Eight Years Ago, Part 1

9:30 a.m., Saturday May 1st, 1999 — eight years ago today:

“That’s the last of the boxes, Mom!” I said as I walked through the front door of my parents’ house. It was spring cleaning day, and my job was to take junk out of the basement and bring to to Goodwill.

The older British man sitting in the kitchen looked at me with a somewhat perplexed expression as I poured him his cup of tea. He was my sister’s friend’s father, and he had come to pick up his daughter’s belongings. She had no place to store her stuff while she was off in Nairobi, and my sister had volunteered the space.

“Oh,” I said, realizing what he was looking at, “the purple hair. It’s an experiment.”

“It’s…er, jaunty,” he replied. “Really comes out on a sunny day like today. You don’t find it…shall I say, career-limiting, do you?”

“Not really. I’m a computer programmer, and I run my own business with a friend.”

“And your clients?”

“They don’t have a problem with it, either. In fact, I think it reassures them. They’re not just buying our services, they’re also buying a bit of that Wired magazine image, too.”

He smiled, and Mom entered the kitchen.

“Joey, is that accordion in the foyer yours?” she asked.

“Yes it is. Isn’t it a beauty?”

“It’s nice. I didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t. Not yet, anyway. Karl and I are going to try busking on the street today.”

“Really? What will you play?”

“I know some chords to some pop and rock songs. Simple stuff. We’re just going to try it out and see what happens.”

“Who’s going to sing?”

“It might have to be me. Karl seems to know only the lyrics to his own music.”

“You? Sing? Uh-oh…” she said with a smile.