Not a long train ride at all. Only 45 minutes. It was certainly enough time for me to catch a good old-fashioned and much-needed nap. The lull of the rhythmic train movements relaxed my age-old body, but my eyes were wide open and mind highly wired. Rather than snooze, I was destined to dreamily stare out at the Hudson River with sunshine streaming through the dusty windows.
I could feel my body becoming at one with the train in a totally on my own and zen relaxed zone when I heard the distinct sound of squeaky sneakers approaching me.
Gripping tightly and protectively to a huge and heavy black case in the curved shape of what I could only guess was the body of a beautiful guitar or some sort of stringed instrument that beckoned to be strummed, he leaned in close to me until his hazel-eyed gaze met mine and he asked, “Is anyone sitting here?”
His scraggly blonde hair and bangs were longer than mine. Lips thin and eyes with specks of indecipherable hues intrigued me. I smiled brightly, shook my head, and scooted in to make room for him as he carefully and gently placed the black case down. Being that he was right in front of me and he was better looking than the hospital advertisement poster that was hanging up on the wall of the older version of the train into New York City, I could not help but look at him.
I reasoned rather judgmentally that he was a quiet and somber college student from the death metal black shirt he was sporting, ripped and holed jeans, and silver studs that were poking out sharply from his ear lobes. Imagine my surprise when his thin lips curved into a smile and his eyes crinkled with curiosity when he opened his mouth to speak and ask, “Are we almost at Grand Central Station?”
“About 30 minutes away,” I said.
Our conversation would end here. I knew it would. I was wrong.
He must have mistaken me as maybe a couple years older than him because he asked what school I went to. My eyebrows raised in surprised when he inquired this and I hedged in trying to explain my job. He filled in my awkwardness with soliloquies about his hometown in Arizona to musical instruments and music genres to his long fingernails that made his music come alive when he played the guitar.
45 minutes later when the train came to a halt, he finally told me his name and scribbled on a scrap of paper to research the “viola da gamba” after I boldly gave him my contact information.
I have not heard from him since.
I won’t lie that a part of me (a big part of me, that is) hoped he would.
In my over analytical and imaginative mind, I could see his blonde locks hanging down, touching the keyboard as he searched for my name on Facebook or was struggling to compose an email to me as he was struggling in his Junior year of college to learn to compose music.
It was not that I had a romantic interest in him. I was just curious about him. He reminded me of yet another musician (specifically a guitarist) that I met about three months ago at an organ donation/transplant registry event who seemed keen and eager to have further contact and friendship with me after his fascination with me having 4 ½ kidneys.
Just as quick as these two musicians (as examples, of course) have appeared in my life, their disappearances were even quicker leading to no reappearances.
I have always been the big believer that there was a reason behind everything that happened and everyone that we encountered in our lives. Nothing was an accident. Coincidences did not exist. There had to be reasons and answers. Therefore, it was no surprise that the wheels in my mind are turning as to there must be some concrete conclusion as to why I am continuing to have run-ins with musicians. Why? Why were these people who happened to be musicians (again, no coincidences says the logical side to me) appearing in my life only to disappear and never reappear again? I have not been able to conjure up any solid finding.
So, I asked the one person who I ensued in relationship ramblings with. My sister.
When I told her about these run-ins with two musicians that have happened in less than five months, she said without skipping a beat,
“You will never see these guys again. If you really want to try to find a reason as to why they have come and gone then the only reason I can think of is randomness in life. Random does not have a reason behind it. Random is just random.”
My sister’s words reminded me of the great gift of randomness playing its hand in life. Maybe there was no reason to these encounters. It is the random, unforeseen, illogical, unanswerable, unexplained, unpredictable, unplanned, and unreasonable that are what I am considering as one hit wonders that bring the wonderful and wondrous in our lives. These one hit wonders remind us that it is truly unnecessary to try to find answers, make sense out of nonsense, focus on facts over fiction, and waste any precious time searching for what cannot and will not be found. These one hit wonders remind us life does not have to be perfect (nor is it perfect by any means) just to be wonderful.
Believe it or not, I am not a completely logical, factual, reasonable, and concrete answer kind of girl. In me, there has always been a big dreamer that has tried to live in peace and harmony with the overabundant over analyzer in me. I was often enraptured in my emotions that often got the best of me. I was always enamored and intrigued with fate, destiny, and kismet. As I have aged and particularly hit my 30’s, I am finding more and more that I am unable to find specific reasons and answers and, consequently and not purposefully, have become more contemplative, reflective, and philosophical. I am slowing down searching and slowly starting the living and being in the moments that are just are meaningful without always needing to find the exact meaning.
Yes, these one hit wonders are making me wonder how much of our lives are made up of the unforeseen and unplanned without any reasoning as opposed to the foreseen and planned with reasoning? Question left unanswered. What or who have been your one hit wonders? Question with too many answers.
In homage to this encounter that has left its mark in me, I googled “viola da gamba” from this scrap of paper that the blonde-haired and hazel-eyes guy with his beautiful curved guitar from Phoenix, Arizona gave to me. This scrap of paper is my only concrete proof I have that our random paths crossed.
While I can almost hear the soulful sounds in my mind from the imaginary viola da gamba to open up my ears, mind, soul, and spirit to an orchestra of emotions, I’m not trying to dig any deeper or analyze anymore or any longer beyond and beneath than this concrete proof. For I am just enjoying this one hit wonder out of the many other one hit wonders that make life so wonderful.
Keep smilin’ until we meet again,