He looked up from the book in his lap as the Greyhound bus squeaked to a stop at the Greenville terminal.
The old woman next to him fell asleep on the trip up from Charleston, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Her face was wrinkled like the bark on an ancient magnolia tree, and colored the beautiful brown of it’s trunk and branches.
She breathed in, the air made a soft, whistling sound through her nose, and she breathed out.
That made a gentle, flapping sound through her lips.
“Life is a symphony,” he chuckled to himself, “Of kazoos.”
“Ma’am,” he whispered.
She didn’t move.
She kept right on sleeping and kazooing.
“Ma’am,” he said a little louder.
This time he reached out and touched her weathered hand.
She opened her brown eyes and smiled a tired smile at him.
“Thanks for a lettin’ me use yo shoulda as my pilla,” she said with a gravelly voice.
“First time I woked up beside a man in a long time.
Hope my snorin’ didn’t bother you none,” she giggled.
“No ma’am,” he said with a giggle of his own.
“It was music to my ears.”
His knees and back snapped and popped as he stood slowly and smoothed the wrinkles in his pants and shirt.
“My goodness,” said the old woman, “You make music, too.”
He placed his hand on her bony shoulder.
“We could start a band called The Human Experience,” he said.
“People would come from all over the country to hear us whistle, flap, snap and pop.
You think?”
“Yep, they’d pay a bundle of money to hear that.”
He pulled on his jacket and waved to her.
“Goodbye, my friend,” he said.
“Thanks for the song.”
She waved back.
“Thank you,” she said.
“And do me a favor.
Lean on down here and let me tell you somethin’.”
He leaned down.
He was surprised as she kissed him on his forehead with a tender kiss.
“That’s the kiss of a guardian angel,” she whispered.
“Look closely, listen carefully and do not be afraid.”
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