He Came Through the Window

Part 2

(Holland's Perspective)

With my guitar case handle grasped in one hand and a black folding chair in the other, I pushed my way through the hoardes of people going to afternoon shifts and corporate lunch meetings to get to my regular subway spot. Setting the case in front of my dirty Converse, I expanded the chair and sat down. Keeping the case open and setting the guitar on my leg, I began strumming. The guitar was already tuned from the day before.

"She's all laid up in bed with a broken heart," my version of The Script's song began. "I'm drinking jack all alone in my local bar." The song sounded better with a piano to accompany the vocals, but the guitar was close enough. The locals swaggered past me without acknowledgement, though some glowered at me as if I was invading their territory. A man in a pinstriped shirt and a navy fadora on his bald head to match snorted at my guitar and dropped his used cigarette in my case.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Shaking my head, I hit the high note above all the noise surrounding me, shutting my eyes and teleporting out of the situation for a second. But when I opened my eyes, I was still in a dirty subway station where most people ignored me.

"She's in line at the door with her head held high. I just lost my job, I didn't lose my pride," I continued in my thick alto voice. "Trying to make it work, but man, these times are hard."

A group of tourists put their maps down and paused in front of me. The woman, a thin thirty-something with blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, flashed snow-white teeth and tapped her foot to the strumming of my guitar. Her husband was a chubby man in a hawaiian shirt with a little head bob going on to the beat. I kept my eyes on him as I hummed between the verses, and I noticed him take a bill from his wallet. He handed it to his son, who was maybe ten or so years old, and let the blonde little boy drop it into my case. The little boy showed the gaps in his teeth. I shot him a wink that made him smile wider as he walked away with his family.

"Smiling but we're close to tears, even after all these years. Just now got the feelin' that we're meeting for the first time."

~~~

I played two of my original songs without much more of a crowd reaction. A skinny kid not much older than me, who was wearing jeans much too big for him and a navy beanie over a mop of blonde hair, had put his big headphones on as he passed my spot, dropping a Trojan condom wrapper in my case. It was purple. Smirking, I had no other reaction but to laugh bitterly to myself. Another morbidly obese woman in a t-shirt and denim jeans that were way too tight scowled at me and dropped half of a Hershey's bar next to the condom wrapper.

The crowd diminished into about half the size after an hour had passed, and I stopped to count my earnings. A condom wrapper, half of a Hershey's bar, three used cigarettes, and a few bills.

Eleven dollars. It was about what I was used to getting. I was no match for the mime on the other end of the station.

"Holland!"

I looked up from my lack of earnings to see my friend Greg strutting toward me, waving an arm in the air and grinning from gigantic ear to ear. "Hey, man."

He ran a hand through his short, dirt-brown hair as he stood over me. "Another day of business, eh?"

I snorted, standing up so I was taller than him again. "I make nearly this same amount in an hour at my actual job."

"But your actual job is boring," he remarked.

I shrugged and stuffed everything but the Hershey bar in my pocket, zipping up my guitar. "True story."

Greg grabbed the folding chair and led me up the stairs leading to the surface. Zipping up his black jacket and stuffing his free hand in the pocket, he turned back to me.

"How've you been?" he asked once we were above ground and surrounded by the sounds and fumes of New York. "I haven't seen you in a couple weeks."

"Yeah, 'cause you're studying all the time. That darn college education."

He chuckled and handed my folding chair back to me as we made our way through Times Square on the way to my apartment on the other side. Sighing, he fixed his eyes on me. "It would be more fun if you were there."

A lump formed in my throat and I winced as it was swallowed. "That would be the day." My gaze travelled around Times Square, fixing on the flashing advertisements for big musicians that were done with the subway scene, unlike me. Even for one PM, the place was flooding with tourists. "You remember when we were in middle school?" I mused, the grasp on my guitar handle tightening. "We used to talk about going to NYU together and being successful right away."

"You just turned nineteen, Holland," Greg stressed, grabbing my shoulder and shaking it. "You've got time to go to college and be famous."

A sigh escaped through my clenched teeth as I kept my eyes averted at my tattered shoes.

~~~

Greg left me at my apartment door to go back to his dorm. I couldn't help but envy his experiences as a college freshmen while I was working nights. There was nothing I could do, the money wasn't growing on trees.

I stepped into the bland apartment and kicked my shoes off into the kitchen, letting the chill of the tile slip through my socks. Rubbing my tired eyes, I grabbed a bottle of water from the tiny fridge and cracked my stiff neck from side to side. Wetting my tongue and lips with water, I turned to the kitchen table where a message was scrawled across a yellow pad of paper.

"Holland,

I'm visiting India right now, shouldn't be home until late tonight. I'll see you when you get off work. Get some sleep before your shift and don't goof off while I'm gone.

I love you,

Mom."

Sighing, I set the bottle of water on the brown table and shuffled onto the living room carpet. My mom had left the TV on with a low volume setting, and the images on the screen were from the taped Yankees game. I plopped down on the black, leather sofa and stretched across the full length. I only made it about five minutes before my eyes closed and I slipped into a brief slumber.

~~~