The Street Singer

“Mister, are you alright?”

The voice of a child awakened him. Shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes, he looked up to see its source. Standing before him was a little girl about six or seven years old, with eyes the color of a clear October sky and golden ringlets the shade of ripened wheat falling over her shoulders. Her face was scrunched up like a golden retriever puppy’s in an expression of concern.

He couldn’t help but smile. “No, I’m not alright.” He grinned. “But I’m not all wrong either.” That should give her something to chew on.

“Okay.” She tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows even deeper. “So why are you sleeping out here on the street? Don’t you have a home?” 

Her words were blunt, yet her tone was kind. He liked her already.

“Don’t worry. I have a home.” He looked toward the sky. “I’m just not there yet.”

His slightly cryptic answer seemed to satisfy her. She gave a quick nod, then reached out a hand. “What’s your name?”

“Wade.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wade. I’m Rena.” She shook his hand confidently.

“It’s good to meet you too, Rena. That’s a lovely name. Do you know what it means?” That wasn’t a question Wade would ask most children Rena’s age, but she seemed precocious enough to know something like that.

Sure enough, Rena had a ready answer. “My mama told me it means ‘melody.’ She said she called me that because I’m like a pretty song to her.” 

“I like that. Where is your mother?”

Rena glanced over her shoulder. Wade followed her gaze to a young woman standing several feet away in the entrance of a lawyer’s office, engrossed in conversation with a well-dressed businessman. 

“Does she know you’re here?” Wade asked.

Rena shrugged. “I don’t know.” For the first time in their conversation, she cast her gaze downward. Rather than meeting Wade’s eyes, she studied the pattern of the stones in the street, nudging a pebble with her shiny black patent leather shoe.

Wade knew just the thing to lift her spirits. Reaching toward the battered guitar case he kept nearby, he asked, “Would you like me to play something for you?” 

Rena looked up. The sparkle was back in her eyes. Beaming once more, she nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I’d like that.” She paused before adding, “Please.”

“Sure thing.” Wade flipped open the latches and drew out his guitar, settling it on his lap and checking the tone of the strings. After making sure all the strings were in tune, he placed his fingers on the frets and began to play, closing his eyes and letting the music take him where it would lead.

—

Rena didn’t know the song, but she knew she liked it. She liked the one playing it too.

The street singer wasn’t much to look at. His ball cap was crumpled, his shirt and pants were wrinkled, and his canvas sneakers were worn. And he needed a haircut. 

That didn’t matter too much. He was nice. He was a little hard to figure out, but Rena didn’t mind. She liked puzzles. 

She liked watching people too. She had learned that you could find out a lot about someone by watching them. 

Rena watched Mr. Wade play until her eyes started blurring from trying to follow his fingers darting along the strings of his guitar. They moved so fast she couldn’t keep track of them. Finally she gave up and closed her eyes to listen without distractions.

By now he had reached the chorus. The notes went high, and he strained to reach them. 

Rena liked the way Mr. Wade sang. It wasn’t fancy, like some of the singers her mama liked to listen to. Mama said they sang beautifully. To Rena, they sounded like they were choking on frogs. She thought they were trying too hard. Listening to them tired her out.

Mr. Wade was different. His earthy voice made her think of freshly tilled fields on her grandpa’s farm. He didn’t sound like he was trying to be something he wasn’t. Rena liked that.

She listened closely to the words as he started the second verse. It was a song about love, but it wasn’t a love song like the ones that made her mama cry. This song didn’t make Rena want to cry. It made her feel happy inside, like when Mama tucked her in a nest of warm blankets on a cold night. 

She felt like dancing.

Opening her eyes, Rena started to twirl, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up until she was spinning in time to the music. She held her hands high above her head like she had seen grownup dancers do. A big smile graced her face as her hair whirled every which way. Mama would be mad that she’d messed it up, but Rena didn’t care. All that mattered was the music of the moment. She’d dance until it was over. Then she’d worry about Mama.

By the time Mr. Wade started singing the chorus again, Rena was dizzy from all that spinning. She stopped to catch her breath. Then almost without thinking, she started to sing along. 

Love is the flame that lights the way
Love is the road that takes us home
It’s the wind in our wings that lifts and leads
It’s the peace that sweet surrender brings
Led by love, we will find the way
To the strength of hope and the hope of faith
Follow the flame that lights the way  
Love is the road that takes us home

It was a pretty song. Mama would like it. 

If only she was here to listen too.

—

The sound of singing called to Emeline as her conversation with Mr. Gray wrapped up. Turning around, she saw a man sitting along the street playing his guitar. Not far from him sat a little girl. Wait—was that Rena?

She gasped as she realized it was. Emeline scolded herself for getting so engrossed in conversation with her soon-to-be manager that she hadn’t noticed her daughter leaving her side.

“Rena!” She strode toward the mismatched pair, her high heels clicking on the cobblestones. Rena showed no sign of hearing her, so she called out again, louder this time. 

“Rena Sierra!”

Still no reply.

Then the music stopped.

The man stopped playing to look at her. She glared at him a few seconds, then marched over to Rena and clamped her hands on her shoulders. Startled, Rena whirled around. Her face crinkled into an eager smile. “Mama! You came!”

“I most certainly did. What have I told you about staying close to me when we’re out in public?”

Rena hung her head. “‘Always stay next to me.’”

“Exactly. And is that what you’ve done?”

“No.”

“And what have I told you about talking to strangers?”

“But Mama, I—”

“Don’t ‘but Mama’ me. You know what I said.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good. Now let’s go.” She took Rena’s hand and started to pull her away.

Just then, the singer jumped in. He hadn’t said a word throughout the whole exchange, and Emeline had almost forgotten he was there, making her jump when he spoke. “Ma’am, if I may say something, your little girl is something special.”

Emeline couldn’t help but soften at that. “She certainly is.”

He nodded, then jutted his chin toward his guitar. “I wondered if you would like me to play something for you too.”

“Well. . . I don’t know.” Not wanting to seem impolite, but not wanting to stay either, she hesitated.

“Please.” The man and Rena said the word at the same time. 

Emeline sighed. Rena wasn’t one to accept no for an answer without good reason. This was a battle she couldn’t win. Emeline had been in a lot of those lately, and she was tired of fighting. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for her to give in just this once. She let out a puff of resignation. “Alright. But don’t be too long. I have a meeting to attend.” 

Rena clasped her hands together. “Oh, Mr. Wade, please play that song again!”

With a smile, the man bowed his head and began to play.

—

As he fingered the notes of the first verse, Wade thought of the young woman standing before him. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-six, and she was a beauty to behold. Her crystal blue eyes were the same stunning shade as Rena’s. She was impeccably dressed in a freshly pressed emerald suit, adorned with pearl earrings and a matching necklace. A pearl-studded golden hair clip held her glossy auburn locks in place. 

But Wade sensed that underneath the beautiful shell was a hurting heart. The young woman was trying hard to seem strong and brave, but the fire in her eyes was clouded with sadness. Her frustration at her daughter seemed to come from a deeper hurt. Where was her husband? She had made no mention of having one. As he played, he prayed. Lord, soften her heart.

He let himself get lost in the music, hoping that the same thing was happening to Rena’s mother. He didn’t let himself look at her as he played, not wanting her to think he was trying to manipulate her. All he wanted was to step back and let the Spirit do His work through the song. Between the meaning of the lines and the feeling of the notes was a message that only the ears of those whose hearts were open would hear.

It wasn’t Wade’s job to open hearts. All he could do was play and sing and pray. He had learned from long experience that the Spirit would do the rest. He didn’t know all that happened in others’ hearts while the music played, and he didn’t have to.

When the song ended and Wade let himself look up, he knew the message had hit home.

The young woman sat behind Rena with a tender smile on her face. The hardness in her eyes had disappeared. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. “Thank you so much.” She leaned over to Rena and said loud enough for Wade to hear, “What are you supposed to say?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Wade pointed up. “Thank Him.”

Rena piped up, “So are you alright now?”

Wade couldn’t help but laugh at her impish grin. “Yes, I am.”