Last month's blizzard brought the city to a standstill. Far from routine, I would wake up to the sound of nothingness. No engines. No voices. No echoes of footsteps. The luxury of extended silence is rare when you live in the city.
Three days and nights had passed by without the usual D.C. buzz. Granted another snow day, I stayed up late on the phone with a girlfriend of mine. We were carrying on like we often do, and in between laughter, I heard a voice outside my window.
I swiftly got up from my couch to peek through my blinds. It was approaching midnight and lone voices hadn't pierced the dark for days.
He was standing across the street, facing an apartment wall, illuminated by mounted lighting. He was singing loudly enough for the melody to land on houses down the street. My friend could hear him clearly through the phone.
I noticed he was recording himself on his phone. He would play it back and dissatisfied, he would do the same two lines over again. I could only make out "in spite of everything..."
"What is he doing?" My girlfriend and I giggled as he continued. This was the city stuff with which we each were well acquainted. The intrusion of sirens, horns, and not so private conversations. At least he had a beautiful voice.
I watched him, fascinated. He wore a dark colored dress coat to his knees, slacks appearing tailored at the hem, and camel colored dress shoes. I wondered where he was going to or coming from. After all, most places were closed because of the snow.
Perhaps, he lived in that building and had followed the narrow path to the clearing where he'd began his performance. I couldn't imagine him walking anywhere in those shoes.
At least 20 minutes must have passed with him singing, recording, reviewing, repeating. At one point, he stopped for a few puffs of a cigarette, then he resumed. I had finally gotten off the phone and was ready to wind down -- though he clearly wasn't.
It had been amusing but now I had shifted to city mode and wondered if he was going to be an annoyance because I wanted to go to sleep. It was midnight.
And then, he got louder projecting as if he were on a Broadway stage. The lyrics were crystal clear.
"In spite of everything I've been through, I still gotta say thank you." (A line from Smokie Norful's Still Say Thank You.) He sang it loudly about three times and concluded his midnight serenade.
The impact of the words hit me as silence blanketed us once more.
I wondered if my neighbors had been listening. Did his song make a difference to them or was he just another city character? I had been quick to dismiss him as such but if it wasn't for his insistence, I might have missed the poignant message that he held.
Does everything mean something? Or do we simply attach meaning to whatever holds our attention? Either way, it's not lost on me that the minute I actually heard him, he was done. The timing was unmistakable. And because of that, I'll remember it as my private performance.
I'm assuming that angels don't smoke cigarettes, but he might has well have been one. The gratitude reminder was perfectly timed.
His communication may or may not resonate with you. But beyond that, here's the real takeaway.
Don't miss your messages because you dismiss the messenger.