Retrospective: Paris - How we met

2.1 Francesco De la Cruz - Change of plans
Fall 1993, Le Môle

The best thing that had happened recently, was the job Francesco got in that pub the barkeeper had sent him, even though the payment was incredibly shitty. It was enough to get around somehow as long as he still stayed with Diego.

But he loved to sing on the stage, and even with rarely any guests paying attention, it made him happy.

When he first noticed that his job made him happier than being back with his boyfriend, Francesco felt guilty again. No matter how much he had missed Diego, he still couldn't get rid of the distrust lingering in the back of his head. And he felt so terribly guilty about it, guiltier than Diego's disappointment could ever make him when they had another disagreement. Of which they seemed to have more and more.

He just couldn't make out why, but somehow Diego seemed to be unhappy with him all the time. Every time they talked, a tension took over him.

So despite feeling guiltier than ever, he tried to end their relationship a few nights ago, this time without just running away. He wanted to go back to the states, as soon as he had enough saved up for a ticket. He didn't need much more, just a few weeks.

He had no illusions, his career here in Europe was over before it started. And the same way he lived here, he could also try and live in L.A., Myshuno, or any of those metropoles which were the home of international music production companies.

As expected, Diego was against it, and this time they had a huge fight. His boyfriend desperately tried to press all the buttons, but when Francesco saw Diego standing in the way of his dream, something snapped. He got so angry, all his guilt and sympathy disappeared. If Diego truly cared about him, he would let him go, he thought, or at least come with him.

So he packed his bag and guitar again this time, and left for work, ignoring Diego's pleas to stay and talk it over again.

He expected to have to sleep on the streets again, but luckily one of the waitresses offered him to stay at her place for a few days. 

And if he would have to leave before getting his ticket, the streets would still be better than staying with Diego. He just had to make it before winter started.

Francesco glimpsed at the back corner of the cramped full bar. The red-haired girl was there again. 

The first time she had been here with a bunch of other people, and they were noisy and having a lot of fun making out with everyone. But recently she came here alone, every night for the past month, and was always writing something. Sometimes she looked at the stage, but it appeared her mind was far away. He was wondering what she wrote. Was it stories? Or did she write even songs, like him? 

Today after he finished, he wanted to ask her.