from Barbara Calkins.
She sang horribly as I entered the BART station. People were looking and whispering she was a junkie. It continued while I waited for my train, and humanity moved away from her.
Suddenly I heard her beside me. I was uncomfortable. My mind was making many judgments. "Please," she asked, "I don't want your money, I don't want food. I want you to critique my singing." I cringed internally, yet found my compassion. She was a human being in some level of crisis.
I smiled softly and asked, "Why do you want to be critiqued, is it not enough just to sing?" She agitated, "No, it's not. My twin sister died this morning at 2:45am and I need her to hear me sing beautifully."
I was floored. I softened further. "If your sister just died, you don't need a critique, you need a hug. I am so sorry."
She smiled sweetly, like a child. "Will you listen?" I said "Yes, until my train comes."
Her body heaved with relief. She just needed to be heard. "Can I take your picture?" I asked. "No, not until you listen and critique me."
I was cornered. "Alright, I'll critique you, but I need you to sing with your heart."
She did. It was amazing, her body, her demeanor completely changed, and the moment changed me. I had judged.
She came alive, singing a song to her twin. Her raspy desperate banter turned soulful and sweet, and every note hit beautifully and pure. I teared up and felt each note as her soul sang.
When she was done. I said, "That was amazing. I know your sister heard you through heart, because mine did." She lit up like Christmas, and posed for a photo, as the train swallowed our meeting and I left with this image.
Thank you Felicia. You have taught me so much. And the sound of your soulful voice is still singing in me.
Many people either driven by anger, sorrow or something else need someone to listen and listen without judgment. I try to do so. I have been their often in my life. Including now when I await either a heart transplant or a LVAD to help what little is left of my heart.
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