and let some magic in. Plus, isn’t it fun when magic plays a part?

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“Tell me more,” he said and sat down with his arms crossed. 

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“There’s not a lot to tell, we didn’t really talk,” I said. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.” 

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“I see.” He nodded. He held eye contact with me for longer than I’m comfortable with. He grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper.  “Jane, right?” he asked as he wrote it down.

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“Right,” I said slowly, as if asking what are you doing. I waited for a follow up but the only thing that followed was more silence, nodding, and pensiveness. Then he clapped, said “OK” and flipped the OPEN/CLOSED sign.