He didn’t answer. I opened my eyes to find him tugging on his goatee and eyeing me with a sly grin.

  “Hey, brotha. I don’t hear any music, but I’ll take a taste of whatever you been smokin’.”

  “I haven’t smoked anything, man,” I snapped.

  “Well, your eyes sure look red. Come on brotha, don’t be stingy, you got a little something you can share, huh?”

  “I’m a banker. Do I look like a fucking drug dealer?” Angrily I shook my head and marched away. “Later, man.”

  “Wait! Hold on, my brotha,” the vendor yelled throwing up his hands. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want to hear the music, too. You know, one love, one hit.”

  I should have said, Fuck you, you ganja-breath muthafucka, but I’d already gotten into one near fistfight earlier from an idiot talking trash at the bar. I’m sure Rasta Man didn’t mean anything, but I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit tonight.

  What pissed me off even more was I no longer heard the trumpet player. So I kept on walking. Whether I walked for five hours or five minutes, I don’t know. I lost all concept of time because my watch had stopped working. It held at 10:10 p.m.

  For all I knew I’d been wandering around in circles. This wouldn’t have surprised me since an unusually heavy fog had drifted in. Its mist was so thick it pressed against my face like a wet spiderweb. All kinds of thoughts prickled my brain. What if somebody decided to jump me and take my money? Who’d see me getting my ass beat down? There was not a soul in sight.

  I felt very alone and afraid. I started walking backwards, forwards, even sideways, my eyes darting everywhere. But all that came at me was the billowing fog.

  Then I heard the music again. The horn player was back. Fortunately the dense fog couldn’t prevent the melodic and enticing music from reaching my ears. It was like an illuminated pathway had been thrust before me. I drifted through the obscure mist towards the music like a seaman to a siren call. As I got closer, the fog gradually parted and revealed a children’s playground. Ironically it was the one off Windward Avenue. I’d brought my four-year-old son here this morning before dropping him off at his grandmother’s.

  When I stepped into the playground it was like reaching the Promised Land. I heard the distinctive music clearly now. I looked around and spotted a silhouetted figure seated on a bench near the carousel, playing a shimmering golden trumpet. It was a custom-made horn with a long and skinny neck and its bell’s wide mouth bloomed like a colossal sunflower. Music poured out of that puppy like sheets of sound. Overhead an eerily glowing street lamp spotlighted his solo performance.

  I crunched sand as I moved towards him, but the man was oblivious to my presence. He sat bunched up in a tight ball occasionally arching his back as he accentuated each note. Out of his horn flowed a stream of intense, raw, and mind-boggling notes. Chill bumps paraded up and down my arms.

  I’m a true jazz aficionado and I’ve seen many of the contemporary greats, but I had never seen anyone like him before. This dude had to be one of the baddest musicians on the planet. I couldn’t tell if he was playing classical, jazz, or what. It defied categorization. They may talk about the legends: Miles, Coltrane, Gillespie, or whoever, but this man was a grand master among the masters. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, I’m simply stating a fact.

  He wore black shades and a dark single-breasted suit with an open white-collar shirt like some of the hipsters that used to hang out decades ago on Central Avenue. He looked like an anachronism, but his music was timeless. And nobody in this era or any other could touch him. There was a special timbre in his playing that was otherworldly. Mesmerized I just stood there, ears sopping up every musical note. I was experiencing the melisma of a virtuoso who breathed a lifetime into every aspect of the song.

  Man, he got me good. I couldn’t stop the tears crowding my eyes from rolling down my cheeks as he played a soothing and haunting ballad. Ordinarily I’m not the type to bare ass my emotions to anyone, but his music touched me deeply. I guess I was more fucked up than I thought.

  Except, I didn’t think I was crazy until I noticed the slowly turning carousel that had no one on it. And the swings moved back and forth like they were ushered by a strong wind, but no breeze existed. The bridge attached to the jungle gym moved in waves as if invisible kids ran across it. And the cargo net attached to the jungle gym seemed to breathe in and out like it had lungs. Even the palm trees got into the act, swaying like metronomes.

  My world had just turned into a damn cartoon.

  I vigorously rubbed my eyes to see if it was the tears that distorted my vision, but nothing changed; at least not until I was shoved back into reality, by a deep and mellifluous voice.

  “Did you enjoy the music?” he asked, pressing the trumpet against his chest.

  I hesitated before answering because all the activity in the playground stopped. Everything was chillingly quiet, except for our conversation.

  “You knew I was here?”

  “Of course,” he replied in a matter-of-fact way.

  “Okay, so, uh, what’s your name, man?”

  “I’m known by many names.”

  “Oh.”

  In these streets, if a guy doesn’t want to tell you his name, you leave it alone. Head down, he fingered his trumpet as if he were composing a tune in his head. I wondered if he was blind.

  “Hell yeah I enjoyed your music, man! I was feeling you big time,” I said pounding my chest with my fist.

  He humbly bowed then blew a few extra notes. Even those made my skin crawl.

  “So check it out, partner, who the hell are you, where the hell did you come from, and what the hell are you doing playing in this crazy fog? You ought to be on a concert stage or in some club making money. You feel me? Don’t get me wrong, I love being your audience, but dawg, you need to share your shit with the world.”

  “The world has always been my stage.”

  “Okay, cool, but trip this, either there’s a lot of deaf people out there or only I can hear you.”

  A half smile parted his lips. “They can’t hear me because the song was meant for you only.”

  He said it so convincingly I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Here, please, sit down. I’m taking up all the room,” he gestured toward the bench. “I realize I’m not the only night owl present this evening.”

  He hoisted himself up from the bench and like the phoenix, he kept rising. It took me aback. The man was about eight feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to cover two time zones.

  What surprised me, though, was that for a man with such an imposing physique there was gentleness in his body language. Still, I wouldn’t call his mama any names. The fluidity and grace of his movements told me he could knock me into the next universe if I pissed him off.

  And he definitely wasn’t blind. I noted how he casually sized me up. There was intensity behind those shades that made me appreciate his concealed eyes.

  And, I’m embarrassed to say this, but, I couldn’t stop gawking at him. He was probably one of the most magnificent looking creatures I had ever seen. His face looked like it had been chiseled and polished from the finest black marble. Remarkably there wasn’t a line, blemish, or wrinkle marring his doll-like visage, yet his closely cropped hair was whiter than the purest white snow. And I swear his face appeared to almost glow, but I assumed that this was just the street lamp playing tricks on my imagination.

  Once I got seated he eased his immense frame back down on the bench. I waited for it to groan with the acceptance of his weight, but heard nothing.

  My wife used to say I was the worst liar in the world because my emotions colored my face like an oil painting. Obviously he saw the same thing.

  “Why do you still look so troubled, my young friend? I thought my playing made you feel better?”

  “Oh, it did … it’s just that … I’m trying to understand why you said that song was only for me. It’s like you knew I was going to be here.”

  He cradled his trumpet and stroked it like it was a newborn baby.

  “As a humble servant of the Lord, my mission is to play for all the troubled souls in the universe. Tonight I felt compelled to play a tune to ease the pain I sensed in your heart. Aren’t you one of those troubled souls?”

  Great. I had a religious freak on my hands. I should have walked away, but I remained glued to the bench.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

  I could feel him studying me. It was like he was burrowing into my psyche. I had this image in my mind that the eyes behind those glasses were like burning coals.

  “Brother, you are a young man, you should not be saddled by worry.”

  “Tell me about it,” I chuckled, without smiling. He didn’t say brother like we did on the streets. He said it as if it were all-inclusive.

  “Speak to me about your distress.”

  I stared at the ground, feeling the cold air pinching me. Did this man actually think I was going to pour my heart out to a complete stranger?

  His profound bass sliced through my thoughts.

  “You can speak to me. I am your friend.”

  He got me again. And this time he didn’t have to play his horn. My lips trembled as I spoke.

  “I ain’t been the same since Paula, my wife, died a year ago.”

  “I’m sorry. How did she die?”

  Oddly, I sensed he already knew the answer.

  “Just taking a stroll through the park, man. Some gangbangers spotted a rival drug dealer and started shooting. She was killed in the exchange of gunfire … I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

  “Again, I am sorry. Any children?”

  “Yeah, a son, Andrew.”

  “Then you are truly blessed.”

  “No, I am nothing. I’m just here, man, that’s all.”

  I interlocked my fingers together and held them in my lap. I couldn’t stop my body from shaking.

  “Why do you say that?”

  It seemed like it took forever for me to respond, but it didn’t bother him. He just fiddled with his trumpet keys and waited patiently.

  “Because my whole life revolved around her. We did everything together. When Paula died, so did I.”

  “But you have a son. He is a part of her legacy.”

  “Look, man, don’t preach, cuz I’ve heard it all before. Paula is the one that wanted kids badly, not me. I went along for the ride. Now she’s gone. What am I supposed to teach him—how to get drunk like his daddy every night? That’s why he stays at his grandmother’s. She can do more for him than I ever could.”

  “Don’t you love your son?”

  Irritation seeped through my body. I paused to gather myself before answering.

  “Of course, I do, man. What, do you think I’m some kind of unfeeling asshole? I just don’t have that kind of energy to give anymore. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “I understand that you didn’t love your wife as much as you say you do.”

  What the fuck …

  I glared at him.

  “Did you even hear a word I said? All I’ve been talking about is how much I loved Paula. I’m still in love with her, that’s why I’m so fucked up.”

  “If you loved Paula as much as you’ve expressed then you should be showering your son with love and affection. Whatever you were like as a father before your wife’s death now provides you with the opportunity to become an even greater parent to your child. Life is all about love.”

  Why did I even waste time talking to this idiot? Outraged, I leaped to my feet.

  “You know what? Stick to your music, sport! That’s what you do well, but don’t you dare talk to me about shit like love. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  I intended to walk away, but he quickly reached out and grabbed my hand. I flinched and tried to jerk free of his grasp, but my hand practically melted into his. My hand started tingling and tiny electrical charges surged through all my joints. All of a sudden a warm breeze enveloped my body and I became so relaxed I felt like I was floating through the air. I closed my eyes and savored the feelings of peacefulness inhabiting my body.

  My tranquility was interrupted when an arm looped through mine. A woman’s petite body snuggled next to me and I heard a voice that I thought I’d never hear again. I feared my heart was going to burst through my chest.

  “Paula?” I asked foolishly until I heard:

  “Vince, isn’t Andy the cutest kid? God, I love him.”

  I open my eyes and was shocked to find Paula cuddled up against me. She laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed my arm affectionately.

  “Vince, I think he takes after you more than me.”

  “Paula? Oh Jesus, Paula, are you really alive? I’ve got to be dreaming! This is insane! You can’t possibly be alive. I saw your body the day—”

  No, she’s alive. I could even smell her perfume.

  “Oh, baby, baby, I don’t know how it happened, but you’ve come back to me. This is a miracle!”

  I dug my hands into her thick curly hair and kissed her face passionately as tears rained down from my eyes. I held her in a long embrace.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” I said, as I pulled back and dabbed at the tearstains on her face. “It’s just that I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re here. Oh, man, there is so much I have to tell you … I … Paula?”

  She wasn’t even paying attention to me. In fact, her hazel eyes gazed past me.

  “What? What’s going on? How come you’re not talking to me? Don’t you see me, honey?”

  She pushed away from me and ran over to the carousel. She wore the same powder blue warmup as on the day she was killed. But she looked better than even I remembered. Her reddish brown complexion was absolutely radiant. Hands on her knees she leaned over the carousel.

  “Do you need any help, Andy? Oh never mind, you’re doing fine. Look at that. Go, baby. Wheeeee!”

  The carousel moved slowly then began to increase in speed, but she wasn’t pushing it and no one stood on it. “Go, Andy. Isn’t this fun?” She laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

  “Oh, Vince, look at our baby boy. Can you believe he’ll be five soon?”

  I sidled next to her and wrapped my arm around her. She didn’t even flinch. Her eyes were fixed on the spinning carousel. After all the tears, all the prayers, Paula was back, and she acted like I didn’t exist.

  “Paula, baby, talk to me. I’m trying to figure out what this is all about. I …”

  My words got lost in the night air.

  She raced to the slides, got down on her knees and waited at the bottom of the slide for this invisible entity to come down. This was crazy.

  I stopped trying to talk and just watched her. Her eyes traveled to one of the swings and the swing instantly swung back and forth. Paula folded her arms and embraced herself. She seemed captivated by the scene as she beamed with pride.

  “Don’t push him too hard, Vince, I don’t want him to fall and hurt himself. Okay, I’ll be quiet. I know … it’s a boy thing, right? You guys have got it under control. You don’t need me bugging you. I’m just so happy to be with my family.”

  I thought I saw a longing, almost wistfulness in her expression as she stared at the animated playground. Then it finally hit me. She was watching Andy and me playing together. It was like a re-creation of our episode earlier this morning.

  Right at that moment she turned and our eyes locked. My body shook involuntarily as she walked up to me and gently caressed my face with her hands. I wanted to say something so bad, but I was speechless. No words could describe how much love I saw reflected in her eyes. A merciful feeling of absolution washed over me.

  And she said to me, “Vincent, you are loved more than you will ever know. I am always here. Take care of our son.”

  Looking into her eyes, the greens and browns seemed to swirl like a kaleidoscope. I was completely entranced and somehow managed to babble, “I promise you I will, Paula, I promise. But we have so much to talk about. I need …”

  But she faded away. I shrank back into the real world to be confronted by my swollen eyes and perplexed expression in the musician’s dark inky sunglasses. He released my hand.

  I took a deep breath and massaged my forehead. I didn’t say anything for a while. Thoroughly confused I finally asked again, “Who are you, man?”

  He rested the horn in his lap. “Vincent, I am your past, present and future.”

  I didn’t remember telling him my name.

  “So what does that mean? Are you God?”

  He fiddled with his trumpet keys. “No.”

  “Then who are you? You are no ordinary man.”

  “I am sometimes known as the messenger.”

  “You’re an angel? like a guardian angel?”

  He smiled. “You saw your guardian angel.”

  “You mean, Paula?”

  My answer was the sound of crashing waves.

  “I’ve gotta ask, do you have wings under your coat?”

  “That’s a myth.”

  “And you’re not?”

  He smiled again.

  I shook my head. “This is crazy, man. Impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible, Vincent.”

  We stood up and shook hands, his immense hand engulfing mine. And once again I experienced that snugly warm sensation. I watched him slowly saunter through the fog’s drizzle toward the ocean. You got the impression in another life he might have been a prince or a warrior because each step was as pronounced as his speech.

  Once he reached the shore he raised his horn aloft and suddenly this titan of a man levitated into the air and floated over the waters like a feather swept into the currents of a gentle breeze. I could only shake my head. I was witnessing something so incredible that if I told anybody, I’d be locked up in some sanatorium for the next fifty years.

  Out over the ocean he alighted on top of the water and stood there, as comfortably as I stood on the sand. I squinted to make out his image in the fog. At that distance the chiaroscuro effect of the light emanating from his body made him appear as if he were encapsulated inside an orb.

  “Do you believe in all the possibilities of life now, Vincent?” What should have been a yell, traveled to me as a whisper.