The late June breeze made the white cotton curtains flutter in the family room. The screen of the long sliding glass door allowed the London air to filter in through the tiny slats. The front door down the stairs opened up, squeaking slightly as it was swinging backward.
Veronica Tetzlaff came slowly up the stairs of her townhouse, groceries in tote. Her footsteps broke the silence as she made her way to the platform at the top. She scurried to the kitchen table and let her groceries empty from her hands before spilling them all in the floor. In the nearby drawer, Veronica took out a pen and immediately went to the calendar. The date was June 15, 1971: Borden's 7:00. She wrote into the date of June 18. She noticed another item written in on today's date: ET332 project due. She stepped back and noticed how very full the month of June had become on Friday nights. Nearly every Friday there was an event penciled in at the same bar: SHOW 8:00, on June 21, SHOW 10:00 on June 22, SHOW 8:00 on June 28, SHOW on June 29 at 10:00. She smiled at seeing all the dates. It was at this time that Veronica realized she had forgotten to pick up the mail, as her hands had been too full on her way into the house. Before going back downstairs to retrieve the mail from the front of the townhouse, she turned on the telly to the late afternoon news and proceeded to properly place the rest of the groceries in the respective spots aside from what she would need for the evening. She took the receipt from the bottom of one of the bags and laid it on the counter.
It was 4:30 PM and nearly time for her to get dinner started. She made her way back down the carpeted stairs, opening the front door and taking a handful of mail from the drop box at the side of the door. She began to flip through it as she closed the door behind her and proceeded back up the stairs. She sighed as she saw three pieces of mail in particular that she had dreaded: the spring semester bill for her university classes and the bill for her boyfriend's university classes. There was another bill staring her in the face from the stack as well.
Veronica pulled open a drawer near the sink and took a green notebook from within. She sat at the small kitchen table with a pen and opened it up to the last page on which she had been working. The last number she had recorded was £1457.36. She stared at the figure before opening up the bill from the local hospital branch from where she had cut herself deeply on the railing in front of the townhouse before it had been repaired. £85.67. Immediately, she wrote a check for the amount and recorded the new total: £1371.69. She stuffed the check into an envelope and gazed down at her hand where the scar still loomed. She licked the envelope and sat it aside to obtain a stamp for it later. Next, she tore open the bill for the university: £485.43. She repeated a similar chain of actions and recorded the new total: £886.43. Finally, she ripped open another university bill groaning when she noticed a university library overdue charge. £242.70 and a library charge of £7.00. £636.73 was her new total. Veronica subtracted the day's groceries thus finally arriving at the amount of money left for the month: £600.23. She sighed again and stared at the ink in the little segmented boxes that she used to organize her numbers. "Not quite paycheck to paycheck this time." She nodded her head in approval. "Not enough in case of emergency, though..." she added out loud. She clicked her pen and turned her head to face the skillet sitting on the stove across from the table.
Veronica got up from the table and shoved her notebook back into the drawer, throwing the pen inside with it and taking out the phone directory and flipping to the back page. She quickly picked up the phone and dialed a number as she searched the nearby drawer for the can opener. "Hel...hello? Hello, professor Snyder? Yes, It's Veronica Tetzlaff? I was wondering if...um...if you had anyone call off at the pre-school for next week? Oh. Okay. That's fine. Would you care to call if anyone calls off? Great. Thank you. You still have be down from 8:30-12:30 with the four-year-old class next week, yes? Okay. Okay, thank you professor. Buh bye." Veronica disappointingly hung up the phone as the city air moved the vertical blinds and twisted the can opener until she had the can of beans open. She reached for a small saucepot under the stove and turned the front burner on. She stopped and thought for a moment as she stared into the open can of beans. Just as she dumped the can into now warm saucepot, the front door of the townhouse opened. Footsteps quickly made their way up the steps.
"Hey!" she greeted with a smile.
"Hi, sorry I'm late. Got caught up at the bus stop. Routes are runnin' slow today. There's a lot of traffic near the south avenue of the technology building." He explained, dropping his bag at the top of the platform and walking immediately over to Veronica. He put his arms around her, kissing her cheek. An 18-year-old John Deacon met Veronica at a disco club in 1969. As it turned out, he also attended the same university as she and they hadn't truly gotten to know each other until they found themselves in the same study group in the same year. Nearly immediately, John found himself fondly attached to Veronica and what began as a few casual dates quickly blossomed into a serious relationship. He asked Veronica to live with him in the summer of 1970. And so, after much frustrating searching, the pair found a most suitable townhome a short distance from the university and from bustling Kensington. They had shared a space together since late autumn of 1970 and during the time, they had discovered what an impeccable match they truly were.
Veronica leaned over into his kiss. "How was your project for class?" she asked, having seen the note on the calendar. John shook his head and took his arms off her, pulling open the refrigerator.
"It went very well. I wasn't nervous like I thought I would be when I was explaining how the radio transmissions worked. I'm rather confident I got a high mark." He said, taking a soda from the door and situating himself at the table.
"That's good news. I've got a babysitting job for the Borden's on the 18th." She said. John opened the bottle and noticed the stubs on the table of the bills Veronica had sealed in enveloped to be mailed.
"University bills came today?" he questioned, not responding to her statement. She shook her head.
"Yeah, I wrote the checks. They're in the envelopes." Veronica explained as she stirred the beans and opened the loaf of bread on the counter.
John examined the stubs. "Course cost seems to go up every semester doesn't it?" He said, running his finger over the numbers on the stubs. "I've got a gig next weekend. I'll get paid the night of the show." He said. "How much money do we have after these checks are deposited by the university?"
"Little over £600." Veronica answered, turning on the burner where her skillet was resting and cut a pat of butter from the stick, tossing it in the skillet.
"Hmm. Well, that's better than last month." John finally said, still examining the tuition bills. Veronica shook her head as she opened the plastic bag of deli-sliced cheese. She didn't yet say anything. "It'll get better." He added. "I get paid Friday after the show."
"I called the university pre-school to see if they were short-handed. They weren't. I told them to call me if there was a shift that needed coverage." She said, dropping bread slices into the skillet and lining each slice open-faced style with two slices of cheese. "I only wish we weren't so close each month, you know?" she said. John stretched himself backward at the kitchen table, starting at the ceiling as the smell of cooking butter and the sound of sizzling bread filled the kitchen. He sighed and put his hands behind his head.
"I know. I wish we weren't so close either. It'll get better. Surely it will? John questioned more than stated. Veronica took her turner and lifted the cheese on toast from the pan, putting it on a nearby place along with a spoonful of beans. She turned around and sat the plate before him.
"Cheese on toast again. I hope you don't mind. I got a roast today for Sunday dinner." Veronica said, pulling her own cheese on toast from the skillet and killing the heat on the oven. She spooned beans beside it and sat her plate beside John, retrieving her own beverage. John reached for her hand as she sat down at his side.
"I don't mind at all. It's okay. I love what you make for me every night when I come dragging in here from class." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Veronica smiled.
"John, I'm tryin' to pick up extra work and..." John squeezed her hand again.
"Stop. We don't have to talk about money anymore. Let's talk about what you and I are going to do this weekend." He said, diverting their conversation from what there wasn't quite enough of, to what there was plenty of.
A twenty-four year old Brian May stood in line at the bank. It was nearly 4:30 and there was an enormous line of people ahead of him. He glanced around ahead of him in the line to determine how many people were ahead of him. It looked to be at least ten people. "Number 104!" the next available bank teller called. He sighed and looked down to his own number: 118. It was going to be awhile. He worried that the bank would close it's doors, rejecting a majority of these people ahead of him before he could deposit his check. He stared down at the check that he had signed before arriving at the bank: £378.31. Brian tapped his checkbook register repeatedly, almost nervously. He knew that he had to deposit this check. There wasn't a choice really. If the bank closed up, he would be forced to go to a nearby grocer or the postal office and pay a fee to have it cashed. Brian continuously swayed back and forth, a newspaper under his arm and awkwardly trying to manage a full bag of books on one shoulder. "Number 105! Number 106! 107!" the next three available tellers called. There were only three tellers working behind the long desk and they were all ready to assist the next customers. Brian glanced to the large clock on the wall again: 4:26. Shit. The bank closed at 4:30! Surely the tellers wouldn't turn this line away.
As far as Brian was concerned, the individuals with the tellers were taking too long complete whatever transactions they required. It was imperative that the check be deposited otherwise he would have a mere £27.00 to his name until Friday. He didn't have any time to reach the bank in the two days to come. Brian owed the campus bookstore £21.00 and his current teachers assistant position helped him supplement his off-campus living expenses. Any other money Brian managed to scrape up was put toward books and supplies for school. At this point, if he didn't deposit the money into his checking account before 4:30 today...he would be out of luck for two days, paying a fee to have the check cashed and unable to use the majority of it. Brian hated owing money and so he desired to pay the bookstore in addition to the two campus parking violation fees he had incurred in the past two weeks. Brian was so sensitive that he nearly took the parking violations personally.
"Shit!" he mumbled under his breath, seeing as one of the tellers had hung a NEXT WINDOW PLEASE sign over her window. He looked up to the clock again: 4:28.
"108! 109!" the tellers called. Brian knew, in his heart, this would be it. He stared down to the check again, stepping out of the line with a few irritated patrons behind him.
"You'd think the bloody place would stay open until 5:00! How the hell they expect a working man to get here!" a man complained to Brian.
"It's frustrating. For sure." He said, following the man out from the marbled floors of the bank. Brian opened the heavy door and emerged from the coolness of the bank into the pleasant, afternoon that was mid-summer June in London. The conversation with the man stopped as he hurried the opposite direction toward a cab. Brian slipped his check back into the register book and stuffed it into the bag on his shoulder. He eyed the street up and down, deciding to wait at the bus stop that ran to south Kensington where a grocer was located. There was already a crowd standing at the stop. He didn't have to wait long, as the bus ran a predictable and regular route. It came to a halt as Brian reached into his back pocket for his bus card. He examined the placard in the upper window: KENSINGTON/SOUTH DUVALL STREET. He prepared to place his card to be punched by the automatic card read only to discover he had already used his last punch. He sighed and stepped aside in the bus line, digging the appropriate fare from his pocket. The remaining crowd filed into the bus as Brian dug his change out of his pocket and fed it into the coin meter at the bus' steps.
It was going to be a crowded ride to South Kensington as there were no seats available anywhere and hardly an overhead bar to cling to. Brian hoped the bus wouldn't stop for anymore passengers as it would feel like being stuck in a sardine can. It was a brief bus trip to South Kensington, with only two stops in between. Thus bus was hot this afternoon, stuffy and unruly children fidgeted and squirmed to get off at their stops. "South Duvall Street." The bus announced. Brian. Along with many other passengers, prepared to file off the bus. Once onto the sidewalks again, it was time to scope out the nearest grocer, which Brian knew was just south of the business district toward the market.
The Kensington market was the place to be. It was always bustling and the place to be seen. Musicians, artists, fashionistas, foodies, literary types, hippies, yuppies...everyone was here and if you weren't you certainly wanted to be here. In merely one block one could explore endless antiques and or second hand clothing booths. You could find fabrics, upholstery, furniture, delectable candies, fresh produce, custom cut meats, homemade candles and incense, used books and... records. There were always endless sellers with their little kiosks or blankets spread over the concrete with records for sale. 45s, 33s, a few 78s. Once Brian had stepped into south Kensington along Duvall Street, it would be very easy for him to be distracted away from his quest to cash his check.
Brian made his way below the business district until he could begin to smell the various concessions for sale along Duvall Street. He would have to run through the gauntlet of people, vendors and street performers Brian felt hungry but couldn't allow himself to be tempted by the freshly fried up chips being served up in paper funnels. The sounds of the local stations escaped various radios as Brian eyed booths left and right enroute to the grocer. He was forced to stop in his tracks when he caught sight of the constellation maps rolled out on a table before a vendor who appeared to have miscellaneous goods.
" 'Scuse me? How much for the constellation maps?" Brian asked, feeling himself getting his hopes up about them far more than he should have. The vendor shrugged.
"How's fifty pence sound?" the vendor asked. Brian shook his head.
"Alright, sounds good." Brian said as the vender turned around to unpin them from the cork board where they hung. "Um, what about the books there? The physics one and the other two?" He asked, knowing he shouldn't spend anything over a couple pounds.
"How about £1.00 for all of them?" the vendor questioned. Brian nodded again as the vendor rolled the constellation charts up and bagged them along with the books. Brian found himself delighted as he paid the man.
"Thank you. Have a nice afternoon." Brian told the vendor as he took the plastic bag. He needn't stop at another vendor or booth until he got to the grocer. Unfortunately, Kensington Market was better at taking your paycheck rather than forcing you to save it. He made his way further south on Duvall Street, finding himself in the absolute thick of everything; the smell of smoke and the sounds of acoustic guitars filling the air. Once in the middle of Duvall Street and Kensington Market, it was hard to look away. There was either something interesting to see, to buy, or someone interesting to talk with. Brian eyed some records on display that he considered purchasing for at least a few seconds until he managed to remember that his quest was the grocer and not used records.
Once Brian had ventured past many more of the booths, Duvall Street was coming to an end where it intersected with East 21st street. The grocer was located halfway down East 21st. The last few vendors that occupied the prime street-facing spots were upon him before turning his path down 21st. As he walked further away from Kensington market, the atmosphere around him grew more subdued, quieter; with the occasional car horn and traffic clatter. Finally, he had approached the grocer, needing to cross the busy street at the crosswalk. He watched the passing traffic until the streetlight changed from green to red, allowing pedestrians to cross in their massive hoard. Brian adjusted the bag on his shoulder as he made his way through the crowd. Most pedestrians weren't headed to the grocer so Brian was able to make his way inside and seek out the customer service counter.
There wasn't a lengthy line before him, much less than what had been before him at the bank. At this point, all Brian wanted was to get this check cashed and get home. He patiently waited until his turn finally arrived, the grocery shoppers around him minding their own business. "Hello. I have a check that needs cashed?" he questioned, handing it to the woman. She took it from Brian and examined it, running it through an authorization slide-reader as Brian had already signed it.
"There's a £4.00 processing charge for outside checks." The employee told Brian. He was disappointed by the fee, but knew how much he desperately needed this money. He shook his head, feeling a little defeated as he agreed to the processing charge. Once his money was counted out to him, Brian left the grocer. He was anxious to get home, take a look at his recent finds from the Kensington market and call it a day. He couldn't help but wonder to himself if things were going to get better. Sure he had the cash in his pocket, but he could only think that in his mind it had already been spent two times over. Brian pondered responding to an ad for a tutoring job he had seen at the college. Anything to make him feel less guilty about the purchases he had made today at Kensington market; anything to distract him from the fact that he wasn't entirely certain things would get better.