Page 86 of Behind the Bars

I performed four songs, and TJ stayed the whole time, his eyes glued to myperformance.

When I finished my cover of “Fall for You” by Leela James, I thanked all nine people who’d listened to mesing.

Hurrying over to TJ, I slid back into the booth, feeling on top of the world. “So,” I said, sipping on my now chilled tea that still sat on the table. “How wasit?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve never ridden a bike, haveyou?”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“That wasn’tgood.”

I narrowed my eyes, bewildered by his comment. “What are you talking about? Everyone in here lovedit!”

“Everyone in here is a complete idiot,” he said, standing up from the booth. “It’s ironic, really, for a soul artist to have nosoul.”

“TJ—”

“You hit every note you were supposed to,” he told me. “You sang it exactly how you were supposed to, and yes, everyone here loved it, but they love all music here. This is what New Orleans is made of—talent, but you’re more than talent, Jasmine. You’re more than love. You need to be more.” He gave me a gentle grin and tapped his finger against my nose. “You need to bemagic.”

“How do I do that?” I asked. “How does one becomemagic?”

He stood up from the booth and placed his hat on his head. “You follow me, and we start your trainingsessions.”

“I thought you retired fromteaching.”

“Yes, I did.” He nodded and lifted his saxophone case. “But then I heard your voice. It’s not there yet, but the way you sing…the way your eyes cried to tap into that magic that lives inside of you—that makes me excited. It makes me want to teach again,” he told me, shaking his head back and forth. “I haven’t felt that passion in so long, not since a boy with a stutter performed forme.”

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “When do westart?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” He grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbled down his address, and handed it myway.

“Perfect.”

“Don’t belate.”

“I won’t. Do I need to bringanything?”

“Only a notebook and your deepest, darkest fears,” he said as he walked away. “And,Jasmine?”

“Yes?”

“You were never supposed to be a pop artist. This music, this style…this is you. You are the definition ofsoul.”

His words meant more to me than he’d ever know, and I couldn’t wait for our firstlesson.

* * *

When I pulledup to TJ’s home, I instantly fell in love. It looked exactly like all the stories he’d told me about his house. There were two huge oak trees at the front of his yard, and the leaves were slowly transforming into vibrant reds and sunburnt oranges from autumn’s soft kisses. A few leaves shook from the branches and danced down to the unkempt yard. There was a large wicker fence surrounding the home, and inside it looked like a forest had overtaken it. A stone bench sat in the middle with weeds growing up the sides, and there were three gnome statutes guarding the entrance—one dressed as an alien, one as an angel, and another as ChuckNorris.

Three perfect reasons why TJ was quickly becoming one of my favorite humans to everexist.

“It used to be beautiful,” TJ told me, walking onto his front porch and nodding toward the yard. “When my wife was around, she made sure it was kept. I let itgo.”

“It’s still beautiful in its wild form.” I smiled, walking up thesteps.

He grinned and nodded some. “If only we could perceive everything from that viewpoint. Come on in. I’m making youtea.”

His house was beautiful, filled with memories and history. There was one wall covered in postcards from places all around the world. I stopped and studied them all, smiling at thedisplay.

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