#3: Jeff Heiran
“You alright, man?” Jeff Heiran’s manager, Dana, waved his hand in front of Jeff’s vision. “You want five minutes?”
Jeff snapped out of the trance. He took a deep breath through the tightness in his chest. Now he remembered what he was at the CD rack to do. “No. I’m good.”
Dana leaned on the rack. “What’s the matter? Is that head injury biting your ass again?”
Jeff rearranged CDs in order of artist, where customers shoved an album back in without considering the assigned order. “That’s not it.”
“Something going on in your life you can’t bear to tell?”
His cheeks turned purple. He hated when Dana showed concern - not that he was annoyed, but it was more the snake tattoo on his neck. It made him want to kiss that place. “That’s precisely it. I’ll tell you when there’s news.”
“Get well soon to your mom?” Dana walked away without room for a reply.
On the far wall was a poster of Karu Hanaki. His long blue waves and brown skin were a rarity in Bung’ke. He was sultry, with a soul-piercing gaze. Jeff’s heart called to him.
He sighed, thinking about the news he couldn’t tell. It would be a blow to the staff at this music store - he applied for Minarin’s 2010 Rookie Season. Maybe they’d consider him, an eight-foot-tall 27-year-old man, childish for entering the traineeship. But there was no confirmation yet. The sooner he expected the letter of approval to arrive, the more he panicked.
There was a resignation letter saved on his laptop for such an occasion, but there was no packing yet. Jeff lived in Meltova, South-West Bung’ke, inland where Wita was North along the coast. It was logical to pack his belongings early, but not without the okay.
The shift finished in the evening. He returned to his apartment, first checking his mailbox. A letter waited for him, with a ‘confidential’ stamp on its front. Could it have been from Minarin? Or was he now part of a national inquest, and his music career was over before it began?
He tore open the envelope, where an insignia greeted him - not West Bung’ke, but Minarin. It gave him relief, but also panic. What if it was a rejection? He read further down. It read:
“Dear Mr Heiran,
Your application to Minarin’s 2010 Rookie Season has been approved. Welcome to Minarin!”
The anxiety came to a head. He sat down and caught his breath, careful not to have a seizure. A sustained head injury put him out of community wrestling, and it flared up when he got anxious.
After a rest, his first instinct was to pack his few belongings, and print out the resignation letter.
Dana read over the resignation letter, his eyes softening as if this was a long time coming. “We’re sad to see you go, Jeff.”
Jeff smiled down at him. “Please don’t feel sad. You want to know the news now?”
What was it that bothered his shyest colleague for months? Dana had his own experiences with employees resigning over chronic illness, so he prepared for the worst. Jeff worked despite his head injury, and he admired that. “What’s the story? It’s racking my brain.”
Jeff choked, able to utter the words after a few seconds. “I’ve been approved to join Minarin’s Rookie Season.”
It took more seconds for it to register. Tears ran down the Dana’s face. He knew how much it meant, so he lowered his voice where customers couldn’t hear. “But that means you’re going to Wita!”
Jeff nodded, unable to contain his excitement. Karu or no Karu, he realised last night that his dream was coming true.
Dana laughed, but then the smile faded. “What if you’re performing and the noise causes a seizure?”
“It doesn’t,” said Jeff. “I’ve been to plenty of concerts without a problem. I’ll be fine.”
Dana held his hand tight. “Congratulations.”
The commercial flight Jeff took from Meltova landed on the runway.
“I hope you enjoyed your flight. For those who are new, welcome to Wita. For those of you who have returned, welcome home,” said a flight attendant over the PA.
Jeff’s hands shook so much, he fumbled with his onboard luggage. He helped an older couple reach theirs, considering how tall he was.
Wita International Airport was full of specialty stores and cafes - this was the first international airport he visited. Meltova was a small town with small independent businesses. Older folks took a dislike to Jeff’s purple suede shoes and glittery possessions. Glitter was a sin in small towns, but cities had less time to care.
Before he boarded a train into the city, he stopped for coffee in open-plan cafe. It surprised him to find a lingerie store across from where he sat. Meltova residents would have clutched at their shirts at the sight, but women’s lingerie didn’t faze him. Everything about conservatives made him want to gouge his own eyes out.
And once he finished his coffee, he travelled to his new unit. It was a cleaner, newer aesthetic with timber countertops. That was enough rustic for him, and more than enough luxury compared to his plastic apartment.
All that was left was to wait for Rookie Season to begin. As he laid on the bed and rested, he couldn’t help but dream of the amazing possibilities working at Minarin Studios. If he debuted with some band, or worked with an orchestra, that would be the least of his dreams come true.