by greenbamboostudios

I am confused.

A man slips me a phone number on a napkin and tells me to play it.

He says an old roommate from college used to assign different notes to the digits to make melodies.

This was his song.

His phone number.

I assume 1=do, 2=re, 3=mi on the scale … and so on, making 8=high do,9=high re and 0=high mi.

I improvise something, add some chords and noodle for a while, wondering if this is what my life has really amounted to.

Figuring four verses enough to humor an oddball request, I look up to see him crying.

He wept.

Openly, with his head buried in his hands.

He tells the bar that this IS his song.

He hasn’t heard it in years.

Not since Matt passed away.

Nobody has been able to play it until now.

And then I know.

It’s not just a Good Friday.

It’s a great day.