Center Singing

Center Singing

Last Thursday I sang in the city center. The heat that was richocheting off the heavy stones hit my head and sunglasses, so I followed the advice of another musician and moved to the shade. Maybe it was the too-hotness which set off the scene we'll see later.

One woman paused for a whole song with her weight on the balls of her feet, projected toward me. Maybe I was singing Smile (you see the details we forget?), but surely it was a heart-wrencher. As soon as the last note stopped ringing, she rushed toward me and clasped me in a warm embrace.

"I don't have anything to give you, but you are wonderful," she said.

"This means more than spare change," I responded, hugging her back.

And I knew it was true.

During my last song (this one I remember–Hallelujah by Cohen), I noticed a young group gathered to my right. I wasn't worried because my senses picked up a good vibe rather than a sneering one that sometimes comes from teenagers. I found out that a singer from the group wanted to do "My Heart Will Go On" as a duet. I would have done it gladly (I used to love singing it at karaoke), but my time was up.

But how charming that he asked!

So, I should treasure these two memories, not the one in the middle: a young guy strumming hatred passing close by me, ranting. He stopped some feet from me, spitting anger. I decided to battle his presence with sweet songs, confident that my calmness would eventually wash away his negative pull. If nothing else, I figured he would run out of steam or voice because he was pushing so hard.

The lovely musician after me decided to step in. I don't know what she said, but the young guy's response led her to push him and he pushed her back. She was about half his size but the want of "justice" had seized her. Luckily, a squat by-stander stepped in to say, "You never put your hands on a woman."

So, the provoked guitar player left in a wave of heat.

My defender ran to the police who were standing just a few feet away. Their response: "It's not our jurisdiction. Anyway, he was only singing."

The heat suddenly felt hotter. The whole scene was so unfair.

So, which of these stories did I tell as soon as I got home? You guessed it: the last one. Why didn't I mention the other two, or remember them as vividly? Was it the danger, or my pumping heart that marked it more in my memory?

Photo: Fosca Bernardi Aubry

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi