When do you feel most productive?
I see him across the street talking to the group gathered around him. I know it is him because a couple who had stop to hear me play recognize him and acknowledge who he is.
I’d heard good stuff about him, but when the couple drop a buck or two into my guitar case, the man calls him unjust and egotistical. The woman doesn’t comment, but suggests they go meet him and talk with him.
“What good will that do? You can go if you want, I’ll stay here and listen to this guy sing.”
I take that as a compliment and strum a little harder and sing a little sweeter.
“I don’t want to go if you don’t.”
The tone of her voice betrays her words. I could tell and I have only known her for less than five minutes. More people stop and listen to me play.
As a young girl tosses shiny into my case, “Do you know ‘No One Like Ya’?”
I do. I nod and then search for the right chord and the right key for me to play and sing Beyonia’s version of it. I would love to play my own version, but it may not honor the request. She’s already donates, so I feel the responsibility.
The song is popular currently and I think I must be doing it justice as I draw a crowd. Sometimes when I sing my own songs, no one stops for long; maybe for a moment, toss some change or low value paper, and leave with a smile. That’s better than just walking by, I guess. I’m not sure if it’s out of gratitude or guilt or pity, but they hear me or some version of me anyway.
I didn’t notice that he came over to listen until Beyonia’s song is finished and the crowd thins. He places a hand on a young woman’s shoulder who smiles at him as he apologies to her and places several bucks into my case.
He looks directly into my eyes and gently speaks, “Would you play one of your songs? I like the one you were playing before about shadows in the sunset.”
“Play ‘Tennessee Whiskey.’” a large man wearing a green cap turned backwards on his completely shaven bald head demands.
He smiles and shrugs, “That’s a great song, too. I bet you do it justice.”
I do. But “Sunset Shadows” is my best work so far and it means so much to me. I look at him. I look at Green Cap. He asks and donates. Cap requests without sacrifice.
I strum a chord that could have fit either song. He is still waiting patiently. Cap fidgets. I strum a similar chord, stalling, still deciding. He smiles. Cap crosses his huge well-defined arms and exhales warm impatience.
He paid a price. Cap ties me to a song. When the next chord plays, the crowd starts to disperse. Cap leaves a glare of disgust and nothing else and huffs away mumbling, “he probably couldn’t do it good anyway.”
I sing my song to him only. Some pedestrians stop for a moment to listen, some leaving something in my case. He stays for the whole song.
“That song is about life and your experiences and observations. I’ve been there, too. Thank you for your honesty,” He says.
“Thank you for listening and asking me to play my song.”
Ironically, the Sun, hidden by stone, wood, and brick buildings descends toward the horizon. His facial features as also are the streets and sidewalks darkening with shadows.
“Where do you live, young man? I want to hear more,” I can only see the light coming from his eyes as makes this awkward but awesome request.
“My house is in such a mess right now. I’d be too embarrassed to have someone of your stature see it,” I argue trying not to say “no” and giving him and me an “out.”
“I want to come and have some supper with you.”
It gets creepier. Besides I have so little to offer him, except my songs.
“I’ll bring the food. I’ll listen to your songs. I also have a proposal to offer you that will change your life.”
I wonder where this could be headed. It seems so strange. Can he really change my life? If so, for better or for worse?
“What do you say?”
What have I got to lose. I feel most energized singing my songs. It’s even best when someone listens, understands, and appreciates them. It feels like they see me.
Categories: Author Confession
Douglas Knight
I have the rich life full of a sinner wounded by misunderstanding and punishment but blessed by mercy and forgiveness.
Knight Writer 