The harpist sits at her table outside. She is there playing and smiling at people as they come inside to get coffee. There is nothing set out yet for donations, although a basket sits on the table near her with a colorful piece of fabric covering whatever is inside.
There are only a couple of people sitting there within listening distance. Most walking by or coming into the coffee shop don’t acknowledge that they see or hear her, although she is hard to miss. Occasionally, she smiles or says hello to people she recognizes.
She stops playing and rifles through the covered basket. She removes a few dollar bills and sets them on top of the fabric cover. She sets the basket down on the sidewalk near her feet and resumes playing.
Even with that basket making her intent more obvious, people still ignore her for the most part, although a couple of people return, having gotten some change from their purchase. They bend down to drop the money into her basket. She smiles, thanking them.
Inside where I sit, the classical music on the coffee shop’s audio system never stops. I only hear of the harpist for a few seconds at a time when the door opens as people come or go.
On prior visits, I have smiled at her, and she has returned the smile. On those days I felt I was already too late to stop long enough to listen. There are always so many things to get to, and this is usually my first stop.
Today as I am leaving, I stop and sit at one of the tables outside. The song she plays and sings, “It ain’t me babe” has always been a favorite. I had not heard her sing it before.
When she finishes, I walk over to give her a couple of dollars. She thanks me. I tell her I have seen her and briefly listened on other occasions coming or going but never stopped long enough to really listen. I thank her for the music she plays. I am surprised that my voice cracks a bit. I guess the song impacted me more than I thought it had. Or there may be other reasons. Turning away, I tell myself I will have to stop and listen again soon.
As I walk away, she starts again; playing real good, for free.
Memory is the Key 