There was always music at the Pine Tree Brook subway station. From eight in the morning until ten at night, Jeannette Poisson played her guitar. She sat on an upturned milk crate that she had found in the back of a CVS. She didn't play music for anybody in particular. She didn't play music for any reason in particular. She played music because she felt it flowing through her body and her mind like her blood. Music was the only part of the world that she understood. Everything else was an insignificant blur in her mind.
Nobody taught her to play guitar. Nobody taught her to play songs. She felt them there, suddenly distinguishable from the blur of the world, and she would play what she felt. The songs she played were unlike any others, because they were perfect. They gave the listener a feeling of serenity and calm amid the hubbub of daily life. She never asked for money. She didn't want money. It was part of the blur. But they gave it anyways.
She slept in the subway station, inside a tattered burlap sack. The subway was her home. She would sleep from the instant she crawled into the sack until the instant she crawled out of the burlap sack. She didn't dream.
Every day at exactly noon, Peter Cartwright, an eighth grade teacher, spent his lunch break bringing her an avocado sandwich, and a bottle of water. She would stop for 10 minutes to eat with the man, then returned to playing.
It was illegal to play music in the Pine Tree Brook subway station without a monthly permit. On the last day of April 1997, a police officer who happened to notice Jeannette playing asked to see her permit. She didn't have a permit. He told her to get a permit, and took away her guitar. For five days, Jeannette stayed curled up in her burlap sack, asleep. She didn't eat. She didn't move. For five days, Peter Cartwright tried to wake her up. On May 5th, he left town and was unable to visit her.
Jeannette slept until the afternoon on May 5th. That day, the 4:30 train was running a minute late. At 4:31, Jeannette woke suddenly. She crawled out of her burlap sack and folded it neatly inside of her milk crate. Then she stepped out into the path of the oncoming train. There was never music at the Pine Tree Brook subway station again.
