Chapter 1: Session 7
“I saw him standing on the stone bench like a champion of old that had slayed his first dragon. He took the breathe from my lungs and brought tears to my eyes. This being a very confusing reaction for my body to have, naturally I couldn’t go up and just talk to the boy. He was absolutely gorgeous in my eyes. And yet, people just walked right on by not leaving him anything. Some kind passersby dropped change into his open guitar case. What a brave man to be able to come out and put his talents on the line every day against hostile New York crowds. It’s not a comfortable environment with great acoustics. This added with the hostile everyday notions of rude people who always seem to think their own problems are the only care in the world and everyone should know that, made me stand in awe at the beautiful man strumming away on his guitar. Did I tell you about the guitar? It was gorgeous. Clearly it was taken care of, waxed and what not. It shined in the light and the strings were well oiled and the tune was perfect every single morning. What a very difficult task in the brisk New York winter. To be quick to the point, I was absolutely floored by the man.” I sat back in my chair taking in a deep breath. Thinking about him often gave my heart a quick jump in pace. “I never understood fully, why he meant so much to me. After all, I only knew him for seven months of my twenty-seven year life, hardly a percentage worth mentioning; an afterthought really. Yet, he was a percentage that made the rest have a purpose in my eyes.”
“Sounds like a knight in shining armor to me. However, maybe it’s just your British accent doing that to me.” A very relaxed, baritone voice seemed to echo peace through my quickening thoughts. I often had a hard time forgiving myself for every single character flaw and personality trait that needed tweaking when I thought of that man. After all, he was gorgeous. But, this one person could always help me feel peace.
“Oh absolutely. No better explanation. Especially for those in life who have yet to experience love. That fact alone makes the rest of the story a pure Shakespearean tragedy, don’t you think?” I looked over at the owner of the peaceful voice, tears glistening distantly in my eyes. Me, of course trying in vain, to hide their wetness.
“On the contrary my dear, I would say that it makes it a story worth telling. One that can stand the test of time.”
“But, who wants to remember a sad tale such as mine? No one sits in awe at the story of Caesar’s demise. I will end up just like the great emperor. I just hope I’m not alone.” I took a deep breath and placed my head, none-too-gently, on the pillow of my rocking chair.
“Trust me, My Dear, as you always have. It’ll be okay.”
“Ah! Why do you have to be so good at your job?” I said, knowing this would only spark a perfect rebuttal. How many times must he tell me how special I am before I actually believe it?
“Well if I slacked off, I wouldn’t be perfect!” His hearty laugh echoed in the marble room, caressing my ears and putting my heart back on perfect rhythm.
“I never said you were perfect!” I said smiling.
“Well we’ll debate about that later, but for now, it’s on with your story. Let’s hear it!”
His warm inviting smile and natural desire to listen put my mind at ease and I gregariously launched into my tale.
“Be patient with me. I often get tied up in details. Natural flaw of a Hopeless-Romantic such as I.”
“I’ll take that into account, my dear. But enough stalling, on with it!” He smiled sweetly once again as I began speaking.
“I was twenty-six at the time, just turned in fact! It was my birthday; crisp winter, morning in downtown Manhattan. I would dare say it was a “New Yorker’s dream” weather for Christmas day. Romantically speckled with light snowflakes and a lack of wind, which felt like the Earth decided to rest on this, Christmas day, I walked on to work.”
“As you can probably tell, I wasn’t exactly in a great place in life. Working on a Christmas morning, drinking hot chocolate alone, to stay warm. In fact, I can’t recollect if it was to stay warm or to remind me of home. Dad would always make the best hot cocoa on Christmas mornings. Oh man, how I miss that! It’s weird how the small things mean the most to me now.”
“Anyway, I walked on searching for comfort in my hot cocoa when I saw him. He was a stage performer without a true audience. However, he rocked Rockefeller Plaza with his guitar every morning. For the next few weeks before I had the courage to talk to him, I would walk by several times a day and stop and listen with a little crowd that he often had gathered around him. He was a great singer, good musician, and easy on the eyes. Okay, so to other people, it may appear that I’m exaggerating about how handsome he is, but I don’t care. To me, he was exactly how I paint him. I think most women would appreciate it anyway.”
I turned to see if my listener was in fact still listening. He nodded his approval and I continued, self-esteem rising ever so slowly from his attentiveness.
This prologue sets up a nice "frame" for the rest of your story, which I hope you follow up on. Your dialogue here is very rich with literary and cultural references, which is nice for well-educated scholars like myself *wishes there was a smiley face with a monocle and top-hat I could post *