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Description

Beneath all the beds in New York you'll find the musicians' dungeon. People constructed of more soul than they can hold sell bits of themselves for quarters and dimes. These claim no home other than the section of ground they occupy. Few passerbys take notice, as is the way with common rushers. Handfuls of tourists with pity in their very bones offer mercy in the form of one dollar bills. It's not a job one can hope to live off of. It's just barely enough to keep one from dying.

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Helena stepped out of the subway car, tapping her fingers on her skirt. She adjusted her blouse, tucked her hair behind her ear, and then untucked it. She ran her tongue over her teeth, back and forth, top and bottom. Humming, she started to walk towards the nearest rip-off stand. After a careful inspection of the flavors of gum in front of her, she picked up the "perfect peach" variety and prepared to overpay for it. The change hadn't even found her pocket before she slid the stick of gum onto her tongue. Helena began chewing eagerly as she fell into the crowd around her.

"I've heard that song before," she thought to herself, smiling. As she walked towards the sound she lifted each foot gingerly, careful so as to avoid the scattered debris on the cement. She desperately wanted to keep her new boots clean. Like a snake through the reeds, she moved, sure of herself but with an air of caution. She was close enough now that she could make out the melody of the song. "Everrrlonnggg..." she sang, with a far-off look in her synthetic-emerald eyes. With a stealthy pivot to her left, she saw him, his lighter-than-chestnut waves gracing his heart-shaped face. She swallowed her gum.

Now, rather than a snake, she felt like a mouse, even though she was sure he hadn't seen her. She's a dancer, but you'd never have guessed that from the next trembling steps she took. In those moments she felt as though everyone was staring at her, when in reality, she was more alone than ever before. In went another piece of gum. Helena rubbed her coins together between her thumb and pointer finger, and gnawed her peach distraction more arduously.

If she had to guess, she'd say his eyes were blue, with a smidge of pink, as that first hint of a sunrise. Or maybe, they'd be the deepest of browns, the almost black kind that haunt and mesmerize.

For all I know, I have always been of song rather than breath. My every inhale is a melody in and of itself, with exhalations of lyrics yet unwritten.

As she knelt to drop her meager offering into his guitar case, Helena made an owl of herself, turning her neck one hundred and ten degrees. He caught her hand as the coins left it. In her surprise, her zealous effort to catch his eye failed. She gasped, yet he held fast to her dainty fingers.

"What is it that you want from me?" Helena asked quietly. "If it's more money you need, I .. I have some."

"Your name." Was all he replied.

"M-my name? My name is.. it's.. Helena." She finally managed to stammer.

"Helena.. " He said, letting the letters slide from his lips slowly. "Helena, would you take me to lunch with you? I have no money, but I promise to play for you as much as you like." She hesitated, but only for a moment.

"We can go on one condition." She said, her tone uncharacteristically severe.

"Oh course, what is it?" He said, with a grin nestled in his words.

"You must promise you'll never forget me." She stated, as she continued to imagine what his eyes must look like. Maybe light green, with gold flecks, or possibly a deep impenetrable blue, like a violent sea. He kept his gaze focused on the floor as he phrased his answer,

"No, I couldn't. I'll always remember you, Helena."

"Alright then, let's go. I'm starving!" Helena said, her smile resurfacing.

"Take my arm and I'll lead you there." They emerged, almost immediately into fiery sunlight and he quickly flicked sunglasses on.

She had lost her chance of knowing, at least, for today.
　
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sunside cafes, open-face chicken sandwiches, maple leaves, interwoven fingers, strawberry shakes, picnics in the park, people watching, ripe grapes, daily smiles, stolen kisses, heartfelt duets, sore feet, new shoes, postcards, window shopping, shared scarves, melty chocolate, blooming roses, togetherness.

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She may be back, sometime. Every once in a while, he smells peaches, but the accompanying footfalls aren't quite right. Her dancer feet make less sound than those of the common rushers.

He could have sworn he heard her favorite boots, once. They were in step with other dancer's feet, male ones. No scent of peaches, though, he thought perhaps raspberries. Whoever she was, she left money.

He may still be down there, sometimes. Every once in a while, she hears a lone guitar strumming, but the chords aren't quite right. His melodies are more sorrowful than those of the common subway rats.

I could have sworn I saw him, once. Though his face was down-turned, there's no mistaking that flowing hair. I was with Max though, or maybe it was Spencer, I can't quite remember. So I didn't say anything to him. I just dropped some money in his case.

It may have been her that day, and it may have been him.
She may have been looking back with tears streaming from her face.
She may have thought he might notice.
But he didn't notice, no, because he never saw her.
And she never knew that he never saw her.

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Everyone should be blinded by love at some point,
that way, when it finds them again, they can look it
in the e y e s.