The Lonesome Ocean

Nobody wanted to hear me play anymore. I had gotten some stragglers a few years ago. They were the ones who remembered the days before the music box. I could play for them for hours and they’d still want more. It was hard back then, too, but far better than this.

About twenty years ago, companies like Enhanced Sounds and WonderMusic released these machines called “music boxes.” They had every song you’d hear from a room musician, but at less than half the price. My skills became useless in a matter of weeks. For many years before that, I had been traveling as a room musician. Someone could hire me to come to their house and play whatever songs they wanted from my specialized selection. People loved the authentic sound, like a performance right there in their home. Companies took a hold of that charm and shoved it into a little wooden box. You wanted a song, there was a box for it. One that would always be with you. The customer didn’t have to wait for me to arrive, they could just wind up the box and the performance would already be there.

My last performance was three months ago. There was an old man who wanted me to play the song he and his late wife danced to at their wedding, “Oh! Darling” by the Beatles. He talked about how hard it was to find a room musician with that song in their selection anymore. Said he’d been searching for a decade or something like that. I hadn’t been asked to play that one in a while, so obviously I was rusty. He got furious at me. Said I’d “soiled the perfection” of that song. Said he could never listen to it again because of me. I still remember his beady eyes scrunched up in his face as he cursed me out of his house.

I’d been traveling across the country since then, trying to find someone else willing to listen to me and not the metallic spin of a music box. I thought there were still some old-timers left. Some people who just couldn’t let go of the old sound. If there were, they sure didn’t want to listen to me. 

Then I got a letter. I have no clue how it got to me. One day, as I was getting off the train, the station postman handed it to me. He didn’t say a word, just gave me a nod and walked off. It had a beautiful wax seal of two mermaids gazing at each other with a crest in the middle. The letter read:

I am searching for a room musician. A somewhat small, scruffy man that has a sort of welcoming air to him. He has a pointed nose, wide lips, and comforting eyes. He carries a guitar with ‘Sasha’ engraved on the side. If you find him, give him this letter.”

At the bottom of the page, there was just one sentence:

If this is you, I need you to come to this address: 216 Clearhaven Street.

I had no clue who this person was, but their description seemed to resemble me, and my guitar did in fact have Sasha etched into it. The name of my daughter. She died in a fire with my wife almost 30 years ago. I’d been on the road ever since. I was hesitant to follow the letter’s instructions, but something told me this person could help me. 

It was raining when I made it to Clearhaven Street. It was one of the nicest neighborhoods I’d ever been to. I had one other client in a place like this. A long time ago. Gates blocked off the spiraling paths of driveways that lead to large, Victorian houses. They all loomed over me. Reminded me of the crowds of businessmen and women looking down on me when I used to play in the subways. 

216 felt familiar to me. I couldn’t place my finger as to why. It gave me a warm feeling, like I was coming home. I pressed the button on the gate intercom. The speakers crackled and a voice whispered “welcome”. A motor whirled somewhere behind the wall and the gate started to open. I felt like an ant as I walked past the giant iron bars inviting me in.

The door was made of brushed wood and had the same design as the wax seal. I assume it was the family crest. I lifted up the gold knocker and hit it against the door twice. A small maid opened the door and motioned me inside. I set my guitar down and started taking off my boots made muddy by the rain. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. This is my father’s house.” A voice said from further in. I looked up to see a beautiful young woman gazing down at my boots. “I don’t care for this place at all. If it gets wrecked that’s fine by me.”

She had round hazel eyes, twinkling in the light from the chandelier above. Soft skin with freckles scattered across her face. Her hair was just as brushed and brown as the wood on the door. She wore a loose sweater and a midi skirt, accompanied by heels as black as the nights I’d grown so accustomed to wandering in. Just like the house, her image felt so familiar to me.

“Ruby,” she said as she put out her hand.

I shook it. “This is a very nice place your father’s got here.” I still felt bad leaving a muddy trail, so I wiped my boots on the mat as she walked into the next room.

“Yes, he always was one for spectacle. Please, sit.”

“I’ve only been in one other house quite like this.” I eased my way into one of the large leather chairs in the room.

“And if you are who I think you are, that house and this are one in the same.”

I stared at Ruby as she poured a drink. I knew there was something familiar about this house.

“Eighteen years ago,” she said as she moved to the window, “my father invited you to play for my fifth birthday.”

“I remember him. Genuine guy. A little stuck up.”

She chuckled. “That was him alright. He passed ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The rain tapped lightly on the window. 

“He loved room musicians. Always told me there’s no other way to experience music. He found me playing with one of those music boxes, and decided for my birthday he’d show me what he meant.”

“By hiring me.”

“Correct,” she said. She turned around to face me. “I never touched one of those boxes again after you came. He was right, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I’ve remembered it ever since.”

“I’m honored.” It had been a while since I’d met someone as compelled as her by the music of a room musician.

“I’ve been looking for you. Since he passed.” She moved to sit in the chair across from me. “I hired plenty of others, but none of them played quite like you did. Do you remember the song you played?”

“Boots of Spanish Leather,” I said. I’ve remembered that performance ever since, too. When I played for her all those years ago, it was like I was playing for my daughter. Ruby looked just like Sasha. In fact, she still did now. It hadn’t occurred to me that what was so striking about Ruby’s appearance was that she looked just like how I’d imagined Sasha would. I used to play that song for Sasha to lull her to sleep. I had hoped when I saw this girl eighteen years ago she’d find something in the song, too. 

Ruby smiled. “Correct again. And it would mean the world to me if I could hear that song one more time.”

That song hadn’t been touched in the eighteen years since I’d played it for her, and the last time before that was for Sasha. I knew it by heart, but I wasn’t prepared to see Sasha again. The song always brought me back to her crib, where I could see her eyelids slowly close as she drifted off into her slumber. I refused to give myself the chance to think about it for a long time. Tried to keep my mind occupied so as to not get myself worked up. 

“He passed away this very night, actually.” She took a sip from her glass. “One of the last people to see him alive was the room musician who played for him on his deathbed.” So the man really did have a soft spot for people like me. “I was out of town. I got a call the next morning. They said he died peacefully in his sleep. I’m sure the music played some part in easing him gently out of this world and into the next.”

“Would you excuse me a moment?”

She nodded. I went back to the foyer and got my guitar. 

When I got back into the room and she looked up at me with those large, shining eyes, I felt a tightening in my heart. I realized this may be my last chance to play for Sasha, or at least feel her with me again in Ruby.

She sits up as I tune my guitar. Everything exists in that moment. I begin to play. I see Sasha giggling as Ruby’s mouth widens to a smile. I see her dancing in the living room as Ruby taps her foot along with me. I see her laying in her crib, eyes closed, drifting off to sleep as Ruby closes her eyes. For a moment, I see Sasha sitting there, in that leather chair. She’s grown, matured. She’s just gotten back from college. Some fancy one I’d never heard of. She met a boy. A man. Someone who can make her happy. Happier than I ever could. 

“No, there’s nothing you can send me, my own true love. There’s nothing I'm wishing to be owning. Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled from across that lonesome ocean.”