Ordinary Noteworthy

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There was a note on the windshield of my car this morning that read “I’ve taken your most valuable possession. If you want it back meet me at Rhode Island Metro and bring your songbook.”

My most valuable possession? I looked around my room, my car. Nothing was missing. I checked the note again. It was written in black ink. I figured a mans handwriting. Ordinary, yet noteworthy. I looked around my car for damage and noticed a big dent on the back drivers side. I was silent. Could the person be watching me now? Why my songbook?

Last night I sang outside, having a deficient amount of space these days, for an upcoming audition. One of the songs is a battle cry. Made for a high tenor. I recently had a breakthrough in one of the higher notes, and wanted to practice that muscle. Wait! There was a distinct sound after I finished the song. It was raining, and I strutted away quickly because belting full voice on a wintry night isn’t recommended. I headed up the door to my apartment when I heard an echo of the high note. Someone had hit the same note. But an octave higher.

On the subway to Rhode Island metro. Everyone seems suspicious. There’s a kid to my left staring at me. I’m not letting him know how much he’s freaking me out. Wavy brown hair, holding a piece of candy in his hand — just about to eat it. Waiting for me to do something so he can continue on with his life. What is wrong with children. They’re so free it’s frightening. Dressed up in a casual pin striped suit. Must be around five or six. Mommy and daddy just had to dress him like an adult. Or, smart school enforce a strict dress code. Little freak. Why can’t kids just be kids and eat candy? I smiled politely, and looked toward his parent who was a thin man with a full beard carrying a baby in a Baby Bjorn. Chewing gum like a cow he stared at the advertisements on the subway with a profound expression — as though riddling out the theories of time and space. The subway door opened I walked with the passengers toward the exit, and heard “How many times do I have to tell you not to make noise at night.” I turned to look behind me: the father, kid, and baby were all facing my direction. The subway doors closed. The kid popped the candy into his mouth.

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