Something to tide you over

Sorry about my lack of posts, I lost a few parts of the story in the back. I'll try to dig them up for ya. In the meantime, here's a short I wrote not too long ago.

He gets alot of strange looks on the subway on the ride downtown. It's not too often that the other passengers on the 5:00 AM see a man in a skirt. But he wears his kilt proudly, his ancestry as his support. After all, William Wallace wore one of those skirts. The cold doesn't bother him as he walks down the empty city square to the fountain in the main park. This is, of course, non-functional in the winter. He opens his case, removes the violin and begins to tune.

Alot of people don't know the difference between a fiddle and a violin. In actuality, they are very much the same instrument, with subtle differences. A violin meant for fiddling tends to be smaller than a regular violin, but can be played as such. The fiddler also grips his bow slightly higher than a violinist, reducing the amount of space on the bow, but giving him more control over the area he uses. There are also differences in technique. All very subtle differences.

He plays for those on their way to work in the offices and businesses around him. They all smile and leave some change for his time. He smiles and nods in a silent "thank you". He likes to think he brightened their day just a little bit. Likes to think that the's making the city a slightly better place. Some ask him why he doesn't get a real job. He tells them that he enjoys this too much.

In the afternoon, more street musicians turn up. The fiddler asks if he can join in, and some allow him to play for a few minutes. They enjoy that sense of comradery. Occasionally a car drives by with pop, rock, or hip-hop blaring out the windows. He will play along with some he deems appropriate. Sometimes the outcome sounds good, sometimes it does not. But he doesn't mind. He knows that trial and error is sometimes the best method. Sometimes he draws a crowd with his playing and enthusiastic dancing. He asks that the crowd keeps time with their hands, so he can keep in time. It is difficult to dance and play at the same time.

At the end of the day, he puts his take in his pockets and rides the subway back to his apartment on the dingier side of town. He opens the door to his slightly disorganised apartment to see his two daughters. The eldest is doing her homework, the youngest playing with cheap toys. They run to the door to give their father a hug after not seeing him all day. He then lets them count his collection from the day and begins to make a simple dinner for them. After dinner, they continue with their work. The eldtest continues her schoolwork. The youngest plays with cheap toys, her father occasionally playing with her. At 9:00, his children go to bed, leaving him to reflect on his day while watching their small tv/radio. At around 12:00, he falls asleep but not before kissing the picture of the mother of his children, who passed away a few years earlier from a congenital heart defect.

The fiddler carries a deep secret. He is illiterate and as such, never recieved a proper education and cannot obtain proper employment. He lives on welfare cheques and the money he recieves from busking. And nobody but his daughters will ever know. Why? Because he is content with his life. He enjoys what he does.