The Musician and The Muse

Prologue

Alexander was a photographer.

He wasn't one of those old farts who took boring nature shots, nor was he a hipster who did all those "tricky" photos where they take a picture of someone taking a picture.

No, he thought they were all pointless and he would much rather invest his time in something unique and so casual that it seemed as if you were just looking at life happening.

Those were the photos that caught his attention, and the only ones he cared about.

His process of photo taking was methodical, asking several people; friends, acquaintances, even a perfect stranger, what their initial thoughts were on the picture.

He was serious and passionate and wanted only the pictures that meant something and nothing at all.

He was a self proclaimed artist, and considered himself a fresh face and a new perspective. He was going to change the image of photography so that people no longer groaned and rolled their eyes at him, but rather gasped and smiled saying, "You're that Hamilton fellow! Yeah, I've seen your work around, you're really amazing!"

To which he would chuckle and humbly thank them. At least, that's what he hoped.

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Broke. Single. Homeless. Lonely.

Words like this might come to mind when you think of John Laurens, the struggling musician couch surfing from friend's house to random one night stand's place, and eventually back to Martha.

If you were to ask him, he would say he was just trying to keep the musical real, keep it from being contaminated by material things like technology and luxuries. This was true for the most part, but he was avoiding the fact that he was just very broke. So staying at his Professor's place seemed like the best (and only) option.

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"Don't worry Martha, I'll be out of your hair quick as a flash, I just have to find a place I can afford first. Maybe I should find a roommate?"

They were sitting at the kitchen table, John, Martha, and her husband, George Washington.
The couple laughed,
"Don't be silly, John. You can stay here as long as you need, we are more than happy to have you. Plus, George likes the company."

Martha patted her husband on his cheek playfully and he rolled his eyes and smiled. To John they looked like the picture perfect husband and wife and he longed for that kind of relationship.

But, as it turns out, you have to have a job and an actual place to live before you can have a relationship. So John was hopelessly single, and would probably remain so, for a very long while.

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So, after breakfast and with a full belly and the promise that he would stay at least a week, John walked to his favourite park in the city.

It was lush and green with at least fifty trees spanned out around its vast perimeter. Flowers grew thick and bright in scattered gardens and vines tangled around old fashioned lamp posts. There was a strange incessant aura of peace that surrounded the whole park and made John feel more at home at, than any other place in his life.

But what made this place so beautiful and intriguing was at the very heart of the park.

Lead to the centre of the grass by several stoney paths John could feel his impatience growing, and he walked faster, his step becoming increasingly hurried as he longed to reach the middle.

There. A beautiful black piano with a plush fold up seat already set up and a red cloth placed delicately over the keys. John had been coming for years, ever since he discovered the instrument, to play and relish in his hours alone with his music. He never grew tired of it. It was a safe place.

He lunged forward, throwing his bag unceremoniously to the ground and retrieving his music books from it.

He had four pieces he had to learn and two of his own compositions he was working on. The Washington's only had a small keyboard at their house and it wasn't nearly big enough for any of the pieces John was trying to master. So he spent as much time here as he could, sometimes even bringing a portable lamp so he could practice well into the night.

He sat down carefully and removed the cloth. Sighing contentedly, he rested his fingers on the keys and pressed down.

Alexander was across the other end of the park watching children in the playground as they ran and flipped and slid and jumped and chased and laughed.

He didn't necessarily always take pictures when he had his camera but he did always watch the lives of the people around him. Even if he only saw it for a second.

Alex had a gift few possessed. He was able to look past the materialistic and fake and pretences and see what a true person was like and if they were happy or if they were just going through motions. He liked to use it to determine who to be friends with. He couldn't stand boring people or people who had no sense of living, so he wasted no time with them. Due to this, Alexander had no friends.

But he didn't mind.

He left the children living in the playground and turned up a grey stone path.

As Alexander walked he passed: a grandmother having a picnic with two children. He took one or two shots of them as the grandmother was cleaning strawberry jam off the younger's face as the older laughed. A man and his dog playing catch, Alex focused on the man's arms and hands. A couple laying on the ground and holding hands, cloud watching, Alex assumed, as one would excitedly point up at the sky and say something and the other would turn to look at the sky for a brief second before returning his gaze to his partner. Alex took a picture of their bare feet crossed and intertwined and asked them if it was alright if he kept it. They didn't mind.

He continued walking closer to the centre of the park and had to stop for a moment when he heard a peculiar noise. It was peculiar to Alexander as he had never heard the piano played when he came to the park, he only knew it sat there and every year a man would come and check it's tune to find it perfect every time. It was kind of a local mystery as to how the instrument seemed to always be on perfect pitch.

He was desperate to get closer to the enticing melody. He followed the path and came to a circular patch of grass where several more stone paths met. A single lamp post, unique from the others, stood by a sleek and elegant black piano. And at the piano, creating the soothing sounds, was the most gorgeous creature Alexander had ever seen.