Two Steps

 The Fontaine is not named for any man or woman who walked this green Earth, no. This once-great, now-middling night club and music venue was named for the French word— not any such person whose great grand-father happened to take it for a surname. It’s a fountain and a natural spring all at once. Water is life in the same way music is life. Music keeps us sane, it keeps us happy, it makes us sad and it’s there for us when we need it. It can bring us back from the darkest times and it's what we need when the sun shines bright. Music flows from this hallowed ballroom the way water does from a spring. Hence, The Fontaine. Live music will never be the same thing it was 30 years ago and there is no way in Hell it comes close to what was here 30 years before that— but the fools whose mouths try to sing the worlds and whose fingers try to play the notes that make us want to live again spend every single Saturday night in that building regardless. The Fontaine was once an institution and to those in the know it still is.

    The Brothers know it is. They knew it when nobody else knew it. They’ve played the club every night for three months and business hasn’t been so good since the greats of the age that came before played the floor on opening night. The older brother, One, is the brains. He’s the big one, the one who took charge. He took his baby brother, Two, and turned their raw talent into something greater. Sure, a prelude of alcohol abuse before half a lifetime of heroin abuse might have been the only career Two ever had in mind. It was good enough for their father, why couldn’t it have been good enough for them. No, One knew what was best. He used what money he could scrape together to buy himself a beat-down old guitar and put their dearly departed dad’s in the hands of Two. One could write, play okay and his voice wasn’t horrible. Two was the real talent. One’s words in the mouth of his baby brother was gold in lyrical form. As it turned out, he had a knack for the strings, too. 

They got their first gig in the worse part of town and made their way to the bad in less than a year. The bad being home to The Fontaine. That’s what made it what it was though. It was a mirage in a desert of working class melancholy. For one building only, you can leave behind what troubles you and taste the highlife. Poor, rich or somewhere in-between— the in between rarely taking part as the adequacy of being comfortable wasn’t known for being on the cards for those who lived in the big city— The Fontaine was somewhere you went to leave behind what came before. The Brothers understood that. Their dad was no good and their mother never had a chance to be. All they had was each other and knives in their backs, held by so-called well wishers who saw nothing more than two young opportunities. One learned quick that all Two had was him; Two knew One was all he had but rarely spent enough time down on Earth to learn much of anything. 

Tonight was their last show at The Fontaine before a 3 week tour of the hottest clubs in the tri-state area and One was lost in a sea of fans, looking for Two in a frantic bid of desperation. One knew well enough to push the nerves down, often indulging in a drink or two to keep them at bay. Two didn’t know enough to get past the fact booze killed his daddy, and so when the demons came to play with him before he could play the stage— flight kicked in and fight took the back seat. One tried his best to keep Two by his side, but Two was no stranger to giving his big brother the slip.

One found his brother crouched behind a dumpster, Big Ray the bouncer stood by the door to keep an eye on him. 

“Mr. One, there you are. I was gonna come find you but I didn’t wanna leave Mr. Two alone, in case one of those crazies spotted him from the street.” Big Ray explained.

“Hey, don’t worry about it buddy. I appreciate you keeping an eye on him, I’ve got it from here. You go back to watching the door, now. ” One responded, tucking 20 dollars into the bouncer’s pocket before patting him on the shoulder.

“You got it, boss.” Big Ray answered, walking away. 

One walked over to Two, kneeled down and put his arm around him. 

“Nerves got you down, baby brother?” One asked.

“A little. I’m fine, I’m fine. Come on, let’s do this.” Two responded

Two stood up, wiped his mouth and jumped up. Faux excitement never worked as a suitable motivator, but the young star tried regardless. 

“Hey, just stop a minute. Listen to me, kid.” One said, stopping him still. 

“I’m fine, bro. Really, I’m good.” 

“Nah, you’re not good. You’re the best, kid. The best still gets to be nervous though.”

“I’ve done this a thousand times, One. It should be easy.”

“No, fuck that. It’s not easy and it’s never gonna be easy. What we do isn’t easy, Two. It’s art. Never expect it to be easy. If the anxiety isn’t making you queasy then you’re losing your talent. Let me know when that happens, I’ll need to find a replacement brother.”

“Please, you couldn’t replace me.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

“Yeah, yeah. You still get anxious?”

“Every time, kid. I’m the big brother, though. I gotta keep it in so you can let it out. Just the way you gotta be. We’re gonna do it like we always do it— perfectly. Now, you ready?”

Two stops for a moment, looks his brother in the eyes and exhales.

“I’m ready.” Two days.

“Good. Let’s do the new one.”

The brother’s wrapped up their alleyway pep talk and made their way to the stage. The Fontaine had seen every sort of folk and blues the good people of the big city have ever dared to play. Hell, it’s even seen some of the stuff the country folk ride into town to play. The Brothers, whilst they appear to be just like any other folk singers on the outside, bring life to the people in a way that nobody has ever dared to before. They took that stage and for the duration of the set it was an absolute certainty that no world existed beyond the boundaries of this club.

“Ladies and gentlemen of The Fontaine, how are we doing tonight?” One asked the guests in a drawl they would never know wasn’t real. 

The crowd screamed, roared and shouted in response. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘very well, thank you’. What do you think, brother? They seem excited to you. 

“They do indeed brother, they do indeed.” Two responded in a drawl of equal inauthenticity. 

“Well, folks. We are glad to hear you’re excited. So glad, in fact, that we have a new little ditty tonight. Just for you. Are we ready?” One asked.

The crowd responded in an enthusiasm of such intensity the first response seemed meek in comparison. 

“Ok then, we’re ready. Here we go.”

One and two start playing a slow, folksy tune on their guitars. Two hums whilst One sings:

Twenty-somethin’ years ago, 

My Mama gave to me

One last birthday present 

The cocky kid sat right next to me.

Ten years later 

Our Daddy done croaked too

He left behind some whisky

A gun and me and you.

The foster folks they gave us

Hope then two black eyes

Turns out when Ma’ left

Hope really did go die.

As One stops singing, the brothers pick up the pace and they both keep humming. Two then starts to sing:

One my brother, 

don’t you see?

You’re quite a morbid guy.

Life dealt us a shitty hand 

But life with you is kind of grand. 

You didn’t mention the guitar 

That Daddy left behind.

You taught yourself to play on this 

To strum just every chord. 

You taught me there was more to life 

Than drugs and alcohol. 

Passed it down, passed it on 

And sang a song with me. 

Now we’re just the brothers, 

Just One, Two, You and Me. 

    One stops singing to join his brother in the humming. At this point though, the lyrics are inconsequential. The audience erupted in a fever of dance and jubilation. The music had once again brought back to life the euphoria that laid dormant in the men and women willing to listen. The Fontaine would always be home to musicians willing to sing the song that people want to hear, but The Brothers will forever go down in history as the first to sing what needed to be heard.