Sparking Joy

Since the war began, times had been tough for everyone. Nearly every man and a fair few women were off doing their parts for their country, putting their lives on the line to take down the enemy. Women and teens searched for work day in and day out, though most were turned away. Those were the ones who wanted to fight most of all, or to at least feel as though they were doing something that made them a valuable and productive member of their society. 

    The men that were left behind fought as well, but in a different way. They were the ones who hadn't been able to enlist, the elderly, the young, and the sick. Rather than fight the enemy at their country's borders, they fought to keep their families afloat as the country fell into the state of disrepair that only war can create. 

    I was one that hadn't been able to enlist, being deemed too delicate to fight. That suited me; I was a musician, not a soldier. I would've enlisted only because it was required of me, so I wasn't bothered by it when the doctors determined that I wasn't strong enough. 

        One downside, however, of staying behind when a fair bit of the population was elsewhere was that nobody seemed to want or need my services. A decidedly no-nonsense, frivolity-free attitude had all but consumed most everybody, making a musician like me worse than useless. 

    Some musicians, the more famous ones, had gone along with the troops as a sort of moral support, a light in these terribly dark times we'd all found ourselves in. I wasn't one of them. No, I was barely considered a professional musician at all, playing in the streets most days in hopes that some kind stranger would toss a bill or two my way. 

    There were times, when my instrument case was emptier than usual and I barely earned a passing glance from the people on the street, that I found myself almost wishing that I had been fit to go and fight in the war. There, at least, I would have some sense of purpose, and people with me. Here I was alone and struggling. Here, no matter what I did in these next years, I would only be an ordinary person. And at times, I felt that that would kill me more brutally than anything another person could do to me. 

    Then there were the moments that surprise me, as they do anyone: the moments that bring a smile to your face and truly give you hope for the future. Some of these moments, for me, came in the form of small children offering their single coin to me as they watched my performance with large, awe-filled eyes. That was the only money I ever rejected, pressing it back into the child's hand with a grateful smile. It filled me with warmth, seeing children who hardly understood the concept of money and payment trying to give it to someone who they thought would need it. Those were the moments when I knew that no matter what the results of this war might be, this country would end up in good hands someday. 

    The children loved it when I let them strum away at my instrument, their dissonant chords echoing through the streets nearly as loudly as their joyous cries. Sometimes, I had a whole group of children around me, all wanting their turn on the instrument. I didn't mind- the children were gentle enough, and I was making people happy, which was all I'd ever truly wanted to do. That, I felt, was my purpose, no matter how I accomplished it. 

    On one such occasion, with one child on my lap and at least six others sitting transfixed at my feet, I heard a noise that was now almost unfamiliar to me - coins falling into my instrument case. I looked up, ready to thank whoever had given me money, and my jaw all but dropped. 

    A small, friendly-looking middle-aged woman was standing in front of me, a broad grin on her face. I knew her to be Ms. Aldridge, the owner and caretaker of the town orphanage. She waved at me before her eyes returned to the children at my feet. "I was just looking for the children, as it's almost mealtime and they were nowhere to be seen." She spoke quietly but clearly, so that her words seemed to carry even over the loud and almost grating music created by the child on my lap. "How often do they come here?" 

    I thought for a moment, looking around at the children's faces. Some of them came nearly every day, but there were one or two children that I'd never seen before today. I looked up at the woman again and shrugged. "It depends, Ms. Aldridge. I see different children just about every day. They'll sit here for hours on end, watching me play or playing themselves." 

    Ms. Aldridge was silent for a moment, her eyes never leaving the children. I tried to figure out what she might be thinking, but the emotion on her face was an unreadable one. Finally, she said, "Would you come back to the orphanage with us and play for the children? I feel bad about asking you to leave the place you do business-" her eyes gained a bit of an odd twinkle as she said that- "but they love you so much. I'd love to have someone who can make all the children happy and keep them entertained. Would you be willing? I can offer some payment, though it may not be great." 

    I sat there with my mouth agape, quite frankly stunned. I barely noticed the brief pause in the music as one child slid off my lap to immediately be replaced by another. "O-of course. I'd love to. I love children. When would I start?" 

    Ms. Aldridge tilted her head and smiled at me, a sweet, genuine smile. "Whenever you can. The children love you as much as you love them, perhaps more - they come running in to me with tales of the friendly musician who keeps them company on this little street corner." 

    That one simple statement filled my heart with joy to the point of bursting. Now it was my turn to smile, unable to contain my happiness. I turned my attention to the child on my lap, a boy of about six, and tapped his shoulder gently. He abruptly stopped playing and whipped around to face me, a broad grin on his face. 

    I returned the boy's grin fully now. "What do you say we pack all this up and go back to your home? Then you can show off your playing to all your friends." That seemed to excite the boy. He hopped off my lap and handed me my instrument before gesturing at the other children, who seemed to have not been listening as closely and were now walking away rather dejectedly. 

    Once all of us were in a group once again, I turned to the woman at the front of the group, who was positively beaming at this point. "Lead the way, Ms. Aldridge," I said, waving my instrument case in her general direction. 

    "Call me Clarissa," she said before turning and beginning the walk back to the orphanage. I had never been there before, but had seen it in passing, so I had some idea of where we were going and knew it wasn't far. The children ran in circles around us while we walked, poking at each other and squealing joyfully. Occasionally, I had to pause for a second when one of them veered in front of me, but it was otherwise a fairly short walk. 

    As I stood outside the orphanage with several pairs of eager eyes already on me, I felt a sense of accomplishment, of purpose, like this is what I was meant to be doing, my contribution to this whole mess of a war. And when the little boy took my free hand and led me into the building, I realized that I couldn't have possibly have been happier doing anything else.