This was one of the yellow stations--like Yonge--tiled in a shade that might have been called "Harvest" or "Goldenrod". My performance area looked onto a large open vestibule, much like a large change room at a public pool. The acoustics were fantastic.
Trickling through the station were people coming home from work, all looking very, very tired.
I myself was tired. Before my shift, I had a meeting with a writing client in the neighborhood. Before that I had gone to the garage to have two tires changed (re: yesterday's flat), written two press releases for another client, made lunch for my 7 1/2 year old daughter and carved ten jack-o-lanterns as a parent volunteer in her Grade 3 classroom.
One of the reasons I enjoy singing so much is that I have to be completely present. I can't be multi-tasking. In order to attract donations, I have to put myself completely into the song and let the rest of my day fall behind.
That said, it took me several minutes to acclimatize myself to today's performance. It was hard to adjust from being a busy professional person to being a busker.
Maybe because of that adjustment, I started my shift with the strong feeling of being out-of-place and of this enterprise being completely futile and silly. My songs, instead of sounding reassuring and calming, sounded somehow naïve. Where Do You Call Home?and Complicated Things, sounded too pretty for this stark urban environment. I tried to counter this by singing a more "gritty" song (I've Been Busy) but still had the feeling of being a fish out of water.
Everyone seemed to be ignoring me, so I tried imagining that the half-rectangle of yellow dots that enclosed me was actually a protective and loving force field. I also tried singing solely for myself, remembering that at the heart of it, this is rehearsal time. As I glanced at the $3.50 in "seed money" that was still there by itself after five songs, I wondered whether this would be the first subway stop at which I'd earn absolutely nothing.
Then (thank you, thank you, thank you) an elderly woman dressed in a bright fuschia blazer walked deliberately over to give me some change. As she did so, she said "Such lovely music."
She was followed shortly afterward by a woman dressed entirely in purple, with purple leggings and purple-and-silver hair. (Right, I remembered, it's the Friday before Hallowe'en.) She seemed to want to say something to me, but was too polite to interrupt in the middle of a song.
One person who did run up to interrupt was a girl about my daughter's age. She came within a foot of the guitar and said breathlessly, "You're a very good singer!" and then she started to strum the guitar herself, forcing me to stop.
"Thank you," I said, "I'm glad you enjoy my songs. Do you like to sing?"
"Yes!" said the girl, still strumming.
"That's great," I said. "What's your name?"
"Shania," she said.
+++
Finally, a man came along while I was singing Room To Love. He stopped and picked up both of my CDs, which I always display in my case. While continuing to sing, I managed (not sure exactly how) to show him that it was Track #5 on "Lynoleum". When I finished the song, he requested Where Do You Call Home?to see what it sounded like, so I played that one for him on the spot. He bought both CDs and thanked me for making his day.
I hope he realized how much he'd made mine.
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