El club de los mejores
_¿Qué pasó, chamo? ¿Sucedió algo? - saludó a su amigo y lo dejó entrar. Mateo se tiró en el sofá y respondió:
_Estaba cerca de acá y decidí visitarte.
_¿A esta hora? ¡Son las 12 de la noche, loco!
_¿Tienes cervezas? Busca dos que necesito hablar contigo.
_Tenemos la posibilidad de tocar en El club de los mejores la próxima semana.
_Sabes que Declan quiere darse un respiro de la música. Recuerda que pidió tres meses. - expresó Forest terminando la cerveza y buscando otras.
_Lo sé, por eso estoy aquí: creo que tú puedes convencerlo de que toquemos este fin de semana. Necesitamos ese contrato porque ahí va a estar toda la crema de los Sonopima, la disquera que lanza los nuevos talentos.
_¿En serio? ¿Quién te dio esa información? De todas maneras dudo que Declan quiera. Está en su retiro.
_Yo podría obligarlo porque él tiene un contrato con el grupo, pero prefiero que regrese por las buenas, de esa forma, entusiasmado, Declan es más productivo, creativo. Tú sabes que el de las ideas es él.
Forest asintió con la cabeza y luego de otras cervezas, antes de despedir a Mateo, le prometió que convencería a Declan para reunirse.
_Sabes que necesito tener un respiro de los escenarios para poder conectarme con las musas - le respondió a Forest cuando este lo llamó para convencerlo, pero Forest fue tan persistente y convincente que luego de media hora, Declan había aceptado presentarse con sus amigos en El club de los mejores aquel fin de semana.
Ensayaron toda la semana: todo el repertorio musical lo tenían perfectamente ensamblado, solo era cuestión de esperar el día y el éxito.
_Después de esto, la fama. Ese final con el saxofón en la segunda canción, Forest, es sublime - dijo Mateo y los tres brindaron con tragos de Ron Carúpano que tenían echado en vasos de plástico.
_Sopla, Forest, sopla, siento todas las musas venir hacia mí- dijo Declan a su amigo mientras se le cerraban los ojos.
HASTA UNA PRÓXIMA OPORTUNIDAD, AMIGOS
La imagen principal es de libre uso y editada en Canva, y el texto fue traducido con Deepl Translate
![Click here to read in englis]
The club for the best
The club of the best It was midnight when Forest heard someone knocking on the apartment door. He looked through the peephole and saw that it was Mateo. He opened the door immediately, even though he was ready to go to bed.
“What's up, man? Did something happen?” He greeted his friend and let him in. Mateo threw himself on the sofa and replied:
“I was nearby and decided to visit you.”
“At this hour? It's midnight, man!”
“Do you have any beers? Get two, I need to talk to you.”
Forest grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed one to his friend. After a long sip, Mateo blurted out:
“We have the chance to play at The Best Club next week.”
“You know Declan wants to take a break from music. Remember he asked for three months,” said Forest, finishing his beer and looking for more.
“I know, that's why I'm here: I think you can convince him to let us play this weekend. We need that gig because all the bigwigs from Sonopima, the record label that launches new talent, will be there.”
“Really? Who told you that? Anyway, I doubt Declan will want to. He's retired.”
“I could force him because he has a contract with the group, but I'd rather he come back willingly. That way, when he's enthusiastic, Declan is more productive and creative. You know he's the one with the ideas.”
Forest nodded and, after a few more beers, before saying goodbye to Mateo, he promised he would convince Declan to meet.
Two days later, the three of them were rehearsing in Mateo's garage. Declan had brought some new songs and had rearranged some old ones, giving them a more interesting style: without a doubt, his brief retreat had paid off.
“You know I need a break from the stage to connect with the muses,” he replied to Forest when he called to convince him, but Forest was so persistent and convincing that after half an hour, Declan had agreed to perform with his friends at El Clud de los Mejores that weekend.
They rehearsed all week: they had the entire musical repertoire perfectly assembled, it was just a matter of waiting for the day and success.
“After this, fame. That ending with the saxophone in the second song, Forest, is sublime,” said Mateo, and the three of them toasted with shots of Carúpano rum poured into plastic cups.
On the day of the performance, although the atmosphere was tense and there were many unfamiliar faces, the band took to the stage at the agreed time. From the stage, they saw two men wearing leather jackets and dark glasses approach one of Sonopima's executives, who was surrounded by bodyguards. They had just finished their second song when the first shot rang out, followed by another and then more. Many bodies were on the floor, some taking cover, others wounded. Amidst the noise of the guns, Forest's saxophone continued to play even though a bullet had entered one of his legs. Mateo's body lay in a pool of blood and Declan's voice was a whisper:
“Blow, Forest, blow, I feel all the muses coming to me,” Declan said to his friend as his eyes closed.