Violin in the Metro

Dear violinist,

I was three years old when I first heard a violin and it was you. My mother told me this story and I had to write it down.
It was at a metro station in Washington DC. It was a cold January morning and you played six bach pieces for about 45 minutes. I stood staring at you in amazement, wondering why you played here and why your case was there, open in front of you.
It was rush hour and during those forty five minutes I figure that thousands of people went thru that station, most on their way to work.
My mother and I were walking to the park, that’s when I stopped to watch you. I stood right in front of you as person after person passed you. She said that in the first few minutes a middle aged man passed and noticed a musician, his pace slowed, but only for a few seconds and then he hurried his pace to meet his schedule. Without stopping a lady threw in a dollar or two and kept walking, she didn’t even glance up; it seemed a force of habit my mother said. Maybe she appreciated the music and what you were doing but didn’t have time. Another man leaned against the wall for a few minutes to listen, perhaps another appreciator, but he was clearly late for work and rushed off.
My mother stood at a distance from me, seeing me look up at you and your bow moving so fast and elegantly. Me, watching open mouthed and wide eyed. She left me there for the entire forty five minutes you played. Another child stopped and stared, but his mother pushed him hard and made him continue on his way. This action of stopping to watch was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on. Mine knew better and could tell something magical was happening, that I saw the music in the air and listened with my heart and she let me experience the magic of the violin for my very first time, uninterrupted.
When you stopped playing you had collected about thirty two dollars and silence filled the metro or what seemed like silence since it was now just meaningless noise. Nobody noticed, nobody applauded, nor was there any recognition of any kind besides leaving me in awe and wonder.

At this age now, which is sixteen, I wonder about this story all the time. I now play the violin and am first chair in my class. I get challenged all the time, but I never get beaten. I don’t play for that reason though, I play because I still see the music in the air, and I still see the beauty and feel the vibrations all the way into my soul. I’ve been playing since the day after I saw you. That is when my mother bought me my first violin and lessons.
I wonder why I was the only one that really stopped and listened. I thought about the human race and wondered why don’t people stop to appreciate beauty? Do they perceive beauty? Why didn’t they stop and recognize the talent in an unexpected context. The only possible conclusion I can come to is that if we do not have a moment to stop and listen to a musician playing in a downtown metro station playing the best music ever written on an almost priceless instrument, if we cannot stop for one moment to appreciate beauty, how many other things are we missing?

Thank you,
Jaren

Written by Jacob Grant Gabriel 2010
Excerpt from the novella "Love Letters"
Copyright 2010