The night the Rhymer went whack

38

The train was as silent as a train could be. Purgatory.

The Soundman tilted his head toward the sky, letting the sun shine on his ninety-nine year old face. He might’ve already been a centenarian, he didn’t know, but when he noticed the beginnings of the chaos surrounding him he became alone in his own world. He just stood there and smiled as the steady turmoil mysteriously avoided his presence. He turned, deciding to pass through his booth one final time. It’s no longer needed, he thought. “If you ain’t right now, you ain’t gettin’ right,” he mumbled before taking a few steps inside, turning, stooping, then setting the entrance on fire. He rose before walking slowly as the burn followed at a respectful pace. Finally, he exited, leaving a trail of smoldering ashes, the remnants blending perfectly with the destruction of the city. He never turned back, just staying lock step at his same leisurely pace down to the subway and onto the train that took him back to Jersey.

All of America wasn’t torn into destruction. While Wall Street, Beverly Hills, New Canaan, Burbank and all the other rich towns were falling into havoc, South Side Chicago, Los Angeles, Bridgeport, Camden, New Orleans and many other lower income cities were experiencing calmness, so when The Soundman exited Penn Station, Newark, he walked into normalcy. People were standing around, watching the events unfolding, scoffing at the now crime-ridden, out of touch, places. They cheered the united nineteen and before arriving, during that train ride home, The Soundman had already felt that change. He felt the turbulent destruction of Wall Street morphing into the calmness of nothing new in his community. “Humph,” he snorted, answering his internal inquiry as to why the difference. “You can’t destruct what has already been destroyed,” he stated with a smirk, thinking about the depredation and abandonment these cities have endured for so many years. He didn’t have to rush home with guns blazing and his senses heightened, no, so he actually decided to stay and relax at Penn Station.

He bypassed the crowds standing around the overhead television screens, sat down on a bench, pulled his harmonica from his jacket pocket and began playing. The rhythm he chose blended well with the various leaders that spoke on the screen; many different languages but each rhythmically reemphasizing the purpose of their decision and how they needed to create a more balanced world economy focused on eradicating poverty, imperialism and colonization.

And soon, a trumpeter joined in, then a guitarist, a drummer and finally some singers, transforming Penn Station into a full fledge concert with hundreds of people cheering and singing along. Song after song, lyric after lyric, note after note, everyone now harmonizing to the rhythm The Soundman began. They thought they were jamming to just an impromptu session, but The Soundman was in full control, conducting and syncing everyone. Unifying, now, thousands of souls that had been oppressed for so many years. He no longer needed his booth; the re-awakening had begun and right there in Newark he played the beat of the future as America began crumbling into the past.