Chapter Text
The music drew me.
It was probably the last thing I expected to encounter on the busy streets of Vancouver on a chilly October afternoon. Not the blare of pop songs from the omni-tools of bored teenagers. That was everywhere - even on the space stations where he’d lived a lot of his life. No, this was something different - the sound of a solo violin, a simple haunting melody that seems to soar above the ambient sounds of the city.
Following the sound to its source, I find the lone musician near the edge of a pocket park not far from English Bay. Bundled up against the chill in a long grey-blue overcoat, a black scarf flutters almost to his knees. It’s cold enough that his breath lingers in the air, and his dark grey version of the ubiquitous Canadian toque is pulled low over his forehead, stopping just above startlingly thick dark eyebrows.
He’s about my height, but the sweep of his bow arm creates the appearance of a larger presence. As he shifts into a fast-tempo classical piece that I don’t recognize, his fingers fly up and down a fingerboard that seems too small to contain them. I pull my own jacket closed and zip it up to my neck. Canadians… I guess they must consider this a mild fall day…
He’s an intense, but not a particularly interactive performer. His audience today is sparse and he doesn’t engage them with banter or even by identifying the various pieces he’s playing. When someone drops a tip into his open instrument case, he acknowledges the gift with a quiet thank you that doesn’t break the flow of the music.
Leaning back against a tall maple that is still holding onto most of its scarlet leaves, I listen for a while, not too close, but near enough to watch his face as he plays. His eyes are often closed, like he’s playing in his own world. But occasionally we do make brief eye contact. His eyes are striking… a warm golden brown.
I should go. I’d like to have stayed longer, but hadn’t realized how late it’s getting. I need to get back to base in time for a late afternoon class and PT session. And I guess lingering too long might come across as creepy or something. I don’t really know the etiquette for these kinds of performances.
As I’m dropping a few credits into his open violin case, I glance around to see if he has any cards or promo. Nothing. I murmur ‘thank you’ and am rewarded with a nod and a small smile as he doesn‘t miss a beat in the fast Irish tune that he’s performing.
I know I’ll be back. I need to see that smile again.
