Coincidental Fate

I looked in disgust at the subway bench. To sit or not to sit? After all, who knows who could've sat there last? But my feet were sore and the crowds pressing around made me want to vomit.

My gagging reflex won. I sat down - but not before wiping the bench with a tissue first.

The phone in my bag beeped again. And again. And again. I ignored them all. If Emma thought a few text messages would get me to forgive her for abandoning me without a ride, she had way underestimated how much having to go on the subway would fuel my anger. The subway was loud, crowded, dirty—disgusting to say the least. I wrinkled my noise at the smelly mass of people before me.

That's when I glimpsed it.

Even from the other side I could see the violin's beautiful body glinting in the yellow light of the subway. Its owner was bent, his jet black hair flopping over his dark eyes as his hands intently re-adjusted the violin. He wore a tuxedo, complete with a red cummerbund and neck scarf, looking more suited to attending a ball than a playing session at a subway station. Beneath his shiny leather shoes the open violin case laid.

The musician finally straightened. Gently, he glided the bow across the strings. A slow, plaintive note floats over the clamors and towards me. If I closed my eyes, I could just picture him in his black suit, the violin in his hand glinting from the spotlight, the yearning note stretching on forever in the darkness of the concert hall...

And then suddenly the violin broke out into a folk melody and my dream shattered.

I stared as he started singing - about willows and widows, no less!- while the bow in his hand ran furiously up and down the bridge. He played on, completely at ease in the station, flashing a bright smile to anyone close by who met his eyes. He persevered, completely undaunted even when they all shuffled pass him, their heads bent to avoid seeing the nearly empty case.

At the fiddle's solo, he yelled out in a loud voice across the tracks to the other side,

"Hey, guys! Liking the music?"

He paused. No one replied.

"Madam," he said to someone in the crowd I could just barely see if I craned my neck, "You seem to like the music. Would you like to donate some money to this poor musician? Just a quarter over the tracks! Don't worry if you can't throw. Just wrap in around a bill for some buoyancy. In my experience twenties work great. They always seem to fall exactly into my violin case."

The lady gave a nervous laugh, but she didn't budge.

He winked at her and then moved on, his eyes stopping often to make contact with his unenthusiastic audience. They flitted by me. I bent down and twiddled with my iPod until they passed. When I was sure his attention was elsewhere, I turned off my iPod.

Soon the solo was over. He began to sing with the violin again, his body rocking back and forth to the beat. Though my ear buds were still on, I listened intently, my eyes never traveling far from him until the train came. I was forced to board and was promptly whisked away, packed into the compartment like a sardine.

The next day Emma apologized and I forgave her. She offered me a ride like always, but I passed by the offer. I just remembered my dad told me to get some stuff a few weeks ago from a store downtown. Again I sat at the same bench and there he was, still playing his strangely hypnotic music.

The day after that I realized the department store had a sale after school and I desperately needed a new coat; but the sale was ridiculous bad. I came home empty-handed but smiling. He had sung about cats and bunnies today, a song so strange and different from my tastes it was actually good. The ear buds had stayed firmly in my ear and I hadn't shifted from my usual location to throw him some change, but I had heard nonetheless.

After awhile, Emma learned to roll her eyes whenever I rejected her offer for a car ride. She couldn't understand my new daily usage of the subway. So she decided she would tail me.

"Why the sudden interest in subways? Are you trying to 'go green' like Mr. Harris told us the other day or something?" Emma asked.

I shook my head and skillfully weaved through the mass of people while holding on to Emma's elbow. She grimaced, but I smiled. It wasn't really that hard if you knew what you were doing.

I sat down at the bench and petted the spot next to me. Emma cautiously sat down. I rolled my eyes.

"Drama queen," I whispered.

She opened her mouth to protest but I quickly put my silent ear buds on. She had to appease herself by pouting instead.

I rolled my eyes again and turned away from her, but my mouth could not help turning at the corners. God, I love Emma, but she reminded me reminded me so much of a certain somebody's first ride on the subway.

I looked across the train tracks, expecting to see him in one of his dandy outfits on the other side like always.

He wasn't there. I blinked, startled. No, he really wasn't there. My eyes moved up and down the crowded station, first carefully, then with more and more panic. I searched for that suave outfit, that burst of music, that smooth voice, that charismatic grin. Nothing.

"Hey… Hey!" Emma said, flashing a hand in front of my eyes. I turned to her.

"What's up with the face change?" She asked.

"Nothing," I replied. My mouth was dry. I fumbled through my bag for a water bottle. My hand touched instead upon a twenty. A memory of the first joke I heard him crack ran through my mind, along with the uneasy realization that his violin case was usually pretty empty. What if he had left because some other station had better tips than this one?

The bill seemed to burn my hole through my skin then. I pulled my empty hand hastily out of the bag.

"Nothing," I repeated. I mean, it made sense. Even I never gave him any money, and I listened to him everyday—not that he or any passerby would know that.

"Weirdo," Emma muttered. Then her eyes snagged on something. She wrinkled her eyebrows, "What's up with that fedora?"

I looked up. That fedora was neon blue and its hatband was covered in bright sequins worthy of any Las Vegas show girls. Black hair peeked out beneath its pulled forward brim, a direct contrast to all that reflecting light on top. The fedora's owner carried a fiddle's case.

I grinned and turned to Emma.

"You got a quarter?"

She rolled her eyes, but had apparently accepted my recent insanity by now. She mutely handed over a quarter. I rolled it in the bill I had dug up from the bottom of my bag, lifted my hand, and threw the money sushi in a wide arc over the train tracks.

He saw it coming despite being busy plucking his fiddle experimentally. The guy jumped forward and threw out a hand. It seized triumphantly on the bill. He dropped it into the case already splayed at his feet. A smile played at his lip as he touched the fedora's brim lightly in a salute. His eyes twinkled as he began a jig, as rowdy as ever.

"Wow, big tip," Emma said, her eyes huger than a newborn baby, "I'm all for musical patronage, but seriously? 20 dollars?"

"I happen to think he deserved it."

She snorted, "Really? Next you'll be telling me you love the subway."

"You know, I do. In fact, I love it so much I might just cross over and explore the other side of this train track for the heck of it tomorrow."

"Weirdo," she muttered.

I grinned.

Last Edit: 06/10/09

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