Page 83 of Behind the Bars

“Thank you for taking it in,” he told me, placing his saxophone into a case. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to during mybreaks.”

“I’ll be backtomorrow.”

Tomorrow turned into every tomorrow. I watched autumn brush through the city, painting the trees with burnt leaves. Ever since meeting TJ, I’d been sitting on that corner with him, listening to him play. I’d started working at Eve’s, and I made sure to take my break around his music time. TJ was the highlight of my return to New Orleans. If it weren’t for meeting him, I wasn’t sure I would’ve beenokay.

Plus, when he played, I swore I heard Elliott’s heartbeats in hisnotes.

“How am I so far?” TJ asked, taking a break from playing his saxophone and sitting on the curb besideme.

I smirked and replied, “Your music is better than yesterday, and yesterday was the best I’ve ever heard youplay.”

I’d made a lot of mistakes in my life, but listening to TJ play his music wasn’t one of them. Every evening he’d sit on a metal chair at the corner of Frenchmen Street with his saxophone, and he’d play his music for the passersby on their way to and from the strip ofbars.

When people stopped to listen, they tossed him a few dollar bills. Some danced in the streets to his sounds, tourists recorded him with their cell phones, and a select few acted as if he and his music werenonexistent.

I never understood that—how could people walk past music and pretend they hadn’t just seen a glimpse ofheaven?

TJ was in his eighties, and he’d been born with soul. People didn’t learn to play music the way he did—they came into the world with many lifetimes of heart and soul already embedded inside of them. TJ dressed in the best suits and ties, and he seemed to be a legend on Frenchmen Street. He was a staple of the street’snightlife.

For several weeks, I wandered out to the corner each day and sat on the curb to listen to him play. He always had the biggest smile on his face and he had such a positive outlook on life. Plus, his jazz music had healing powers. It could make the saddest person find a moment ofhope.

Around seven-thirty each night, TJ took a break, grabbed two water bottles and two hot dogs from Dat Dog on the corner, and then sat beside me on the curb. He’d hand me a hot dog, and we’d eat the mealtogether.

“Anything you think I could do better?” he asked me, biting into hisfood.

“Yeah, stop buying a girl dinner everynight.”

“Can’t help it. I’m agentleman.”

I snickered. “You might be the last one of thoseleft.”

“I hope that’s not the truth. You need to marry yourself a goodgentleman.”

“I think I’m gonna avoid the whole marriagething.”

“Oh no,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe inlove.”

I shrugged. “Depends on the day you askme.”

“Whatdoyou believe in? Do you believe in God?” heasked.

“That one’s still up for debate, but I like the idea ofhim.”

“Fair enough. What aboutaliens?”

“Maybe,” I said, taking a sip of water. “But not like E.T. or anything. I more so believe in aliens who like, take over people’s bodies and control their every action, making them do things they wouldn’t normallydo.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. I’m ninety-nine percent sure my mom was overtaken by analien.”

“I’ve known you for weeks now, and that’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned your mom. You talk about your father a lot, but never yourmother.”

“Oops,” I murmured. “A lapse in judgment. It won’t happenagain.”

“Why do you think she was taken over byaliens?”

I smiled and shifted around on the curb, signaling that I didn’t want to talk about it. TJ picked up on my signal and didn’t dive any deeper. That was one reason I liked him so much—he never pressed for more information about my past. He always told me it was called the past for a reason and there was no need to bring it into the present if it only hurt the person to talk aboutit.

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