The boy constantly carried me around with her on the streets of St. Paul. He kept me inside the hard case with several picks scattered on the bottom and poking into my back. I didn’t mind though, because he often took me out to show me the city and show others his talent. I loved him so much. He never set me down outside the case, no, he always held me in his lap, fingers tickling my neck and arms wrapped around my body. He sand duets with me often—he was an amazing singer—and sometimes when he put me back in the case there would be a few cold, metal circles or a crinkled, green piece of paper along with picks sticking into my back. He learned how to make me so happy—and he too, I’m sure—from homeless men along the street who sang duets for money with their own friends like me. They are better teachers than you would think.

One day as he carried me down the street with the neon-lighted signs he decided to do the unthinkable. He decided to ride the bus. He set me gently on the seat beside him and struck up a conversation with the person next to him. Eventually he fell asleep in the seat. I wondered where he was taking us on such a long bus ride. Finally the bus reached the end of the route and jolted to a stop. He looked like he was walking in sleep when he stood up and began to walk down the isle. But wait a second…he wasn’t stopping to pick me up! Wait! Wait for me! I want to yell to him, but without him holding me I could not speak. The bus station closed, the lights turned off, and there I sat, a lonely soul, abandoned on the seat.