He ran a hand through his silver hair and mused 'in a way'. "We choose our homes, Lily. We decide who gets to hear our music. These moments? —your steppingstones … Consider Harmony Grove."
I considered his words, hugging the guitar, the strings edge against my fingers again. "But what if sometimes I can't find my way back?"
He gestured around us, "Why, that's what community is for." These are the same folks that become your audience and your friends. Whether they know it or not, they help guide us."
I nodded. Mentally I traced back to the park, the stillness of which became my refuge. "I've always felt... This place hears what no one else was able to."
"And it'll keep listening. Regardless of what you choose to do: share your song at the Showdown or not — this space will always welcome your melody."
Silence settled then and the potential hung in it until I broke the silence with my own tune. Not for Mr. Thompson, not for me alone, but for the souls that came before for refuge. I painted the air with my hope and my uncertainty with my fingers across the strings.
The last chord lingered, and Mr. Thompson spread into a wide smile. "That's Lily, that right there."
'You think I can compete?' Fear and anticipation swirled inside of me, and I whispered.
"I know you can. He replied, his confidence anchoring his words, and 'not just compete, but shine.'
His voice was as resolute, and something in my weary heart wanted to respond. All those lessons, all those notes we shared across the leafy whispers and dusky hues of the park, had provided me strength.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up my shoulders now weighed down with a warm cloak. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. For everything."
He gave a small nod. "Remember this: When you stand on that stage, think about this park. Fill you with all the whispers of all the notes you have ever played here."
I turned away from the gazebo, giving one last look at the man who saw something in me I hadn't yet seen in myself. It was night now in Harmony Grove, but there was always music, my music, all through me, music of notes not yet sounded, steps not yet taken. Watching behind the park, its stories watched from above, with each step.
The open doorway to the dreams floating on the evening air lifted my heart a little higher and now I couldn't help but shine on what lay in front of me, Mr. Thompson's harmonica. The girl that had hesitated was starting to step aside to let someone who would play her own song, reveal who she really is to the world.
* * * *
The sun had gone down beyond the trees, throwing the golden light over Harmony Grove. The guitar weighed heavy on my shoulders as I shuffled into the park, Mr. Thompson, his harmonica like a sacred relic clutched to his chest as per usual on the bench by the pond. As I approached, he lit up his eyes, kind and wise.
His voice was warm as an old song, 'Lily.' "Back for more music, I see."
I sat down beside him, the coolness of the wood seeping through my jeans. "The only place that makes sense anymore."
He chuckled, low and deep. "Chaos, otherwise known as the complete lack of meaning, has an extremely difficult time penetrating the brain once music has been introduced into it." I see a listener in you, Lily, but I see more. I see a creator."
I murmured, tracing the grooves of the guitar's freeboard with my thumb, "I don't know about that." "What if I'm not good enough?"
'Everyone is afraid they're not enough.' Even I was once."
I looked at him, honestly wondering. "You?"
"Back when I first started." He took a breath, the weight of old memories on it. "I had a fierce spirit, sure. But I was terrified. "More stumbled than flew my fingers."
"What changed?"
"A chance meeting." He smiled; eyes distant. It was in an old jazz club in Nashville. There was something old trumpeter Roscoe saw in me. 'Kid, nobody starts out smooth as a sax beat,' he said. At times, that's all it needs. One person believing in you."
"That's it?"
"It's not just that. He taught me the heart of music. "It's not about being perfect; it's about being imperfect. I made mistakes, but those mistakes are what made my style."
His words hung in the air, half formed melody. "I'm still trying to find my sound," I said.
"You will," he assured. "Don't let those nerves stop you, let them guide you." Your steppingstones are what you think flaw."
"Have you ever regretted it? The risks you took?" I asked.
He paused a moment, watching the water ripple. "Sure, there were moments. Music however... it's a language of its own. Even when I had none, it gave me a home. It held me together through every hardship."
I asked instantly, "And what about now? Don't you miss the traveling, the excitement?"
It's okay to stay put, to watch the world pass by in Harmony Grove. I'm lucky enough to get to see new journeys take off. Yours, for instance."
I blushed, looking down. "I really think I could be something."
"I don't think, Lily. I know. 'The world wants to hear you."
His faith was a gentle push, pushing me forward. 'I'll maybe try out the Harmony Showdown.'
A satisfied grin forming he patted his knees. "Now that's the spirit. Just play for yourself first, Lily, do you hear? "Let the audience catch up to your rhythm," he said.
"Easier said than done."
Yes, but worthwhile endeavors are true. And you have allies. One such Emily, at least, appears to be quite the believer."
"Yeah, she's a good friend. It's like— but the words tangled in my throat. "There's like this wall inside."
The wall is only as tall as you make it. Music can be the ladder."
A ladder, climbing the stones of doubt; that's what the image remained in my mind. "I ever think to myself, what might your journey have been like if you never met Roscoe?"
"Sometimes. Life isn't about what is. It's about doing what you can with what you have. Don't focus on what will happen; focus on what's in front of you."
"And what's that?"
"The future you are about to mold yourself with your voice." Pay attention to the notes you're making. They're your notes. Own them."
I breathed deep, and pond grass were awakening to me. "I'll try."
He gave another laugh, another sound rich and encouraging. "Trying, Lily, it is a yes." It's an action, not an option."
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson. For everything."
"Tell your story and thank me later." Just listen to the music inside you until then."
To him I tucked his wisdom away, like you tuck away a treasured song. The way forward was less lonely. Somehow it had rhythm now, a rhythm of possibility, cradled within itself.