Different Is Good

I’d missed the last bus home from the club. I saw him in the park. It was very dark and frankly I felt a little scared.

One minute the person was not that far away and the next whoever it was seemed to disappear. It was as if they felt me watching so scurried off – they were carrying something too.

The only weapon I had to protect myself, if needed was my saxophone. Housed in its black case I gripped the handle tightly. I felt very protective towards this sax, because number one I needed it for my club nights and number two, it had cost me a lot of money!

It was hard to see very far in front. I knew I was on the path and it would take me all the way through the park but it was like staring into a dark cupboard. Pitch black my mother used to say. “it’s pitch black out there so you mind now”… (the old Irish way of saying ‘It’s a dark night so be careful!).

One night years ago something did happen to me  It isn’t in the forefront of my mind but I know it’s lurking at the back, packed away in the ‘I know it was real but I don’t want to think about it!’ section.

When I was about thirteen I was coming home from choir practice - riding my rusty old bike through the park towards home. I heard a voice call out to me “Oi fat boy…I’ll get you” – as I glanced quickly around I realised I had seen this person before , a few times in the area – he was always slouching along with his hands in his pockets, looking down on the ground, sometimes talking to himself.

I was thinking about what to say or do if he came near - all I wanted to do was make it to my house and get inside! I tried to pick up the pace on my bike – head down and bottom up but it wasn’t making too much difference. I felt like crying but knew I needed all of my energy!

As if the starter gun had just gone off he suddenly started running, at the same time shouting out words I couldn’t understand and making a growling sound – I half expected to see him dribbling and frothing at the mouth… I had never seen anything like it and wondered what was wrong with him. I was shaking with fear!

I tried to ride as fast as my chubby legs would let me, but it wasn’t terribly fast – I was unfit and the bike was an old clanger that used to be my sisters. Then the man was right next to me, running and keeping up with my speed. It could have been a wild animal, with its hair blowing around in the wind. We were right next to each other and when I glanced over he was looking at me with like what seemed at the time, evil eyes.

Big hands were grabbing at my handlebars. I yelled “Let go of it” and then instinct took over - I thrust out my leg. The force of the push sent him flying backwards and into some bushes. I didn’t bother to see if he was hurt or not – the uncharitable side of me was hoping he had broken both of his legs!

I rode my clapped out bike as if my life depended on it (it possibly did) and my heart was beating so fast I was sure if the guy was already up and out of the bushes, he would be following the thumping sound coming from my chest. Every so often I would turn my head around quickly, pedalling like mad and puffing like a ‘forty a day’ smoker, half expecting to see him, but I didn’t.

When I got home, I jumped off the bike, pushed it down the side of the house as quickly as I could, flattening anything that got in my way, including my mum’s prized sweet peas that were gently growing up the side wall. Around the back I went, eager to get inside to safety, but not before sneaking a look to see if ‘he’ was following me.

I was going to have to creep stealthily in through the back door without disturbing anyone – I needed to change my wet shorts!

It took me a long time to ride my bike through the park at night after that and even then, for a while I was on ‘high alert’ but I never saw him again. I would comfort myself with the thought that he was either in jail or had moved to another country!

When I had told my parents and sister about what happened my dad didn’t take his eyes off the television and muttered ‘you alright then?’, my sister told me I was a scaredy cat and Mum said “I told you to mind now”….

I needed to forget about that night and concentrate on getting home this night.

The only light in the park didn’t seem to be working – I made a mental note to ring the council the next day –  it was very dark. It was windy too which made hearing difficult - all I needed to hear was if someone was running after me!

I put my hands in my pocket and the collar of my jacket up. ‘Why does this park seem so big when you’re on edge’ I thought looking around for the person I was sure I saw.

I heard a noise like someone standing on a stick and breaking it so I stood still. I was half way through the park so didn’t know whether to carry on or go back. ‘If I go back’ I thought ‘the only other way to walk home is through the cemetery…no thanks’ so I quickened my pace to a very fast walk. Then I heard it again only this time it seemed closer.

I could feel my heart beating really fast and I was breathing quickly. The thought that after tonight, I would never walk through a park alone and in the dark again, went through my racing mind…and then the afterthought ‘if I make it out alive’.

I could feel the wetness of perspiration under my armpits. “Pull yourself together” I said aloud “You’re a grown man for goodness sake”! But it really didn’t help.

I had to go past the toilet block – with not even a flicker of light coming from the dark building looming up in front of me. Even the bushes and shrubs that surrounded the brick walls looked scary – black oddly shaped things that moved in the wind.

I kept looking behind me for the person I saw earlier – ‘yes I did see him, I wasn’t imagining it’ I told myself, hoping and praying that he had left the park.

Then I heard it – music – coming from my right, past the toilet block and near the wooden bench that I would sometimes sit and read on. Occasionally I would turn down the corner of the page I was on and people watch. It fascinated me that we were all so different and that appearances are so deceiving.

The tattooed and dreadlocked guy, piercings all-around his face would reach into the pram and gently and lovingly pick up his baby, rubbing its back and whispering that ‘everything would be ok’ and after the baby was once again asleep I would watch him walking off to the coffee van to get his wife a much needed coffee.

I saw an old white haired couple gently strolling hand in hand and thought ‘ I bet they’ve been married for a long time’ and I would smile at how comfortable they looked with each other. Then she would pull her hand out of the old man’s shouting “I don’t know you. Get away from me. Don’t touch me”

“It’s me Jack” he would soothingly tell her, trying to reach her hand. “We’re at the park Sophie; remember the park we used to come to?”

But she couldn’t remember anything. “Where are we? I want to go home” she shouted.

“Come on then my love, I’ll take you home” he told her gently, embarrassed by the stares and looks of sympathy…faces saying ‘Oh poor man, that must be awful when you’re old and get ‘that’ disease’.

But tonight it wasn’t me sitting on the well-worn wooden bench - someone else was on the seat, a stranger whose haunting music was pulling me towards him as if he had an invisible rope attached to me. It pierced the air with precision and delicacy. This person knew how to play. I knew how to play too but not like this.

I was so amazed at the beauty of the melody that I forgot my fear, and headed towards the source of the sound. But as I inched closer the person stopped playing. He must have sensed or heard me because he grabbed his flute, stood up and ran away.

It only took a few steps and he had disappeared into the trees and all around was once again silent and eerie.

I stood in the darkness wondering who he could have been and where he had run to. I walk over to the seat to see if he had left anything. The wooden bench was empty. The air was getting really chilly and the breeze was picking up, blowing leaves around at my feet.

Then I remembered where I was and the disappearing dark figure I had seen earlier, so clutching my saxophone case, ran as fast as I could through the park.

For a reason that I can’t explain, I didn’t tell anyone about the music, the person on the seat or anything about that night. I simply kept it to myself. I was definitely intrigued by the whole thing but I didn’t know who it was so there was no point dwelling on it. I did wonder if it was the first dark figure I saw in the park that night on the seat later on though.

As I played my saxophone in the club I thought of the man in the park and the hauntingly beautiful music he had played. He was definitely trained and I was interested to know more about him and where he had been taught. The inquisitive part of me won over and I decided to go home on foot rather than get the bus.

Was I mad or just stupid? Whatever the answer to those two questions I was posing to myself it didn’t stop me from walking towards the park one night after work.

Of course it was dark; being so late but thankfully it was a dry, crisp night. I walked briskly through the entrance and onto the path and as I was doing so, noticed that two of the lights I had never seen working, were on. ‘Well’ I thought to myself ‘the Council listens after all!”.

I was looking around for the elusive figure with the flute as if I had lost something or I was a lunatic, and if anyone else had been watching me, in a park at night, I think I might have been reported!

Then I heard it.

I recognised the tune immediately ‘Air’ by Bach. It was as if the flautist’s heart and soul had been poured into the music. It floated through the trees and up towards the clouds.  I stood and listened, knowing that it was coming from the arbour in front of me. I slowly walked towards it never taking my eyes off the person – after all I still didn’t know what they were like.

The glow from the closest light wasn’t very bright at all, but was enough to see that a dark haired man was sitting on one of the benches in the arbour. As I rounded the corner and walked towards him he stopped playing and opened his eyes (he had been so enthralled in playing that his eyes were closed). He made a sudden movement to get up and run but before he could I quickly spoke to him “Hi there. You play beautifully. I’ve heard you a couple of times in this park”.

He just stood staring at me and I noticed that he had no shoes on. His clothes, which consisted of pants, shirt and a jacket, were ill fitting and looked a bit crumpled - his black hair was quite long and unkempt.

I walked towards him and held out my hand to show I was friendly “I’m Tom” I said and he tentatively took my hand with his and shook it. “Max” was all he said as he pulled his hand away.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” I asked and when he nodded I sat a little away from him.

I needed to ask this one question that was intriguing me “Where did you learn to play like that Max?”

He stood up and then decided to sit down again before answering my “Myself” was all he said

“I beg your pardon?” I said as I didn’t really understand him

“I taught myself” he told me, so quietly that he was almost inaudible

“Is that a saxophone?” he asked me pointing to my case that I’d placed on the ground next to me, in an almost childlike way, excited even.

“Yes, that’s what I play, but nothing like your talent I’m afraid!”

He jumped up quickly and reminded me of the tin ‘jack in the box’ I used to have as a boy, “Let’s play songs together”

“What here?” I said rather surprised, looking around.

“Yes Tom” and he put a lot of emphasis on the word ‘Tom’ which made me smile. “There is no one else here you know Tom”.

‘What harm can it do’ I thought to myself opening up my case to take out my sax.

As I was lifting it out Max said to me “That’s a tenor saxophone, it’s one of the six common saxophones. Why don’t you play the baritone?”

“Well because I play jazz…..you know a lot about the saxophone Max”

“I know about all the instruments. Ask me something”

I could tell that Max wanted me to be asked a question so I did “ok Max, which is the most difficult sax to play?”

“The soprano” he answered in a flash

“Which is the smallest?” I continued

“The smallest is the sopranissimo saxophone, also known as the piccolo” he told me in a matter of fact manner.

“I am very impressed Max” I said to him “Now what would you like to play with me?”

“Well we need songs so that our instruments complement each other – how about ‘somebody that I used to know?”

“Good choice” I told him taking out some sheet music and realising that it was going to be difficult without a stand and proper light too. “I’m going to have to put this sheet on the wooden beam and hope it doesn’t blow off, where will you put yours Max?” I asked him

“I don’t need music sheets. It’s up here” and he pointed to his head with one of his long fingers.

This guy was beginning to really amaze me and fascinate me at the same time.

I sat on the wooden bench back to front so that I could read my sheet music, getting a hint of brightness every so often when the branches of the trees around us blew about and let the light in, and Max sat cross legged, shoeless, just listening to the notes in his head, and transferring them to his flute effortlessly.

We played quite a few songs together and it was fun, but then realising what the time was and knowing I had to get up early for my ‘real’ job in the morning I told Max I had to go.

“Can you come back another night?” he asked me in a childlike way “I come here nearly every night and then my dad comes and gets me when I press his number on my phone”.

I would come back because I enjoyed it. It was simple and uncomplicated. I could come and meet Max and we could both do what we loved to do and then go our separate ways until the next time.

I hadn’t once thought of being scared about anything – it was as if the purity of Max’s music didn’t allow for such negative thoughts at the same time. But even walking back through the darkness I didn’t feel the fright that I did before.

Max was different to a lot of people but he had a real gift, something that many people could only aspire to, me being one of them, and my parents had paid a lot of money and listened to a lot of ‘whingeing’ from me during practice to be even this good, but Max, well he was easy, and a free spirit with everything he needed right there in his head.