The evening summer sun began its descent as you sat with the musical tramp. He tweaked and twanged his guitar, he played a song that pulled at your heart strings and begged feelings of longing, even when circumstance cleaves and divides. He sang as he built to the chorus with all of the emotional resonance of a man who had tasted, yet never grasped something.
After, he played an encore, then another, and another. All of them ballads and sonnets to affection and longing; some of the joy, the closeness, the vulnerability, and others to the wanting, the starvation, a desire for a warm embrace.
His voice was sophisticated when spoken, but pained when channeled through the medium of a song.
Only then did you realise, you didn’t even know the name of this vagabond.
He packed up when the sun died to an orange glow upon the horizon, and took his beanie full of cash to a nearby Café. You sat with him at an outside table as he bit into a sandwich and sipped a latte, fresh, unspoiled, toasted and revitalising.
“Fuck, I forgot how good a fresh cup of coffee tasted!” he almost sang with pleasure.
“An da sam-wish nummies?” you asked.
“Not bad… Congratulations, little mare. I won’t be eating you tonight.” the tramp joked, to which you rolled your eyes.
“Mistah?” You inquired, “Whu am yew?” was the addition.
“I’m your friend.” he smiled.
“Nu, wat am yew namsie?” you demanded to know.
“I’m nobody, just a sad man with a cup of coffee and a BLT toastie.” he chuckled.
He was dodging the question, and quite frankly, it was getting right under your fluff.
“Stawp dat!” you ordered.
“Stop what?” he grinned.
“Stawp pwetendies bein an dummeh!” you pouted in retort, “Yew kno wots an wots bout Sock, bu Sock know nuffin bout yew… 'cept yew bein stimkies.” you squinted.
“Yes, little mare. You know nothing of me, because it doesn’t matter, it never mattered.” the vagabond nodded calmy.
“I am only important for as long as I’m useful to someone, and now, I’m useful to you, miss Sock.” he said, looking to the sunset with an unreadable expression.
“An haow yew wan be ‘usefuw’?” you asked softly.
“I want you to be happy-. No, I need you to be happy, strong little mare.” he sighed.
“BU. WY. YEW. CAW-” you shouted in frustration, only to find yourself, for lack of a better phrase; tastefully gagged.
“Because it’s my job.” he replied calmy, his face bearing a look of serenity as he shoved a quarter of his sandwich in betwixt your teeth.
You walked home that night, together.
As you entered the hospital parking lot, you felt his hand run down your back, just as he lowered you to the tarmac floor beside him.
“You heard the songs, so you tell me: are you going to reach out and unburden yourself, or are you going to carry fear of what might of been and what could be, for the rest of your life?” the Vagabond stared.
“Mmmmf-hmmmf-fh-fh-mhhh.” you respond through a jaw stuffed with brown bread, juicy tomato, crunchy lettuce, and crispy bacon.
“Don’t answer, not yet, you have some decisions to make, miss Sock. Be brave.” he chimed warmly.
He waved you off before hopping into his bin and tossing a pool tarp over the steel box; and you, on the other hand, returned to the fold, climbing through the hole in the wall.
You walked around and saw the nummies pile. Words chimed in the echoing caverns of your mind:
“-you have some decisions to make-.”.
You looked to the pile, then to Squeak, your brow furrowed.
The bread and lettuce went to the pile. The bacon was yours, you were a strong girl, you needed meat to maintain that. The tomato, however, belonged to Squeak.
You slid it into his nest, and retreated to your own. Maybe you couldn’t tell him, but you could show him how you felt; and maybe, for now, that was enough.
-To Be Continued-