I had to stand embarrassed by my stranded car while Wal-Mart shoppers wandered past.
Hey, kid, you got a needle!?
Awkward, exhausted silence.
My sandals shuffled and I was acutely aware of the sweat in my stubble.
No, sorry, I dont have a needle, I just have skis.
You got money for a needle!?
Man, I just need a needle!
Sorry, no money.
Inside the Wal-Mart was no better.
The grime and sweat of four days of skiing hard in the sun stood out.
I slunk to the bathrooms, found the family restroom, and stripped.
I still felt filthy when I came back out, so I slunk out of the Wal-Mart.
I walked along the main strip away from the freeway whence Id come.
I walked the length of Main Street and turned to come back.
I stopped, stood diagonally to her, and tried not to stare.
She was tuning the guitar, swaying with each chord as she tightened its melodies.
I pulled out my phone, desperate for any excuse to linger.
It was dead, but I pretended to text as she started to play.
I wanted to hear music.
She was here to play music, there was no reason to be an embarrassed audience.
Her skin was tan, that shade that no burn will peel away.
Suddenly she found her song too and her volume lifted.
It shone in a bright patch against the dusk, an aspen rubbed bare by a rutting elk.
She didnt seem to be singing a song in the traditional sense.
There were no verses, bridges, choruses.
Instead she sang like some greek prophetess delivering celestial pronouncements in a noxious cave, Cassandra with a guitar.
Nobody passed between us on the sidewalk as she sang.
Her head swung back, and her hooped earrings dangled against her startlingly white neck as she howled.
She rested for a moment, breathing hard, face hidden behind the tangled curtains of her hair.
It was futile, no one was passing on this street anymore.
No one had change to spare for the woman whod howled to the wolves.
Now she was just another crumpled shape beside the sidewalk.
I was still squatting against the wall.
When I tried to get up my feet were asleep and I fell forward to my hands.
She didnt lift her head as her lone audience member grunted and finally rose.
I slipped forward, began the walk back to the car.
But I wanted her to have that money.
She didnt raise her head, still breathing hard.
Even now, years later, I find myself waiting to catch another glimpse of her.
When I do, Ill squat against the wall again, and lose myself in her howling.
And here’s a little video about how I made the illustration for this piece:
https://www.newschoolers.com/videos/watch/987739/Playing-around-with-a-new-process
