~ A short story I wrote for my creative writing class~
The first time I saw him, I tossed a few coins into his hat. He acknowledged the gesture with a small nod, never stopping playing the old guitar. The little dog by his side let out a happy bark. I walked on.
The second time I stopped for a few seconds. I listened to the sound of the guitar. This time it was a well known sea shanty. His fingers nimbly navigated the strings, his voice was clear and strong. He closed his eyes when he sang. Maybe he was imagining himself as one of the sailors, facing waves and adventure, instead of the Sigmund Column in the middle of the Old Town. He had black hair, that curled more than the passerbys' lips as they walked past. The worn black hoodie hung on his small frame, and his jeans definitely have been through a lot. A little girl ran up shyly to toss a coin in his hat, before running back to her irritated mother. The mother urged her to keep walking. The boy smiled at the little one as she looked back one last time. I noticed a scar on his left cheek. The little dog was curled up in the beat up guitar case. Her fur was short, brown with black and white specks. I reached into my pocket and brought out a few coins, anything I could spare. They found their place beside the little girl's coin with a soft clang. The boy once again nodded, not opening his eyes. I turned around and walked into the Warsaw crowd. Looking up at the massive column, I could almost see old Sigmund smiling.
A couple days later I found myself once again in Old Town. I eagerly headed towards the boy's usual spot, expecting to hear the sound of his voice through the tourists and the arguing in the nearby restaurant. I reached his corner, but the boy was not there. The city erased all trace of just another street performer and his dog. I looked around the corner, hoping he might still be here somewhere. He had moved on. Maybe he didn't like the smell. Maybe he heard of a spot where richer people walked past. Maybe he was tired of being stared at. Maybe he didn't want to sit in Sigmund's shadow anymore. With a glance at Saint John's Cathedral I said a quick prayer for the boy. I walked on.
For a few weeks I passed the boy's empty spot with hopeful eyes. After a while I just glanced at it. In a month I could walk past with only a vague memory of his voice and of the little dog sleeping peacefully.
The last time I saw him was a week ago. He was wearing a clean blue buttoned shirt, and new jeans. His shoes shined as bright as his blue eyes. His hair was just as curly as it was when I first saw him months ago, but now it was tied back into a short ponytail. The scar on his face had faded slightly. He still carried the same beat up guitar case, and the same small dog trotted close to his heels. A taller guy walked up to him and they turned away, heading towards the Cathedral together. Without thinking I ran up to the men.
“Sorry,” I tapped the musician's shoulder. He turned around and smiled.
“Yes?” his voice was even more appealing than before.
“I just wanted to say you play really well,” I said quickly. The boy raised his eyebrows.
“You've never heard me play before,” he said with a laugh.
“I have. A couple months back. You were sitting over there,” I pointed to the spot. His eyes locked on his old performing stage, and he smiled once more. The little dog wagged its tail and sniffed my shoes.
“Thank you,” he said. His taller friend looked a little confused but didn't say anything. I wasn't quite sure what to do. The boy stayed quiet, his eyes distant, I remembered how he sang.
“I have to go,” I said embarrassed. The two boys turned around and started moving. The musician looked back and smiled. I walked on.
