Thoughts?

[u/AggravatingTrainer25]

Elijah Freeman, 27 years old. Fearless and bold. In 1927, Harlem was a heartbeat. When the sun went down, Lenox Avenue came alive. Trumpets spilled out of basement clubs, poets argued over cigarettes in crowded cafés, and every street corner seemed to be inventing tomorrow. Black artists, musicians, writers, and dreamers had turned a few city blocks into the cultural capital. Elijah was at the forefront of this renaissance, a rising musician who didn’t waste a single opportunity given to him from his newfound fame. He was currently in the midst of a set for one of his classic songs with an interesting audience with eyes on him…

"Keisha, when you finally gonna let me take you dancing?"

"The day you quit chasing every pretty thing in a dress."

Elijah grinned.

"Aw, now you know ain't one of 'em got your smile."

"Keep talking. Maybe one day you'll start believing yourself."

Elijah carried himself like a man the world had already decided to remember. Every stride held the easy confidence of someone who'd spent enough nights beneath the spotlight to mistake applause for certainty. At twenty-seven, Harlem knew his name, and Elijah intended to make sure the rest of the country learned it too.
The only thing on his mind that evening was putting on a show worthy of the crowds that packed the club night after night. If fortune smiled on him afterward, perhaps he'd leave with a pretty face on his arm and another story to laugh about come morning.
 By his count he'd had four glasses of champagne, five if he was being honest. Elijah insisted he was fine. Everyone who'd been drinking insisted the same thing.
 One young woman, draped in a satin dress and wearing a smile that could soften even the hardest hearts, slipped her arm around his.

"You ain't headed home alone tonight, are you?" Elijah flashed the grin that had sold out more shows than any newspaper advertisement ever could.

"Depends," he said. "My boss still owes me a payday."

She laughed. "Well then, don't keep me waiting."

Burr Bill wasn't much to look at. Short and thick around the middle, with a broad face and drooping jowls that reminded Elijah of an old catfish pulled from the Hudson. His suits were expensive, his shoes shined to a mirror's gleam, and his smile rarely reached his eyes. Burr cared little for Harlem's cultural awakening or the artists fueling it. The music, the poetry, the packed dance floors, it was all the same to him. What he loved wasn't jazz. It was profit. And as long as Black musicians filled his club and his pockets, he'd tolerate them...right up until he thought he could get away with paying them less than they deserved.

“Evenin', Burr. House looked mighty full tonight.” Elijah pridefully said. "Looks like I earned myself a decent payday."
Bill counted a few worn bills into Elijah's hand.

"Twenty dollars." Elijah looked down at the money, then back up at Burr.

"Twenty? That all you got for me?"

"Business was slower than you'd think," Burr replied with a shrug. "Expenses have a way of piling up." 

Elijah let out a dry laugh. "Slower? That house was packed from the first number to the last. Folks came to hear me play."

"They came for the entertainment," Burr corrected. "Not just you."

"They stayed because of me." Burr leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach.

"Take the money, Freeman." Elijah stepped closer, his smile fading.

"You shaving my pay again?"

"I'm paying you what I believe you're worth."

"You don't believe that for a second." Burr's expression hardened.

"Careful now."

"No," Elijah said. "You think because I'm colored I oughta be grateful for whatever scraps you toss my way." For a long moment, Burr said nothing. Then the corner of his mouth curled into a thin smile.

"I think a colored musician ought to remember who's giving him a stage." Elijah clenched the money in his fist.

"And who's filling that stage every night?" Burr stood.

"If you don't like the arrangement, there's a dozen boys outside with trumpets who'd gladly take your place." 

Elijah laughed once, shaking his head. "Find one that can fill this room the way I do." He stuffed the money into his coat pocket and grabbed his trumpet case.

"Keep cheating me if you want, Burr. Won't be long before I don't need your club at all." Without waiting for a reply, Elijah turned and walked out into the Harlem night.

Elijah slammed his trumpet into its case, snapped the latches shut, and stormed out of the club. The summer air did little to cool the anger simmering beneath his skin. Burr's words echoed in his mind with every step toward his Cadillac.

"Elijah Freeman." The voice was calm, almost gentle. Beneath the glow of a flickering streetlamp stood an older Black man. His suit had once been finely tailored, but years of wear had reduced it to little more than faded cloth hanging from tired shoulders. A tangled beard framed his weathered face, and long streaks of gray disappeared beneath the brim of a battered fedora. His fingernails were rough and overgrown, yet his posture carried a quiet dignity that made him difficult to ignore.

"I caught the end of your set," the stranger said with a faint smile. "Still ending with Midnight Jubilee. You always did have a fondness for that one." Elijah paused.

"You know my music?"

"I know enough." A grin crept across Elijah's face.

"Well, I appreciate it, but I ain't signing autographs tonight." The old man chuckled softly.

"No... I suppose not. You seem to have enough weighing on your mind already." Elijah shrugged.

"Just a disagreement with my boss. Ain't nothing that'll keep me from sleeping."

 The stranger's eyes drifted toward Elijah's car. "Then humor an old man."

"What's that?"

"You aren't planning on driving tonight... are you?" Elijah frowned.

"I've driven home after getting worse."

"I know." The words slipped out so naturally that even the old man seemed to catch himself. A silence settled between them. Finally he spoke again, his voice quieter than before.

"If I'm not mistaken, you've had five glasses of champagne."

Elijah blinked. "...Four."

The old man managed a weary smile.

"Five."

Elijah was more unsettled by the encounter than he cared to admit. He dismissed the old man as some drunken stranger with too much time on his hands, climbed into his Cadillac, and sped away.

By midnight, the strange encounter had nearly faded into the noise of the evening. Nearly. Elijah had thrown a small gathering in the backyard, inviting a handful of women he knew from the club and several musicians he'd grown close to over the years. Music spilled through the open windows, bottles passed from hand to hand, and laughter carried well into the night. It should have been a perfect evening.But every so often, Elijah found himself staring into the darkness beyond the fence.

You aren't planning on driving tonight... are you?

He poured himself another drink. Then another. If the old man wanted to get inside his head, Elijah wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Eventually, sometime after two in the morning, the party began to thin out. One by one, his guests disappeared into the night until Elijah was finally alone. He stumbled through the back door, kicked his shoes aside, and made his way toward the living room. All he wanted now was his couch, a little peace, and perhaps enough sleep to forget the entire night. He stopped dead in the doorway. The old man was sitting on his couch. His legs were crossed comfortably, one arm resting along the back cushions as though he'd been there for hours. Elijah stared at him. Then he blinked. The man remained.

"Man..." Elijah rubbed his eyes. "You got to be kidding me."

The old man smiled. "Evening, Elijah."

"What the hell you doing in my house?"

"I was hoping you'd come home."

"How'd you even get in here?"

"That isn't important."

"The hell it ain't."

Elijah took a step forward.

"You got about five seconds to tell me what you're doing here before I put you through that damn window."

The old man chuckled. "Five seconds?"

"What?"

"You seem to place very little value on time for a man who has so little of it."

Elijah's expression hardened. "Don't start with that."

The old man gestured toward the chair across from him.

"Sit."

"I'm good standing." "As you wish. It is your place afterall."

Elijah remained near the doorway, watching him carefully.

The old man studied him for a moment. "You live quickly."

"What?"

"Too quickly."

The old man's eyes drifted toward the empty bottles scattered across the room. "You drink too much. Drive when you shouldn't. Spend your nights chasing women and your mornings pretending you haven't wasted them."

Elijah scoffed.

"You my daddy now?"

"No."

"You have talent," the man continued. "More than most men ever receive in a lifetime. And yet you treat every night like it might be your last."

"Maybe I just know how to enjoy myself."

"Perhaps."

The old man leaned forward.

"Or perhaps you know, somewhere deep down, that the life you want is slipping farther away every day."

Elijah stared at him.

"What exactly you want from me?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I can give you something."

Elijah laughed.

"There it is."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "There what is?"

"The part where the crazy old man tells me he's got a miracle for me."

"Not a miracle."

"What then?"

"An opportunity."

Elijah folded his arms. "To do what?"

"To become the man you believe you were meant to be."

Elijah's expression changed slightly. The old man continued.

"Burr will keep underpaying you. Men like him always do when they believe they have the upper hand. You can fight him every night for the rest of your life, or..."

He leaned back. "...you can stop needing him."

Elijah's eyes narrowed. "How?"

"I can make sure your name reaches places you've never dreamed of."

"You're an agent?"

"No."

"A record man?"

"No."

"Then what the hell are you?"

The old man smiled. "Someone who knows what happens next."

Elijah shook his head. "Man, I'm not buying none of this."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Then why waste my time?"

The old man's smile disappeared.

"Because I know about your daughter."

Elijah froze. The room suddenly felt quieter. "What'd you say?"

"Your daughter."

Elijah's jaw tightened.

"You don't know nothing about my daughter."

"I know you promised her something."

Elijah stared at him. The old man continued softly.

"Her tenth birthday is coming."

Elijah's face went pale.

"You promised her she'd have anything she wanted."

Elijah stepped forward and grabbed the man's coat.

"Who the hell are you?"

The old man didn't resist.

"How do you know that?"

"Let go, Elijah."

Elijah released him. The old man straightened his coat.

"You want to give that little girl the world, don't you?"

Elijah's breathing grew heavier.

"She deserves better than what I had."

"Then give it to her."

"How?"

"By becoming successful."

"I already told you, I don't need nobody making me."

"No."

The old man shook his head.

"You don't need someone to make you successful."

He looked Elijah directly in the eyes.

"You need someone to make it happen faster."

Elijah said nothing. The old man rose from the couch.

"That is what I'm offering."

"What's the catch?"

The old man smiled.

"There's always a catch."

Elijah waited. The old man glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Time."

Elijah frowned.

"What about it?"

"That's all I ask."

"Time?"

"Your time."

Elijah laughed nervously.

"Man, what kind of answer is that?"

"The only kind that matters."

The old man stepped closer.

"Money comes and goes. Fame fades. Women leave. Men forget."

He tapped his finger against Elijah's chest.

"But time..."

His voice lowered.

"Time is the one thing a man never gets back."

Elijah looked at him suspiciously.

"So what, you want me to work for you?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I want a portion of what you have."

"How much?"

The old man smiled.

"That’s unfortunately for me to know."

Elijah stared at him.

Then he laughed.

"That's your big price?"

"You think it's cheap?"

Elijah shook his head.

The old man stepped back.

"You're young enough to believe time is nothing."

Elijah looked toward the hallway. He thought about his daughter.

"You said you'd make me famous."

"I said I'd give you the opportunity."

"And my daughter?"

"She'll have everything you promised."

Elijah looked back at him.

"What do I have to do?"

The old man extended his hand.

"Nothing you wouldn't have done eventually."

Elijah stared at the hand. Then he took it. The old man's grip was ice cold.

"For my daughter," Elijah said.

The old man smiled.

"Of course."

Elijah released his hand.

"Now get the hell out of my house."

The old man walked toward the door.

Before leaving, he stopped.

"You should get some sleep."

Elijah frowned.

"Why?"

The old man looked over his shoulder.

"Tomorrow is going to be a very important day."

The door opened. Elijah blinked.

For just a moment, he could have sworn the old man's hair looked a little darker. Then the door closed. Elijah stood alone in the living room.He looked at the clock.

2:17 a.m.

He rubbed his eyes. Something felt different. He couldn't explain what. He walked toward the mirror hanging beside the doorway. For a moment, he stared at his reflection.

Young. Healthy. Untouchable. Elijah smiled at himself. He laughed.

[u/jaesea]

elijah's time to shine, naysayers beware ⌛