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I get busy with my duties at the Army base. The war in Afghanistan is raging. There is no word yet when I may be deployed. I am sure that there will come a day when I receive orders and will have to go at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, I continue with my daily exercise, weekly shooting practice, and managing my platoon.

Two weeks after we visit the Scala bar, I return on my own. Logan needs to work and cannot accompany me. I hang my guitar across my right shoulder. I have a small amp that I carry in my hand. I am all set for my performance. I have no idea about the type of music the locals enjoy. In high school, I played tunes that were popular in America. But the bar is close to the Army base, and there is a mix of local and foreign, non-German people in the bar. I am taking a chance anyway.

I enter the bar a bit later than the last time I came with Logan. I walk up to the corner where the man played during my previous visit. I move a bit to the center of the room so that I can view the audience, at least the first few tables. I visit the manager’s office to let him know that I am there and that I am ready to play. He waves at me to indicate his approval.

I start with the Beatles’ song Yesterday. I know it is universally popular throughout the world — the audience claps. I notice a young lady sitting in the front row raise her bottle in appreciation. She is sitting by herself. With her dark brown, shoulder-length hair, she projects a friendly persona. The black blouse contrasts with her fair complexion even in the dim light. She has a wholesome, healthy look that is attractive. The chair across from her, on the other side of the round table, is empty. I think maybe her companion or friends have walked away to talk with others or gone to the bathroom. I continue playing other popular tunes that I had played in high school. The next time I look in the direction where the young lady was sitting, she is gone. I hope she has not left. But why should I care? I haven’t even talked to her.

By the time I finish my act, it is close to 10 pm. I have been playing for an hour. I need a break. I put my guitar down by the bar counter and order a beer, the same one I had two weeks ago. I liked it. The young lady has returned. She smiles as she passes me, but has tears in her eyes as if she had been crying, which she wipes with her fingers. She seems just the opposite of the German girl I had talked with Logan about. I want to get to know her.

“Do you mind if I keep you company?” I ask as I approach her table.

I don’t know if she speaks English. If she doesn’t, then it will be awkward.

“Oh, sure,” she replies without hesitation and points to the empty chair in front of her. I am relieved that she speaks English.

Before we can start a conversation, I hear a phone ringing. She looks in her purse. Takes out her phone and walks outside.

What’s going on? I am surprised and sort of embarrassed. If she didn’t want to talk to me, she could have given some excuse like she had to talk with her boyfriend or something. I am kind of offended. Maybe I was right when I told Logan about German girls. Am I wrong to think that this one was different? Ten minutes go by, and no sign of her returning. I wish Logan was with me. I could have repeated my comment about German girls not being so friendly. I mean, it was kind of rude, I thought, for her to leave so abruptly. After about fifteen minutes, I am ready to give up. I think I will finish my beer and go back to my barracks. I won’t tell Logan what happened. It would be too embarrassing.

As I am ready to leave, I see her coming in. She takes the seat she was occupying before.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “It was rude of me to leave like that.”

I keep my silence.

“You see, it was my mom. It’s never a short talk with her. I couldn’t talk with her here with all the noise. I had to go outside.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I hope all is well.”

“Oh. Ya, ya. Everything is fine.”

“So,” I start, slightly hesitant. “Do you come here often?”

She doesn’t reply for a while. I wait.

“I’m sorry. I was not paying attention,” she says after a moment.

“That’s okay. I thought maybe you didn’t like speaking with strangers.”

“It’s nothing like that. My dad works for an international import and export company, and we have moved a lot. I have met different people.”

“My name is Arjun, by the way.” I extend my hand.

“Lily.” She extends her hand but only touches my fingers.

“Nice to meet you, Lily. Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Lily moves her head up and down.

“I noticed you were kind of… in not such a good mood. Something bothering you? I hope I am not getting too personal. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“You’re right. I was getting a bit emotional when I listened to your beautiful music. I thought of Rasheed and the discrimination he faced.”

“Rasheed? Who’s Rasheed? If I may ask.”

“Our neighbor’s son. They were a good family. Just because they migrated from Afghanistan, the kids in the school treated him badly. It got so bad they had to move.”

“Because they were Muslims?”

“Yeah. Can you think of how, sometimes, people can be so hateful?”

“I know what you mean. I had a personal experience similar to that.”

“Tell me about it.” She seemed genuinely interested.

“Well, you have seen me playing the guitar. When I was in high school, I was a member of a band.”

“Really?”

Lily sounds excited.

“Yes. It was called DAN the Band for Dan, Arjun, and Naomi. The three lead members.”

“Wow?” Lily elongates the word when she says it.

“Well. Our band was invited to play at a Valentine’s Day party at our high school.”

“So exciting.”

“Listen to this. During the peak of the performance, there was a shooting.”

“Oh, no.” Lily presses her palm over her mouth. She looks so cute.

“Yes. And I was the target. The shooter thought I was a Muslim because of my brown skin.”

“That’s bad. Were you hurt?”

“Fortunately, not.”

“What happened to the shooter?”

“I got busy with college admission madness, and I didn’t follow up on his case after his arrest. But I heard he was a troubled kid and was under psychological observation.”

“But, how did he get possession of a gun?”

“Well, Lily. I hate to admit it, but that’s a serious problem we have in America.”

“That’s what I hear from the reports I read in papers. Your politicians are sissies.”

“You are right about that, and they are controlled by a powerful gun lobby from the NRA.”

“The NRA?”

“Yes. The National Rifle Association.”

“I hope there will come a time when they will come to their senses.” Lily hopes.

I don’t have time to respond. We didn’t realize that it was getting late. We didn’t realize the bar had started to close. There are only two of us and another couple in a corner left in the bar, and the manager has started to turn off the lights.

“How far away do you live?” I ask as Lily starts getting up from her chair.

“Not far. About half a mile. I walk. I can manage.”

“No. Not at this hour of the night. I will walk with you.”

“That’s so nice of you.”

I accompany Lily up to her apartment building. I am not sure if she will invite me in. I think of hugging her. With my guitar hanging over my shoulder and the small amp in one hand, it is kind of awkward. I bid her goodnight at the entrance. She looks at me, smiles, leans over, and gives me a peck on each cheek. I smile and reciprocate. I like this girl. I hope to see her more.

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