The Singer

As I explored the market, I ascended the staircase for the second time and noticed the singer. Many may not have even given him a second look, but I did. My ears enjoyed the sharpness of his voice and the nostalgic sound of the accordion amidst the voices of shopkeepers and customers passing by. The sound of his instrument seemed to linger in the hallways and corners of the whole market, lighting up the dark places with the luminescent sound. He wore dirty jeans and a dusty grey t-shirt with work boots that were tapping along to the music. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he wore a ball cap backwards atop his head. His jawline was very square and his eyes were set back just slightly; not enough to really notice unless you were studying his features. There was something comforting about him and his face was very pleasant to look at even though there was a sadness that accompanied the pleasantness.




As I passed by him, our eyes met briefly, just giving me enough time to notice the gentleness and mystery that both intrigued me. I convinced myself to pass by another time and drop a few dollars into his accordion case. His eyes smiled at me as he said two simple words; thank you. His teeth were very straight yet they were slanted just enough to appear slightly bucked; the perfect angle. He wasn't playing then, but leaning against the wall, smoking and watching those passing by. As I realized I had to leave, I made eye contact with him one last time. Smiling, I tried to communicate something with my eyes; not knowing what I wanted to convey but convinced that I couldn't leave without making an attempt. Taking a long pull from his cigarette, he gave me a heartwarming and genuine smile as he let the smoke escape his mouth. It was a reply, I could sense it, as if we were conversing without speaking. I felt giddy and bubbly inside, as if Peter Pan had just smiled at me.




Walking away, I knew I didn't want to leave but needed to soak up more of that radiant smile. Toying with the idea of looking one last time at him, I had made up my mind. I decided I couldn't look again, too afraid of seeing something of him that would change the elation I just felt. My body overrode my will as I turned again, only to see him singing heartily and tapping his feet to the music he was making; that same look on his face. One of boyish happiness and genuine peace.