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A man plays guitar on a concrete bench in front of the liquor store. His presence in front of the liquor store had become a staple; so much so that if he were absent people would be stricken with worry.  His faded copper hair is long and tied into braids that stretched down to his waist, strewn across the bench. The length of the locks on his head are rivaled only by the unkempt mane sprouting from his lower jaw. At his side is an equally disheveled dog on its stomach, mouth gaping and tongue out, tied to the corner of the bench in the shade of the neighbouring tree. Sat open at his front of his personal stage is a scarred protective case in the shape of the six-stringed instrument within his grasp. Inside the black-velvet interior, one could observe a single folded plastic bill and the glittering of coins reflecting the afternoon glare. His lethargic gaze is pressed against the pavement, as if he were present only in another plane of existence.

From my vantage point in the passenger side of my friend Kevin’s car, I watch the man with intrigue. His features seldom change, his eyes blank and expressionless.  For the man on the concrete bench, today is just another day.  He strums the same four chords in repetition, whilst contributing unintelligible yet gruff lyrics over his melody that blends with the three o’clock heat, combining with the humidity in the air. Relentlessly he carries on, stopping only to express gratitude towards a passerby following the metallic sound of clashing quarters and dimes.

My focus shifts from the what and wanders towards the why. Whose brother, father, or son is rooted on that bench where that emotionally comatose and drained husk sits now?  What dimension does he travel to during his solitary concert?   Through his slow yet deliberate motions, my mind synchronizes with his; or at least what I believe to be his.  The efforts here must be worth much more than gathering funds to spend inside.  How am I different from the figure before me? Eerie similarities between the man and myself begin to surface. His memories and thoughts materialize amidst my conscious, running amok and becoming one with my own.  The recollections of youthful ignorance, and the endless possibilities under cordial skies and in clearer times. 

My future flashes in front of me as I envision myself on the bench playing guitar. Am I looking through the window at myself twenty years down the road? Will my life be full of regrets, broken promises and shattered dreams? I’m not the man I thought I would become; I was going to be so much more. Each dollar coin donated in passing represents an opportunity to revisit the past and reminiscence about times when simple breathing was not a chore. I too, seek to escape my routine with activities and events which I know will be a hindrance to me later.

What would this man give for a chance to be seated in my place? A chance at redemption, to start over, and to become the man he envisioned in his boyish mind as he gradually fell into deep slumber.   My contemplation began to match the dulcet tones which arrived through the passenger side window, opened just a crack. I fall deeper into a trance, my musings of days gone by begin to transform into premonitions of days yet to come. If I could return to meet the starry-eyed boy who made mud pies on the driveway, or the child who did not look both ways before crossing the road, what would he think of the me that I am today? 

The driver’s side door suddenly bursts ajar, bringing me back to reality.  I turn my attention towards my cohort, laughing along while maintaining a façade of unchanged reality.   I would not allow myself to arrive at this destination that the man playing guitar found himself stuck in.  My evening will be uneventfully sober.