I grew up differently than most. I was five when Mom died, and Dad started drinking a few days later. He was nice, and I was happy. Well, when he was sober anyway. When he was drunk, he'd hit me because he felt like it, and there was nothing I could do except take it, and hope things changed.
I was a prodigy. If you gave me any instrument and a some music for it, I'd be playing it beautifully in minutes. I was really good at everything else to. English, Math, Science, and History were no problem. However, my heart truly laid in painting, choir, orchestra, and band. The arts were my passion. I was so good, I had about twenty scholarships when I graduated at age fifteen.
Dad didn't want me to go to college, and I was gone before Christmas. All I had was a backpack of clothes, a cell phone, and myself. I wasn't going to be trapped there forever.
I found my way to Chicago, and I just walked around. During the day, I went around, stopping at some corners to sing for cash, but doing little else otherwise. At night, I slept wherever I could. Alleyways, parks, corners, it didn't matter. The sleep still sucked. I always had enough for meals, even if the portions for the day were small. I became skilled at using every single penny well, and I never wasted anything. It was the life I lead.
Christmas that year, I ran into a stranger. The guy was sixteen, a year older than me, and he was staying with his parents in a nearby hotel. I didn't get to know him well, and we didn't know each other's names, but there was a spark. That night, we weren't virgins anymore. It didn't last long. His parents woke up and chased me away, ruining the only good thing I'd ever had.
~~~
I walked down the street lugging it behind me. My friend, Luke, was still laughing.
"You just had to buy a marimba. All that cash, and as good as you usually are with it, and you had to get one of the biggest instruments out there!" he burst into gales of laughter.
"Well, with the marimba, we'll gather more of a crowd, and you know that means more cash," I responded, attempting to rationalize my money spending. "Anyway, a good amount of our music has only two parts, and the marimba is the part we weren't able to fill."
"Well, at least it'll do you some good," he said, looking off into the sunset. "Where are we going to sleep?"
"If the normal alley's open, we'll stay there," I answered frowning. It had been three years since I'd met my nameless love, and I'd never told anybody. As far as they were concerned, I had never felt anything more than friendship. I wished I could run into him.
Shaking my head, I returned to pulling the heavy instrument after me. Luckily, our alley was still open, and it was soon situated safely with me and Luke stretched out nearby.
"Hey Raphael," there was a question in his voice, and I wanted to pretend to be asleep.
"What?" I asked, unable to be rude and not even hear is question.
"You ever been in love, Music-Man?" he instigated my nickname, and I knew he did it so that I would be more willing to answer. I knew he was thinking about his sweetheart back in Texas. He was saving up for a plane ticket.
"Yeah, once," I answered softly, staring at the sky. I knew he'd ask for it, so I told him the story. He was quiet, and I think he was also shocked that I'd once been so reckless.
"Do you miss him?" The question was sudden, and was definitely not expecting Luke to want to know any more. After all, he'd just found out he'd been around a gay guy the entire time.
I answered, "As much as you miss your lady, but I don't even have a first name. I guess I've only stayed here in the hopes that he could still find me if I stayed in Chicago." I heard my voice crack, and I could feel the tears rolling down my cheek. Chances were, he'd forgotten all about me.
Neither of us talked after that. Luke fell asleep first. I knew because his snores were loud in the darkness. I stayed up late, thinking about my affair three years ago. However, I too fell asleep after a time.
I woke up in the alleyway to the sun. The day was chilly, and I could see my breath when I huffed out in a way that complained about the weather. Luke laughed because he knew how much I hated the cold. I stood and stretched, my back stiff as ever, and my body sore from the ground.
After a time, we went to our normal corner, and we started to play. I used the mallets against the marimba, he strummed a guitar, and we sang duets. His case was open, and some people dropped money in as the passed by. A few people stopped to listen for a bit before continuing with their day.
Neither of us noticed when a few people came over and just kind of hovered, listening to us. We still heard the sound of money dropping into the guitar case, and we were still making music with each other. We'd found out we were a good pair earlier, and from there we'd just hit it off. Now, we worked the corner, splitting the money and sharing the joy of music making.
It was noon when we finished with a song and decided to grab something to eat. I was to stay with the instruments, and Luke would get us the same thing we had every afternoon.
"You're good with music," I was surprised and looked up to see a girl who was about sixteen addressing me.
"Thanks," I answered, feeling myself blush. I wondered if it was obvious that I didn't talk to anybody except Luke.
"Where'd you get the marimba?" she asked, looking me over. She could tell I lived on the streets, I could see it in her eyes.
"Well," I answered, "I saved up for it and bought it at a local store." I hadn't actually saved up for it, but she wouldn't know the difference, so I figured I was fine. Luke shoved my food into my hands, and I gladly took a bite.
The girl turned and walked away, and I noticed the other two who had been hovering. One ran after her instantly. It was a girl a few years younger than her. Most likely a little sister. The other smiled at me. It was a happy-go-lucky grin that sat well on his face. He had golden brown hair, vibrant green eyes, tan skin, and he was beautifully familiar.
I choked, and Luke started hitting my back. I finally swallowed, and looked up at the much older man. "Michael?" I was incredulous. I'd tossed my phone a few years back, and I didn't think that either of my uncles would come looking for me. I'd been proven irrevocably wrong.
There was a story behind all the names of my family. More so as far as myself and my uncles were concerned. All members of my family were named after saints or angels. My mother was named after St. Cecilia, my grand mother after St. Cathrine of Alexandria, my grandfather after St. Joseph, and so on and so forth. I was Raphael, my oldest uncle(who was a perpetual bachelor) was Gabriel, and by younger uncle(married with three kids) was Michael. We were named after the three angels in the bible.
"Gabe's here too, we figured we ought to find you. On the up side, you're eighteen, so you never have to go back," he said cheerily. All the while I was thinking about saints and angels.
Sun Jun 27, 2010 12:56 pm