Of A Friday Night ⌲ Hamilton

1 ⌲ A Bag of Bread and a Fiddle Case

Alexander loved the smell of the air midsummer, but right now, he was more focused on the smell of his coffee. Trying not to spill the beverage in his right hand onto the paper bag filled with a loaf of spiced bread in his left, he wasn't in any particular rush, making his way down the street on his own time. He was pleased that they hadn't been out of bread when he'd arrived at the bakery, and he was even more pleased to be outside, instead of cooped up in his cold, dim apartment.

As he walked, he realized that he could hear what sounded to be some kind of note, a continuous, resounding note, floating through the air. Where was it coming from?

He picked up his pace a little, the note growing louder the further he went. As he approached the street corner, the note grew so loud he could practically reach out and touch it, and upon turning said corner, he could reach out and touch it's source.

The note was ringing from a skinny blue fiddle, which was being held by a broad, sturdy man. Ringing, ringing, ringing on, the man had his head down and his eyes shut, his concentration focused on his instrument, only his instrument. Alex couldn't tell if the man knew he was standing there or not; if he did know, he certainly didn't care. What was probably a full minute or more later, the man drew the note to a close, head still resting downward as the last echoes of the note faded from the air.

Just as Alex had worked up the courage to ask the Fiddleplayer, as politely as he could, what exactly he was doing, the man's head flew up from his instrument. Flashing Alexander a devilish wink, the man drew his bow back violently, striking up a song and attacking Alex's ears with sound.

Alex stumbled back in surprise at the sudden high-speed, high-energy tune. Music surrounded him, rich, loud music, infecting the very air that he drew into his lungs. The song was intense, outrageous, and the man playing it was just as much so.

As the song evened out a bit and the fiddle began to quiet down, another instrument was thrown into the mixture. It was then that Alex realized the man was not alone. On a chair a few feet behind the fiddle-player sat a handsome, longlegged person, bowing away on what looked like a saw and sounded like an angel with slightly crooked wings.

Beside the person in the chair, Alex spotted an open fiddle case, and a sign beside it leaning up against the building behind them;

Lafayette needs new hearing aids. Any little bit helps; it's very hard for him to play without them. Thank you for your contributions, and bless you.

Alex didn't know which of them to assume was Lafayette. The one on the saw seemed to be playing just fine to him, more than fine, but so was the man on the fiddle.

Hypnotized by the sound, Alex was frozen to the spot. The way that their bodies swayed to the sounds pouring from their tiny-yet-mighty instruments was impossible to look away from. As the song began to draw to a close, Alex realized that he'd gone a little numb. His coffee was half-empty now, spilled into the street as his arms had sunk down to his sides without him noticing.

The song closed as it had opened. The saw stopped singing as suddenly as it had begun, and one long, lonely, continuous note, ringing out from the fiddle, danced through the streets and into the air.

Then it was really over. It was as if Alex had come out of a trance. As the man on the fiddle straightened up and shot a pleased look at the Sawplayer, Alex took a deep breath. He'd realized that somewhere during the performance, he pretty much forgot to keep breathing.

"That was amazing," Alex stated quietly. "That was trance-inducing, astounding!" As he spoke louder, the Fiddleman turned to look at Alex, the Sawplayer looking to Alex as well.

Alex's heart began to beat faster, the familiar nervous air of interaction with new people rising up within him, previously delayed. The attention was on him, this was his chance. This was his chance to say something.