Sonic chaos. It coursed through and consumed the entire musical instrument store. Drums thundered from a back room, while guitars and basses pelted out disparate, dueling melodies, with keyboards filling any semblance of empty space left with tunes of their own.
None of it was in time nor even the same key. A rag-tag medley of disconnected genres: rock, jazz, classical, and contemporary. Anyone who entered the retail shop could be easily overwhelmed by the disorderliness of it all. Then, as quickly as all the noisy, uncoordinated impromptu performances erupted, one by one, they fell silent.
The quiet remained uninterrupted for the next several minutes until one loan figure perched himself on a stool to gingerly yet fantastically stir the still. What came next was nothing short of captivating. Although, it had become quite familiar to the store associates by now. Sheer mastery and command over the frets and strings left anyone who watched and listened astounded.
Another patron walked into the store, new to the area and seeking a few simple items. He greeted the people behind the counter but quickly turned his undivided attention to the man playing so beautifully. He immediately recognized the genre, though he never heard the song before. Still, it was mesmerizing to the point it persuaded him to walk over and introduce himself.
“Man, that’s terrific! How long have you been playing?”
“Oh, about five minutes, maybe ten.”
It took a moment for the dry sense of humor to catch on. But, when it did, it brought on a big smile and a hearty chuckle. A facetious individual with a magical touch who clearly was blessed with an immense, rare forte. Something inexplicable was present in his hands and ears, a true gift.
“No, I mean when did you first start? When did you start on the guitar?”
“Well, goin’ on ten, eleven years, now, I suppose. I’m not really sure.”
“Who taught you – I’d sure like to take a lesson or two.”
The guitarist explained he’d never taken lessons. Instead, he learned on his own, before the birth of the internet, relying on trial and error to train his ear, sense of time, and technique.
“I’m Gary…just moved to the area. I’m in a band and we’ve been looking for a lead. I’d love to get you together with the guys sometime.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not so sure. I haven’t played with a band for a long, long time. By the way, I’m Lenny…pleased to meet you. Don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’ve got to be on my way.”
With that, Lenny stood up and handed the instrument over to Gary, patting him on the back in a goodbye gesture. Then, he walked out of the store, nodding his head to the employees as he left out the door.
Somewhat dumbfounded by the brief and odd encounter, Gary hung the guitar on the display wall hanger and asked one of the associates, “How often does he come in here?”
“About, two/three days a week.”
“Man, I hope to run into him again. He sure has got some far-out wizardry goin’ on there.”
“Sure does. People find his playing spellbinding – it’s really next level!”
Gary went about his business, picking up the items he came in for. Then, returned the very next day at the exact same time, hoping Lenny would be there again. The day after, the same, and the day after that, yet again. But, Lenny didn’t show the rest of the week. However, the following week was different and the two met a second time.
“That’s an interesting tune you’re playing there, Lenny!”
“Hey Gary, thanks. Just something I came up with in my head…trying to work it out but it’s not quite there yet.”
“So, it’s an original?”
“I guess you could call it that. Though, I’m sure somebody somewhere has written something similar. You know, it’s hard to come up with anything that’s unique but I still try from time to time.”
“I hear ya. My band – the one I told you about before – has a few…only enough for a partial set, I’m afraid. Maybe just maybe, an EP…if that’s still even a thing. My old man was a musician – a studio guy mostly.”
“Know what ya’ mean…haven’t been in a studio in a half a decade or more. I just like to jam a little now and again.”
“In that case, maybe we could get together and see what we come up with? My place is a little ways away, about fifty minutes without traffic. You know, the cost of rent in the city is astronomical. Or, maybe we could jam it at your place?”
“Nah, that wouldn’t work, my place is way too busy and there’s no way we could concentrate. Once more, I appreciate the invite, but it’s not something for me right now.”
“All right, then, perhaps some other time? Let’s exchange numbers and you can give me a call to shoot me a text whenever.”
“Oh, I never carry a phone with me.” Lenny explained, then handed the guitar over to Gary, said goodbye, shook hands, and left the store.
The same experience would repeat itself a third time, leaving Gary curious about Lenny’s hesitancy to merely join a non-committal jam session with his bandmates. After all, it’s something players of all kinds did regularly – guitarists, bassists, pianists, drummers, horn players, and more. It piqued his interest so much that he followed Lenny after he left the store. And what he saw, left him speechless.
It was a typical weekday and Gary took advantage of having some time off work to visit the music store. When he walked inside, he was delighted to see Lenny playing with a few people gathered around, immensely enjoying his music. They spoke for a few moments after and as previously, the virtuoso bid his new friend goodbye, handing over the instrument before leaving the shop.
Gary followed behind at a good distance, careful not to make his presence known. Lenny walked around the block, then took a circuitous route further downtown. Deep inside the city, he continued on his way, block after block after block, passing right by bus stops, the train, and more than one cab parked looking for fares.
Finally, he came to a small hole-in-the-wall church, going inside momentarily and emerging with a large brown paper grocery bag that he carried several more blocks until entering a nondescript building. It didn’t have any signage, just a faded address, painted near the roof on the side.
A few other men trickled in and out while Gary stood across the street, watching and wondering. After waiting a few minutes, perplexed by what he witnessed, he crossed the road over the pedestrian walkway and went into the building.
There, he saw numerous tables and chairs and row after row of cots – it was a homeless shelter, and sitting alone on one of the bunks was Lenny, who looked up at Gary, startling him, who immediately felt embarrassed about following his friend from the music store to the shelter.
“Lenny, I’m…I’m sorry. I was just curious as to why you…you…uh…didn’t want to exchange numbers and didn’t want to meet up outside the shop. I had no idea that you were…uh…”
“Homeless? Oh, that’s okay. I’m alright with it, so it shouldn’t make you feel bad.”
“What do you mean ‘alright?’ I don’t want to be too forward or anything, but I could get you a good-paying job where I work.”
“Oh no, that’s okay. I’ve got everything I need right here.”
“But, you’re so good! I’ve never heard anybody play like you! I mean, you could make a lot of money…be a famous musician!”
“I hear that all the time. But, that doesn’t mean much. I’ve already gone down that path. It’s not like I didn’t give it my best. Had a record mastered and ready to go. When it got released, it gained traction – pretty good for the time. Regardless, I didn’t like all the pressure coming at me from all sides and the heavy responsibility. Plus, I’ve never been any good with money.”
“Huh? You’ve got talent galore! Real talent! You don’t have to live like this.”
“Yeah, that may be the case, but talent alone doesn’t guarantee fortune or fame. Besides, the truth is, I’m not really interested in those things anyway.”
