Wartime Struggles of a Violinist

I doubt there was anyone that was untouched by the devastation of the war. Those suffering the most being the families of the fallen. Their grief is palpable in the air. Others, like myself, struggle to find a living with what little talents we have. In light of the war, what can a violinist do to help? There’s little cause to celebrate so there’s no parties for me to provide a faint but upbeat background on which pleasantries amongst friends can be exchanged. How can one celebrate a birthday when there are numerous funerals to be had? At first, I had some money saved up but even that wasn’t enough to save me from the streets. No matter how rough times were, I couldn’t bear to part with my violin. What few precious belongings I have are lugged around in a knapsack with my violin in its case secured in my hand. I’ve wandered around begging for any job that can be spared but no such luck. Here I sit on an obscure curb on an obscure street when I see a young woman standing some feet away with an upturned hat at her feet. Hands clasped tightly together in front of her, I see her mouth open, and the melodic song that comes forth washes over me like the hot shower I so long for. It is in that moment when I had an idea that could potentially be a source of income for me, yet also a comfort to those who have felt lost. As the sun rays disappeared along with its warmth, a decision was made. I pulled my coat tighter around me in an attempt to stave off the cold and hunkered down on the obscure curb on the obscure street for the night.

           As the dawning sun rays shined in my frozen face, I woke up with a new hope that I haven’t felt in a long time. Digging through various trash cans, I was able to scrounge up a scrap of cardboard and barely working marker. With that, I went to work making my sign as legible as possible sometimes having to go over the words again as the marker began to lose its last bit of usefulness. It’ll do for now as I look up and down the street trying to find a good vantage point to be seen from. Right across the street is the perfect corner between a grocer and a bookstore and under a crosswalk sign. I quickly make my way over there in the hopes that no one else would take my place. I began setting up shop – so to speak – by opening up my violin case and setting it before me and leaning my sign up against it. With my violin in hand, I began to tune it and practice my scales as its been a while since I’ve played. The same young woman from the other day walked down the street and stopped in front of my sign. “Honor your lost ones with their favorite melody, only five dollars per song,” the woman said, “Interesting way to make money off the war, don’t you think?” I tilted my head, “You know, I never thought of it like that, but maybe this is where I’ve come to make a living.” She shook her head, “No, I’ve seen you around these streets, and you’re too disgustingly nice to be taking advantage of people like that. Hope it goes well.” I watch her saunter into the grocer with her bag a little heavier with yesterday’s work. My stomach grumbled at the thought of having enough money for food. The sun is high in the sky, and hopefully today will be a busy one.

           I’m merely playing an endless tune when an older gentleman steps up to me waving a five-dollar bill in my face. I blink until I remember the reason why I’m on this corner. “Good morning sir,” I greeted him. “Not much to be good about it,” he gruffly replied. I awkwardly tilt my head in an attempt to sympathize, “Of course sir, what can I be doing for you today?” There’s a length of silence before the old mad said, “I found out that I lost my son today and I think that a song to commemorate my memory of him would lift my mood if only a little.” I was surprised that I actually have my first customer but sobered up when I realized the implications of his request. “A lovely choice sir,” I say as I ready my violin, “I’ll be sure to honor him with this song.” I wasn’t lying when I said that it’s been a while since I’ve played, but when I struck that first cord, it was as if I never stopped. I poured all the sorrow I felt for the old man into this song as I played for those around me to hear. I played for his son, for the fallen soldiers, for the families who have missing pieces, and for those of us out on the streets. The sound of my strings wove into the air and around those who had stopped to listen to my melancholic melody. As I reached the end of the song, I opened my eyes to see the smallest of smiles adorning the old man’s face. My original goal of making a living for myself had transformed into an aspiration of bringing peace into the lives of all those around me. Though I still wonder where my next meal will come from, the sense of tranquility that overcame me told me that everything will be alright.