It was a frostbite kind of winter night, just about, as it is tonight. Christmas lights shone through about every store window alone the street. Wreaths hung from window to window and the street lamps were reflected in the melting snow. The same Joy to the World music flew down the street as usual, but then Nick heard it. It was something strange and out of the normal. Something that had been longing to peak through the cracks of reality to grasp a sense of abnormality. It was the kind of sound that could warm your heart like a fire while you watch the flames flicker, but at the same time chill your soul like the ice shining on the ground. Closer and louder, it came as he tried to ignore it; suddenly he broke down and followed it. On the other side of the freezing alley sat a young girl, she could not have been older than nine, she sat in tattered clothing and her dark black hair blowing in the wind as she held a saxophone in her almost purple fingers. The instrument looked half-rusted and the keys seemed to squeak on every fingering, despite this she seemed to play beautifully. He approached her cautiously, assuming she wanted money, into the open case he tossed five pounds. He stood silently watching her and waiting for her solo to finish so he could ask her something. She gracefully flew over some notes, while others she held out, with every crescendo and decrescendo she seemed to rise and fall with it, even if she messed up (which he could hardly noticed) she would give an innocent grin and continue. Finally, after fading away with the last note she laid her prize by her side giving me an inquisitive glance.
Nick began to ask her the question, yet before the words began to pool out of my mouth she handed ice cold coins back saying with her breath being caught in the light of the street, “I do not need money sir; all I want is a lily and reeds.”
He was now, more inquisitive than she; so he asked, “I understand why you would like reeds, but the lily?”

“It was my mum’s favorite you see; she grew them in her garden. Every night before I fell asleep, I remember seeing the lily in her hair as she tucked me in. She loved me, just as I loved her. I knew for a while, she was sick and that she had to leave soon, to go grow flowers for God of course. The night I saw her hard working hands rest, her beautiful heart stopped its beating in my ear, as the night I inherited this.” She replied holding up the saxophone. “When this was handed to me, a white lily was tucked in the bell here,” she said pointing into it, “on the stem of the lily was a note from my mum, it was written in cursive so I had to have my father read it. He told me it said this, ‘I leave to you my dearest child this, express yourself when words are at rest, when hearts are stilled, and troubles nest. Do not ever let yourself back down, play louder and bloom like the lily.’ Just like the lily, my father soon died of grief, leaving me behind. People find me to be a beggar, people find me to be broke, and I am just doing what my mum told me to do. Express myself, and I will till the day I die. Like my heart, my sax is broke, but I am just thankful to be here. To represent my mum and all she did. I love my instrument, but with it being broken and like this, I’d rather keep it as a memory.”
In tears, he threw himself as he ran down the street knocking and knocking on music stores, causing all sorts of commotion. Some neighbors closed their blinds or screamed from their windows. Did he care? Not the slightest. It, of course, was too late for anybody to be open. He returned to the girl promising he would return soon. He went back to his house and pulled it off the shelf franticly blowing the dust off. Faster than his legs could carry him, he found her again, blowing away on the broken brass. He stood listening again to another fine tune as he waited. When she completed it, he bent down to her level and held it before her, it was a black saxophone case, inside was the brass saxophone he had played in his younger years. Her eyes lit up brighter than all the Christmas lights on the street. She sprung to her feet and hugged Nick around his neck, before she could open it; he stood up, gave her brown his jacket, and went back home. When he left her alone, she excitedly opened it as the hinges creaked from age. Inside, she found a shiny saxophone with a few dents and scraps, yet it had been hardly played. She went to put it together, but before she could, she found, inside the bell, she found a bright white lily with a deep green stem. Amazed at how he found a lily in the middle of winter sat dumbfounded. Then shivering, she pulled the large, brown jacket over her small body, noticing something in the pockets, feeling in one of the pockets she found a wrinkles, folded note that read ‘play hard, go far, and do not break your reeds!’ In the other deep pocket were two good reeds and the five pounds.
The funny and strange part thing is Nick never opened the black saxophone case before giving it to her.
In addition, Nick never set an ink pen to the paper to write the note.