Ezra the Saxophone Player

When I walked out of the hospital that morning I was grateful to see the sun finally peaking through the fog. The weather had been rainy and borderline gloomy for days-- a heavy, thick mist hung in the air, and fog crept up over the hills and trees, daring folks to stay in bed. I’d been working night shift since daylight savings time, and hadn’t seen the sun seemingly in weeks. I took the deepest breath I could, longing to feel the brisk air on my face and in my lungs instead of underneath my 13 hour old surgical mask. As I crossed Erwin Drive I noticed a faint rainbow reaching down to touch ground. I walked up the parking garage stairs and across the deck, soaking in that “I’m not back tonight” feeling of relief. I sighed, tossing my hospital sneakers in the trunk and wiggling my toes in my Adidas slides. I yanked off my mask as I melted into the driver’s seat and doused my hands in coconut hand sanitizer. I pay $8 at the pay station and I’m free, at least physically. I merge right onto the highway, entering my mental decompression zone--a 27 mile stretch of 540 and 40. In a vain attempt to “leave work at work,” I litter this winding route home with tears of all sorts, frustrations, and mental debris. This is where I try to leave the heaviness of work behind before it sets up camp in my heart and mind.

The night was particularly long, especially for Ms. Reeva. She was in and out of surgery all evening, and was finally rolled back onto the unit around 3:30 AM. I went in shortly after to measure her blood glucose level, and as I was finishing up and asking what else she needed, she grabbed my hand. “Please don’t leave me. I just want someone to sit with me.” I stuck my head out of the room and whispered across to the nurse’s station, letting them know I’d be keeping Ms. Reeva company until they needed me. We didn’t speak much. Every ten minutes or so, her epidural button would light up. “Ms. Reeva, you can press your pain button if you’re still hurting, dear.” “Oh, thank you, bless you sweet child!” We went back and forth with this darling exchange until 6 o’clock in the morning. “Ms. Reeva, I’m so sorry but I have to go now. I stayed as long as I could, dear. Eleanor will be in soon--you won’t be alone for too long. I hope you feel better Ms. Reeva, and I hope you find peace.” She grabbed my hand again, thanking me. I thanked her for being so kind.

I pulled into the driveway a little before 8 AM. Juggling my lunch bag, water bottle, and empty coffee thermos, I unlocked the door as quietly as I could, trying not to wake my roommates. I sneak upstairs and go straight to the shower, desperate to rinse off any lingering hospital energy. Twenty minutes later I found myself sitting cross-legged on my bed in the coziest sweats I owned. I’m always ravenous when I get home from the night shift, and decided I’d go back out to get Chickfila for breakfast. I left the house around 9:30 and headed to the location closest to the house to find they were still closed and opening later than normal that day. I hopped back on 440 to head to the Lake Boone Road location. After I turned into the parking lot and took my place in the drive thru line, I rolled the window down and masked up. I couldn’t believe my ears when the notes of smooth jazz blew in with the breeze, and I turned my whole body looking to see where the beautiful sound was coming from. I smiled when I saw him standing across the parking lot, a couple hundred yards away. I snapped back into reality when the line started moving. I placed my order, and listened as the saxophone sounds floated through the air. One by one, the cars filtered through the drive thru, until I got to the window and got my breakfast. I drove past the Food Lion, my window still down, heading in the direction the music was coming from.

As I rolled to a stop in the street beside him, the music stopped as well. “Hey! I really love the music you’re playing! Do you have a Venmo?” I saw the brief rush of joy leave his face as he dipped his head down. “Nah, I don’t.” It didn’t seem like the first time he’d heard that. “Are you going to be right here for a little bit? I don’t have any cash on me but I want to bring you something.” He looked like he didn’t believe me. I opened up my banking app to find the nearest ATM location and went as fast as I could. He seemed special. I burst into tears when it clicked with me that this young man could be participating in much riskier behavior for more money, and instead he was playing music in the grocery store parking lot. Adrenaline rushed through me as I arrived at Wells Fargo, and I shakily entered my PIN combination. I withdrew thirty dollars to take back to the saxophone player. I wish I could’ve given him my whole paycheck.

Just as the first time, I could hear him before I could see him, his music as thick and rich as honey, and sweeter, too. He looked surprised as I pulled back up beside him. I rolled down the passenger side window and he walked up as I reached my arm in his direction. “This is for you!” His eyes lit up as he thanked me. I asked him if he’d eaten yet today--I wanted him to have a hot meal too. “No ma’am but I’m about to eat good now,” he said motioning toward the cash I’d just given him. “No that’s yours, I wanna get you something to eat so you can keep that. What do you like?” He wanted a double cheeseburger, small fries, and a small Coke. I went through the drive through for him and ordered a large double cheeseburger meal with a large Coke. When I arrived the third time, his smile was shining brighter than the sun was that day. It wasn’t until I handed him his drink and food that I asked for his name. “I’m Ezra, what’s your name?” I told him my name and asked how old he was. I was surprised to find out he was 24, he looked much younger. Only three years younger than me. He thanked me for being kind to him.

“I’m really just going through it right now,” he confessed. “I feel that,” I replied, “but you’re doing great. Try not to get too discouraged. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Ms. Aryn. I’m going to pray for you tonight.”

“I’ll pray for you too, Ezra. Take care. Things will get better”

I rolled up my window and waved goodbye. I went home, ate breakfast, and finally went to sleep for a few hours. I thought about Ezra when I woke up later that afternoon, wondering if he was still playing his saxophone in the parking lot, or if he would eat dinner, or had a place to sleep that evening.

It wasn’t until December that I found out Ms. Reeva passed on around 10 or 11 AM the same morning. Almost around the same time as my interaction with Ezra.

I didn’t tell anyone about Ezra until a couple weeks before Christmas. I was standing in the kitchen when I broke down into tears telling my boyfriend about it.

The only thing certain in this life is uncertainty, and it’s vital to spread love because things change can in a matter of moments. Kindness itself is the greatest of deeds, and I hope Ezra the saxophone player helps us remember how far kindness can go. The only way to make it out of the dark is to spread the light.