waiting in line for coffee (draft 1)

            Waiting in line for coffee, I saw him. His hair was much too long for my taste, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was strumming gently on a guitar, and appeared to be truly moved by the music he produced. It was as if the busy sidewalk had no access to him; he simply didn’t appear to hear it.

            I enjoyed the music until I got inside the door to the coffee shop. Disappointed, I tried to forget about him. And yet when I approached the barista, I was unable to stop myself from ordering two black coffees, adding a packet of sugar to each and slipping the lids back on as I pushed my way out the door and back to him.

            He didn’t look up until a ten full seconds after I tapped his shoulder. Blinking at me with sleepy eyes, his fingers kept moving sweetly along the strings. “I-I got you a coffee” I stammered quietly. He smiled and his fingers slowed, eventually stopping completely. “Thanks.” he said kindly, taking the coffee from me.

            Unsure what was next but sure that I didn’t want our interaction to be over, I found myself sitting down next to him. “Mind if I sit with you?” I asked, as if he had a choice. He shook his head, sipping quietly from his coffee.

            “It’s been years since I’ve had free coffee.” he said.

Skeptical, I asked “Really? When you play just outside a coffee shop?”

He nodded. “A city like this and you would imagine people would be friendlier to a musician. But I haven’t had a coffee since before I started playing here.” 

“What made you decide to be a musician?” I asked, attempting to take a sip of my own coffee but realizing it was much too hot.

He laughed. “I fell in love when I was fifteen. Not with the guitar, with a girl. She was two years older than me, but we both believed I was mature for my age. She convinced me to leave with her when she graduated, so I did. Left my parents, my hometown, everything, for the open road. Pretty typical, isn’t it?”

He looked at me expectantly. Not sure what to say, I opened my mouth slowly only to be interrupted.

“She was the one who bought my first guitar. We were in the middle of Utah I think, and it had been hours since we had run into anyone on the road. There was a sign for a yard sale, can you believe that? Miles of empty, empty space and all of a sudden a wooden sign with the words “yard sale”. So we drove 20 miles down a road made of more dirt than I believed was possible. We came to this old barn and there was the guitar leaned up against the side. She picked it up and I knew instantly that she was going to keep it. I threw a bunch of 20s from the bed of the truck and we sped back the way we came. No idea how much the old bird was worth, but we had no sense of money at the time.

“She learned before I did. I couldn’t get my fingers right on a g chord, but she picked it up like she had been doing it her whole life. Gotta admire that. She had a natural ear.”

“How did you end up playing it?”

“She gave it to me before she left. she turned 20 and all of a sudden she was ready to leave me. It had only been three years, but she had outgrown me, she said. I don’t know if I was necessarily devastated at the time. She was all I had, but I didn’t realize that until she was gone. Later, when it became apparent she wasn’t coming back. I guess it just took me a while to make the connection.”

“What connection?”

“The one between what I was when she took me and what I was when she was gone. I left with her when I was seventeen. I was so young, had so much growing up to do. People don’t realize, but when you’re with just one other person traveling in one of three t shirts and a beat up old truck, you grow up twice as fast. And you become a person that’s split in two. A part of me left when she did. Look at me now. It’s not even the guitar she found, and yet playing it is the only way I can feel whole again.”

He looked at me.

“It’s a lonely existence, you know. It’s been years and yet I still can’t figure out how to live as a full person.”

He smiled. “That’s probably enough for you, brother.” and he began playing again. Taking it as my cue to leave I stood up, leaving my coffee next to his guitar case. He waved slowly, playing softly with the other as I walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, and I was back for coffee at the same shop. He wasn’t there, and I courageously asked the barista if he had seen the lonely musician lately.

“Him? The drug addict? He’s been out there for as long as I can remember, playing that old guitar of his. Guess he finally overdosed.”

“Was there ever a girl with him?”

“No, not that I ever saw. First time he showed up he was with a bunch of guys, and he looked about sixteen. I’d say he fell into the wrong crowd and his parents put him out. Shame. He was pretty good at guitar too.”

Feeling deflated, I picked up my two coffees. I sat on the curb and stared at the opposite side of the street. Eventually I finished my coffee and stood up. I thought about leaving the extra coffee on the ground, but at the last second thought better of it.

After all, who could trust something from a stranger?