The Music Man

Early for work on a Saturday, I chose to walk to the Ferry Building. I was sitting on a bench, thoughtfully placed on the pier, caffeine in one hand, nicotine in the other, and lost in both as waves of jazz music came from the clarinet poised at the lips of a dashingly dressed elderly black man to my left.

My musings were ripped from me by a small boy running out of the building, exclaiming with delight, "IT'S THE MUSIC MAN!" He sat down, almost violently, three feet in front of the clarinet-player. I was captivated, and suddnely lost in memory.

I was that child, once upon a time. My grandmother had a love of jazz music that she tried to pass on to her granddaughters. I can remember going to festivals and concerts with her. The overwhelming excitement that I felt when I was told that I was chosen to come with her was always overshadowed by the thought that I was only asked for because my cousins were unavailable. I was never her favorite. My cousins, both supremely talented in sports and dance, were the ones she loved the best. Those were the ones she was proud of. Never me.

My grandmother was stolen from me, three times over. The first, because my mother passed away. I don't know if it was simply too painful to see us, my brother, sister, and myself, or if she was still dealing with her private anger at my mother leaving our lives so suddenly. The second time was when my family moved. I don't know the circumstances around the lack of communication, but it was heartbreaking to me.

The third time was when she herself passed away. She was stolen from us by screeching tires and crashing metal. I never got to say goodbye.

As I wrote this, I sat on the pier and cried. I still feel her loss, and the loss of my mother today. I was always second-best to both of them; and the need to prove myself, to make them proud of me, to make them notice me, will continue throughout my life...


The music man makes magic with his hands
and with his clarinet, he conjures the memories of a child who was never loved best
but was loved the best that anyone can.
Perpetually the first loser in a footrace for affection,
this chubby child was left breathless and sobbing at the starting line
of a marathon she didn't even know her cousins ran.