Flamenco

A Dialogue example for class.

The sound of the flamenco echoed off the cobbled streets. The guitarist stood tall, his eyes directed away from the sunlight as to not distract him, his feet tapping softly to the rhythm of his music. He was lost in his own world.

               Play me a song.

The guitarist looked up. Beautiful blue eyes looked back.

               This is a song, he said.

               No it isn’t, I’ve never heard it.

               Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t make it not a song.

The blue eyes rolled, and the wind blew a wisp of silky brown hair over them. She’s beautiful, thought the guitarist.

               Well play me song I do know, she said.

               Why should I?

               Can’t you?

Her eyes were locked on his. She knew that question agitated him. The male ego can’t handle a challenge, she thought to herself. But the guitarist didn’t stop, and the sound of the flamenco still rang loud in between the shop houses.

               He asked, You don’t like flamenco?

               What?

               Flamenco.

               What’s that?

               Music, from Spain. You know Spain?

She paused. Spain? Of course she knows Spain. I’m not an idiot, she wanted to say. I don’t know flamenco, but I know Spain dammit. Do look like an idiot to you? But she didn’t, and the sound of the flamenco still rang loud underneath the warm sky.

               She asked, Are you from spain?

               Si, tengo. And you?

               I’m from around here.

So this senorita is local, thought the guitarist. He didn’t know any locals.

               So how long have you been around here, she asked.

               Two days.

               Only two?

               Si.

               That’s funny.

               What is?

               You are. You’ve been here for only two days and already you’re busking on the streets?

The guitarist smiled.

               It’s what I do. I travel the world and the sound of the flamenco travels with me.

               That’s all you do? Sounds like a waste of life to me.

Well it’s my calling. I love what I do. People tell me, Sergio, you are a smart man, you should get a job, get a life, get some money. But I don’t live for money. In Spain we have a saying, No solo de pan vive el hombre. We people cannot live on bread alone. Sometimes, we must chase our passion. For me, it is my music. My future, well I don’t think of it much. Carpe Diem, eh?

She smiled at the phrase. Seize the day. She was in envy of the guitarist. She didn’t know what she wanted in life. Sure, she was a college student with a scholarship and a promise of a successful career, but she didn’t want all that. Somehow, it didn’t make her feel that she belonged. It wasn’t her calling.

               Senorita, I didn’t catch your name.

               It’s Madeline.

               Ah, Madeline. Such a beautiful name. I’m Sergio.

And suddenly, underneath the warm sky and in between the shop houses, by the cobbled streets that were colored by the morning sun, the sound of the flamenco stopped ringing, as the guitarist reached out a hand, and hoped that the beautiful blue-eyed girl that he was just beginning to get to know would reach her hand out too.