A Wandering Musician: Chapter 2

golden-gate-san-francisco-california-photography

I found myself in a Golden City,

And the things that were supposed to be pretty,

I found the dark and it made me long for light.

I thought of a smile…and you for awhile,

Lorraine, you’re my happiness and my life.

Chapter 2:

“I am traveling down the Western Coast and came to the City by the Bay. I strolled the streets, went to see the gate but the fog rolled in and shrouded the bridge from my sight. It’s colder here with the mist in the air. I long for you to hold me tight.”

Grant sat on the hood of another man’s car writing his note and gazing into the clouds surrounding him. He drew his collar up, then folded the paper, adding it to his collection. When it seemed apparent the cloak that had fallen would not lessen he abandoned his post and headed for the heart of the city.

He found a place where the poor people stayed but they had a grand piano just inside. He touched the keys reverently. The piano was what he loved to play most. He sat at the bench and pressed the ivory and the sound that rang was more beautiful than a sea.

His hands drifted like leaves in the fall and sent music hauntingly across the lobby. Then a child came in, and his face grew sorrowful from what Grant played. He changed the notes to a lighter time and the young one twirled and swayed. After the minutes drifted to hours Grant could no longer play. People had come and gone. Some had sat for all the hours, the others just for a few songs. But they wouldn’t forget the young man with the harrowed face, who for a moment offered his music and filled their souls with happiness.

He touched the cheek of a youth as the young boy shook Grant’s hand and told him goodbye, then he wandered out into the madness of the city where a homeless man sat and cried.

“Lorraine, today I played in a poor part of town but I was able to make them smile. I even had their children gathered round and I eased their woes, if only for a small while. You would have been happy to hear my songs, I felt like I had performed them before. They were from a joyous place and I thought of your face. Lorraine, you’re what makes me smile.”

 

*Note: This is a fictional story of a musician named Grant. It is loosely based on the places I traveled as a musician in a band. I was inspired by the photographs we had taken over the years as we went from coast to coast and North to South. Another source of inspiration was a song called “Suitcase Full of Sparks” by Gregory Alan Isakov since it brought to mind all the miles, joys and hardships of life as a musician.

I hope you enjoy it.

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