Stranger danger

“What instrument is that?”

It’s amazing how a simple question like that can open you up to a complete stranger. The person posing the question was a man in his mid 70s, I would guess, whose curiosity had been piqued after getting onto the same bus as me and the Baritone. I had taken advantage of the three fold up seats reserved for prams and placed the baritone in the small seating area. The middle section of the case, which was slightly more raised where the main body and bell coincided, rendered the middle seat useless to sit on but, with slight manoeuvring on my behalf, I managed to vacate the seat at the opposite end for this guy to sit down.

“Baritone Saxophone.” I replied, smiling at his simple voiced curiosity. It was nice, for once, to have somebody actually talk to me when I had the instrument. Usually, I just get looks. Curiosity for what this huge thing was that I was carrying or how such a small girl came to be carrying such a thing. And when I’ve walked over a mile with it, it’s just lovely for someone to start a gentle conversation just like they did yesterday. (Of course my true dream is for someone to once offer to carry it for a short while, whilst continuing the conversation. Just to have someone to reach out to me in such a way would be a nice reminder of the hope humanity can offer.)

Although, as we continued to talk, I still got looks. A girl not much older than I was, child in her lap, kept glancing over; seemingly uneasy at this impromptu friendliness. I ignored her. Too much is emphasised on the danger of strangers that we have no idea what kind of stories they could possibly have to tell us. And this guy had a lot:

He told me of the time he tried to learn the trumpet and spent a weekend (unsuccessfully) trying to make a note out of it; he told me of how he saw Count Basie live and the band was on before and as soon Count Basie arrived onstage, they all blasted out and it was like instant surround sound; he told me of the Wigan International Jazz Festival and how he was impressed that our town had something like that to offer. There were other things but I couldn’t possibly recall it all.

And in return, I told him of the two bands I was in (Jazz Band at college and Swing Band outside of college) and the opportunities those gave me (Appearances at Wigan Jazz Club; regular performances and chances to play at the Albert Hall and, of course, playing at the Jazz Festival) He asked if I did this for my parents and I laughed, saying how I wouldn’t carry an instrument so large just for my parents. It was purely out of love. We both agreed that live music was best and we were blessed with the opportunities our town offered us.

I never found out his name.

I don’t know of anything substantial about him – whether he had a wife, children… – other than vaguely where he lives.

I don’t even know if, once he left that bus, we would ever meet again.

But all that didn’t matter, for twenty short minutes, as we talked and laughed, despite our age gap. We were two strangers on a bus with something in common and that was all.

It was nice.