Page 72 of Behind the Bars

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After a little too muchtime living in my memories, I stood up from the dumpster and headed to Frenchmen Street. There were dozens of people out that night, the same way the streets had been packed when I was a teenager. People were shouting, dancing, and loving on theenergy.

When I heard a saxophone, chills raced down my spine. I turned on my heels and started in the direction the sound was coming from. My mind was racing as I took off in a bit of a jog toward the sound that seemed so familiar to me. The sounds were leading me to thecorner.

To ourcorner.

To the place where I’d sung my soul and Elliott had played hisheartstrings.

The sound was splendid, surreal, and I was out of breath when I reached the corner. Still, he wasn’tthere.

An older man stood on the corner playing music, and he played as if his life depended on it. A crowd had formed around him, cheering himon.

I began to choke up. While I listened to his notes cry into the air, I tried to composemyself.

Stop it, Jasmine, I warned myself.You’re beingridiculous.

But I couldn’t help it. His music was beautiful. I just wished it were coming from another person. I hated myself in that moment for the way Iremembered.

Why would I miss a boy who never wrote meback?

Why did I care after all thistime?

I sat down on the curb as the older gentleman played the saxophone. He played it so well. He went to war on the instrument, making love to every note. He performed like the music was his source of oxygen. He played as if it were the last time he’d ever play again. He left his soul on the battleground of music, and he owned hisstory.

As I watched him surrender himself to his songs, I surrendered myself to my feelings. I cried that night, first a few tears, and then I fell into heavy sobs. I wasn’t able to stop myself. Everything that had happened to me over the past six years, over the past week, was flooding out of my system. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he played. I couldn’t stop the pain from shakingme.

When he finished, everyone walked off to find their next adventure, yet I stayed put, stillcrying.

He placed his saxophone in his case, he walked over to me, and bent down slowly, joining me on the curb. I turned my head away from him, embarrassed by myemotions.

He didn’t judge me, though. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it my way. Taking it, I wiped my eyes dry. “I’m sorry,” I told him,mortified.

He gave me the softest smile, and his gentle brown eyes displayed his soul. “Baby girl, you’re too young to be feeling so much.” I laughed and kept wiping my eyes, still trying to catch my breath. As I tried to speak, he shook his head. “Just give it a minute. Feel what you need to feel. You can’t rush feelings. You just gotta let yourself ride the wave ofthem.”

I didn’t know why, but that comment made me break into more sobs, and he kept sitting by my side. He was a stranger who allowed me to be strange thatnight.

Once I pulled myself together, I blew my nose in the handkerchief and held it out towardhim.

He snickered. “Keepit.”

“Thankyou.”

“What kind of music do youperform?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m amusician?”

He gave me a knowing smile. “It’s New Orleans—everyone’s a musician,” he joked. “Plus, I noticed the charms on yourbracelet.”

Ah, makes sense.“I’ve spent the past several years singing pop music, but soul is what keeps me up atnight.”

He nodded. “That makes sense. I saw how you heard me. I saw how you witnessed the pain of the music as I played, and I felt your sorrow. Youlost?”

I grimaced. “Trying to find my wayback.”

“You know what my wife, God rest her soul, used to always say to me when I was lost?” He began to stand from the sidewalk and held his hand out to help me up. “‘Find the music when life makes no sense.’ You did the right thing, ya know, feelingtonight.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. “For yourmusic.”

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