The owner’s name is Jimmy (not really; I asked, but names here are changed). He serves tables and washes dishes. He suggested a cup of ice with my Brisk from the fridge.
Glancing at the menu, “What do you recommend?” I asked. It’s all good he says.
I answered, “Burger?”
“You want everything on it, right?”
Right. He didn’t push fries – just asked.
Sure. He shouted the order to the girl behind the counter.
“Out for a ride?” Yep. Where you riding from? Oakmont, but not really sure where I’ve been today. “Those are the best rides aren’t they?”
Yes, yes Jimmy they are.
I pointed my camera at the QR code on the Town Days poster, “My kids might think this is the cool way to do this…”
“How many kids you got, Neil?” Three boys. “They out riding too?” One for sure, another wishing.
“Who’s that behind the counter?” Brit and Candace. Daughters of a friend.
I looked at photos of my sister’s family at their daughter’s graduation happening today. Joy. Beauty. Pride. Relief. Hope.
I looked at a photo of a decades-old, small-town newspaper announcing a local young woman away at college being added to Who’s Who. Perfect match to the 80’s hits Jimmy picked on his bistro’s jukebox. She was librarian of the Monarch Chorus. A sob out of nowhere escaped my chest.
I looked up in embarrassment, wondering if Jimmy heard or saw.
On a wall it says, “Music… It’s not what I do. It’s who I am.”
Funny. Two hours ago I think I said, “We aren’t what we have. We aren’t what we do…”
So, ok, I don’t see any reason any of us can’t be Music.
Neil D. 2022-06-11