Black and Proud

New York It was the beginning of fall. I stood by the entrance of the subway, wearing old clothes. I played violin as bystanders threw some change in the violin case on the floor. It was six weeks after settling in New York, and life had manhandled me.

I was unable to get an audition. I became a drifter, playing violin in the subways or in the streets to be able to feed myself. It was the best way for me to beg. Sometimes I thought about giving up and returning home where I belonged, but I was on a mission.

After playing the last note, I bent down to count the change. I put the violin in the case and left. That night had been a success. I was given $10 even.

I went home, which was under the Washington Bridge. I slept there a lot.

When I reached there, I lied down and fell asleep because I was extremely weary.

Shop Finally, after a long period of struggle, I was allowed to audition for a Broadway play.

A day before the audition I went to a clothing shop where I used to sweep and mop the floor to see Mr. Paul. I walked into the store, carrying my violin in its case. The cashier, an elderly woman, was frightened when I ambled in. Perhaps she suspected that I was a thief and was there to rob the store.

"May I see Mr. Paul?" I asked her.

"And may I ask who wants to see him?" She stared at my old and torn clothes with disgust.

"Carter, Carter. I used to work for him."

She went to the back to his desk to let him know of my presence.

He arrived eating some Chinese food.

"Hey, Carter, long time no see." He tapped my shoulder.

"Mr. Paul, I have a favor to ask you."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm going to audition today for a play." I rubbed my hand across my face in mock fear.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some clothes from you."

"Carter, you know I can't lend you some clothes. You have to buy them."

"I know, Mr. Paul, but I have no money to buy them. Please, I will do anything and promise to bring them back to you."

"I tell you what I can do for you. You sweep and mop the floor for me. Then I will give you the clothes you're worth for free," he offered me, having a look at the floor.

I thought about it for a moment.

"Okay, that's fine," I accepted.

"Don't take it personal. It's just business," he said to buck up my morale needlessly.

Broadway On stage, I performed a difficult classical song.

The judges-the director, who was between 40 and 45, and a woman in her late thirties-carefully observed me playing the song as they took notes of my performance.