2009

Why did I come here?

I miss the Greek heat and the friendly people. I miss my parents and the sound of my grandmother always singing away in her kitchen. There's a deep ache within me that longs to go home.

I slip on the red dress. It's petticoated, deep crimson, complimented against my tan skin. With my Doc Martens, I think I look perfect.

This is my first gig in months. I moved to England in hopes of being picked up by some up and coming band, but it's yet to happen. I have barely been able to eat; my side job working in a cafe doesn't do much for me and I'm on the verge of being fired. English isn't my first language and Liverpool accents are especially tricky to understand. Most tips I earn are from older men who think I'm pretty.

This is much more my scene. I eat, sleep, breathe piano. In the past, Ive played just about every genre you can think of: traditional Greek songs; pop songs; rock songs; one wildly chaotic thing I wrote as an angsty 14 year old.

I had almost no friends back at home in Greece. My grandmother was always my closest companion. Here, I know nobody other than the landlord and my co workers. I've been desperate to perform again, and this time I'm going to get out there and mingle. A woman of 21 should have at least someone to talk to.

I walk down to the gig. It's your average bar, piano already set up for me. There are a few conversations going on at once. I pick up a handful of words but it's too loud for me to really hear what anyone's saying.

I sit by the piano. A few people have acknowledged me but most stick to their conversations.

I start off safe. Classical music may bore everyone into oblivion but they expect it.

The night progresses and I start to play more known songs. A couple of drunk girls start singing along. I smile at them; I love it when people join in.

I finish on a good note: I ventured as far as to play some original pieces. As I play the last note, the drunk girls burst into applause.

I start to pack up my stuff. One of the drunk girls starts chatting to me.

I can barely make out what she's saying: the combination of her slurred words, Liverpudlian accent, and loud conversations make it difficult to understand. I only catch the words 'piano' and 'amazing'.

I smile politely. "Thank you."

"What's your name?" Another girl says. Or rather, shouts.

"Ophelia. I'm from Greece, my English isn't so good."

The group start talking all at once, their voices overlapping. Half of them tell me about past family holidays to Greece; the other half about how much they wanted to go to Greece.

"Can we buy you a drink?" One of them asks.

"Sure."

Two girls grab my arms, leading me up to the bar.

"I'm Maisie." One says. The rest of them start humming their names at me; Nicole, Sara, and Grace. The blonde girl, Grace, puts a drink into my hand. I'm not sure what it is but it's strong and I relax.

As the evening unravels, we end up exchanging phone numbers. I've drank way too much, and walking home feels dangerous at this time of night. I can't afford a taxi.

Grace tells me to go with her to her house. The thought of asking one of them to walk home with me seems terrifying, especially as I live in a dangerous area, and I'm not about to ask one of them for money for a taxi when they've already bought me drinks all night. I, in the end, accept Grace's offer, and we walk there.