The Café Robinson was an interesting little place in the heart and soul of Annapolis, Maryland. It was not nearly as popular as Rams Head Tavern or the well known 49 West Café, but it did have a unique following that neither of the two mentioned could claim. It was tucked away on Main Street in a place where most people would pass right by it if they did not know what to look for. They would be too busy admiring the beautiful brick roads and walkways to be able to notice such a building. It was down right ugly on the exterior. It looked to all its passersby like it was closed or under repair but the true beauties lay on the inside.
The Café was named by some as the “Sanctuary”, the Sanctuary of Arts that is. It was a place where one could expect to be moved by music on any given day of the week. The reason people were moved so much more by this unexpected location was because the artists were everyday people. You need not pay to see a special performer. This is where even the popular artists left their worlds behind so that they could really connect. This was where people who did not normally perform in public actually did. In general, people sang out loud more often than in other places and every artist was a new treat.
To top it all off, the café served bagels, coffees, teas, dinners, and local brews. You could even get breakfast, not a very good breakfast, but a breakfast served up with the best bluegrass, classical or rock in the area. The common person’s story told through art guaranteed that no meal would be the same.
But this is not the story about how the Café Robinson remained in business. This is about how a particular performer’s story is like no other. This is the story of Mr. Melvin Plymouth Brownstone.
It was about 10:46pm on Sunday February 27, 2005. The Café Robinson still had a considerable number of people for such a night. As those present sipped at their drinks, or merely held them near their mouths, they regarded the slender man on the far side of the building that played his dark-brown violin with enough passion to send chills down their spines. He was playing Antonin Dvořák’s Bagatelle No.3 without any accompaniment. Even without accompaniment he sounded amazing. This was Mr. Melvin Brownstone, a 27 year-old single man, employee of the local SunTrust Bank, and author of a short book titled ‘Home Street Home’, which examines the causes of homelessness and possible methods to reverse the problem.
Melvin could not help but notice a beautiful young lady standing next to the bar counter as he approached his favorite moment in the piece. She had dark curly hair, rich brown eyes, and the face of an angel. The sight of the wonderful woman ignited a fire in him that brought extra life to his performance. The stressed and accented beats received all due attention and the quickly falling notes that followed each descended like his heart into his chest as he played unconsciously for her. She took a seat at the stool closest to her and crossed her legs while warming her hands on a hot drink. Melvin went on playing until he reached the end, a diminuendo into silence.
The room filled with applause as he brought the stringed instrument away from his neck.
“Thank you!” Melvin returned as he switched his bow into the other hand and shook hands with the members of a trio that played prior to him. He took a bow. It took a while before the applause died down because they were so blown away. Soon the conversations resumed and Melvin secured his violin back into its case. He wrapped himself in his brown coat and buttoned it shut shortly before lifting his case and moving for the door.
Although most of the people paid Melvin no attention by that time, there was still at least one pair of eyes upon him. The beautiful woman from across the café watched him walk. Melvin, as observant as he was, knew good and well that she watched him. She even tried to give Melvin a smile, but he did not so much as look her way. He walked right by her. His eyes closed for a moment when she was behind him. Then just as quickly, he was gone. He went out the café door and into the cold rain. The woman turned to the door to see him leave.
At this time it might be good to mention that the beautiful girl’s name is May Hopkins, a 22 year-old Sociology student and lifelong lover of music.
By the time May finally decided to follow Melvin that night, all she saw was Mr. Brownstone’s car pulling away and heading up Main Street. She missed him already.
Melvin continued down West Street approaching Solomons Island Road. He could see the SunTrust Bank where he worked. It was a lone white building with right triangles protruding from its roof. Despite the interesting and impressive view from West Street, up close one could see that it is actually rather small and unremarkable as a building. Ironically, there was a SunTrust on Main Street also, and even one closer to where he was staying, right across from the mall, but that white building was his SunTrust.
Melvin was living with an old friend at the time in a place just off Admiral Drive for which he headed. He was taking a year off of school to get his financial situation in order. He already earned his A.S in Business Management but not yet completed his Bachelors in Accounting.
Melvin watched the wipers on his windshield move back and forth. He passed under the green light of Jennifer Road.
Suddenly, the worse thing that could possibly happen did happen.
A white Chevrolet Cavalier flew through the intersection and slammed into Melvin’s car so hard that both cars were no good and neither were the drivers. Melvin’s car actually flipped multiple times before it came to a stop. Glass filled the street as well as unidentifiable auto parts.
People gathered around Melvin’s car as one too many people dialed 911 from their cell phones to report the same accident. While people tried to free Brownstone from his wrecked car there was at least one person among the group that took his time giving aid. The man was dressed in a long black coat with a wide-brimmed hat. His face was undefined as he looked down over the wreckage. Time around the man of shadows froze before he kneeled down and pulled Brownstone through the broken side window. Melvin instantly woke up in the specters grasp.
“Who are you?” Melvin shouted after freeing himself. He looked down at the car and saw his own body mangled in the debris. “No!” He looked back to the shadow. “No! I’m not finished yet!”
“Is that so?” The Shadow Man asked. “Why are you not finished yet?”
“Because there are things I didn’t do yet. I feel like I just started!”
“You have been just starting for 27 years, Mr. Brownstone. You’ll be happier in you next phase of existence perhaps. Your time has expired.”
“But I’m just fine with my life right now. I’m happy with it!” Melvin retorted and the Shadow Man merely chuckled as he paced with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Very well, Mr. Brownstone. You seem convinced.” The Shadow Man turned. “…But I am not convinced. I will extend your stay, but if you have not proven to me that your words are sincere, I will return. If you do not find true happiness by February 29th and no later than mid-night that day, you will not be given another chance.”
Mr. Brownstone shook his head to agree with the Shadow Man. He did whatever it took to be brought back to life. Then the Shadow Man disappeared and everything around Melvin changed. All of a sudden he was back at the Café Robinson playing his violin.
Melvin’s performance was not as perfect this time because he hit a sour note upon arrival. After realizing where he was, he played off the gathering of his thoughts as a dramatic pause and improvised before moving on with the real piece. Most everything happened at that club the same way as before except for his actions. He behaved more aware of the fragility of human life. He actually gave back a grin to May before leaving the building.
Melvin stopped outside his car. There was no way he would climb back into his little Escort that night. You should take a cab home tonight, the Shadow Man’s voice echoed into his mind.
Melvin took the Shadow Man’s advice and took an Annapolis Yellow Cab. He never returned to his car that night. Instead he took a walk around the neighborhood thinking about what just happened to him. While the act did not help him understand, there was at least a little treat to ease his mind. In one of the buildings he heard a piano playing, even at that odd hour. He stopped and listened to the faint music for a moment. It sounded like Cuban piano, maybe Manuel Saumell Robredo. He was truly stopping to smell the roses, something he had not done in a long time.
When Melvin returned to his building he went straight to the calendar to see how long he had to satisfy the Shadow Man’s agreement. He looked at the month of February and realized that there was not a 29th of February that year! Had the Shadow Man made a mistake? Further investigation told him that there would not be a February 29th until 2008, which meant that he had been given 4 years to prove himself.
Melvin rested much better that night after making the discovery. On the following morning there rested a parchment sealed with black wax at his bedside. He knew it could have only come from one person, so he made haste to open it. The letter read.
To Mr. Melvin Brownstone,
Your car was stolen last night…
“Great!” Melvin grunted before he even finished reading the letter.
…but I understand that you were acting under my direction to avoid another fatality. For this reason I do not hold you accountable and have decided to reimburse you. I have replaced your vehicle with something suitable. The key is on the night table, and the vehicle is in your usual location.
Signed, Mort
Melvin found the key on the table as he was informed then he went out to the parking lot. Mr. Brownstone was stunned to find a BMW Z4 to his name. It was black of course. What other color would the Shadow Man choose? He examined the car and wondered if he could trust it. Could he really trust a car given to him by Death?
From that point forward things would be a little different for Mr. Brownstone. He was intent on forging himself into perfection. In the first months he laid down solid goals and values rooted in success and advancement. Once these values became actions and the actions became unconscious habits, he had almost forgotten about the binding agreement. No matter. Soon enough he was succeeding in just about every aspect of his life. He had finally gone back to college and finished off the remaining shreds of his Bachelors. He had gotten employed full-time in an accounting firm with avenues for advancement. He even got the apartment all to himself. By that time his old friend had moved out. One other interesting fact atop it all was that he was literally incapable of being killed. His agreement made it impossible for him to die until after his extension expired.
By the time all these goals became reality he realized that something was missing. The most important thing of all was beyond him. He was satisfied by his achievements, but he was not truly happy, in the Shadow Man’s sense of the word. The key that started the engine of happiness was not in place. Melvin realized that to be given more time was like its own curse. It was plenty of time to think, but barely enough to act. He had just figured this out when over 3 years had already passed. He knew that whether or not he was living in true happiness would be assessed on a pass or fail basis that he could not mock or hide.
It was January 18th 2008. Mr. Brownstone was walking in his neighborhood again in a manner similar to before. It was extremely chilly, but that did not stop him. He had been turning around the thought of whether or not he was truly happy all night long. If he was truly happy, he should not have to work so hard to convince himself, should he?
As Melvin passed an apartment something familiar caught his attention. He stopped and turned around. He heard a piano playing again. Come to think of it, he was in the same place as before and hearing the same piano.
“Well I’ll be…” A small grin found its way onto Melvin’s face when he recognized the piece. It was Un Sospiro by Franz Liszt. He gazed up at the window of the apartment as he absorbed the sounds of the rolling arpeggios. The shades were drawn shut, but light still emitted from them. Melvin exhaled as he approached the building. What was he doing? He was tending the rose garden as he had trained himself to do every now and then. He knocked at the door once the music came to a pleasant end. He wished only to congratulate the performer on the performance that made taking his walk worth it.
After a few seconds a woman opened the door. At that moment Melvin was not intentionally seeking to find an attractive woman, but he found one without a doubt. A familiar face, the lovely Miss May Hopkins, took him aback. Neither of them spoke because they did not need to. Each recognized the other to be someone they had seen but not spoken to on many occasions at the Café Robinson.
“Hello,” Melvin started.
“Hi,” May returned a smile.
“I was walking along outside, getting some fresh air, thinking about all kinds of things,” Melvin explained. “…The stresses of the day and the coming month. And I was having a weird thought, you know? I was wondering what true happiness is.” May looked on with curiosity as Melvin went on. “What is true happiness?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t answer the question at all. Then all of a sudden I hear a piano playing.” Melvin could see a black piano behind her. “When I heard you playing, I stopped and I just knew…” Melvin searched for the right words. “What I’m saying is, I think you just saved my evening. Thank you.”
“I remember you. Is your name Melvin?” She put forth the obvious. One of them had to sooner or later otherwise they would only talk at each other.
“It is.”
“This is amazing! Do you live around here?” Melvin gave a positive response, but mostly wondered why it was so ‘amazing’. The truth was, he had saved her evening over 3 years ago and she would never forget it. Not to mention that she had read his book and loved what he had to say. She invited him in.
Melvin knew instantly that he was in love with this girl. There was just something about her. Ever since he had laid eyes on her years ago, she had become that woman that every man knew all too well. The one to which all others were compared to and none could exceed.
May offered him a drink, told him about her life, and Brownstone did the same. It turned out that she was living with her aunt, but she was out of town for the weekend. She played for him a portion of a Chopin Nocturne and put an end to it before it became a mess. Then finally she started playing Brahms’ Hungarian Dance No.17, something intended for 4 hands. Melvin tried his best to be the upper melody on the piano, but he finally stopped and said, ‘wait right here’. He went back to get his violin, an instrument he was sure to be at least half decent on.
That was when the magic really started happening. They had so much fun playing the piece that an idea struck them. Why not play together at the Café Robinson? It sounded like a good idea. The next question came. What would they play? May gave a suggestion that Melvin could not refuse.
“Remember that Dvořák Bagatelle you played before? Well, ever since I heard you play it I’ve been working on the 5th one. That one would sound perfect as a piano/violin duet.” Melvin could almost kiss her, but it would be too bold of an action so soon. They were both very familiar with the piece though.
So the two of them began work on the piece on a regular basis. Needless to say, their get-togethers were not always about music, but much, much more. Their affections for one another grew more rapidly than either could anticipate. Finally they had a date set for their performance, none other than February 29th. ‘That’s fine’, Mr. Brownstone said when May said it was the best that she could do.
It was actually by the month of February that the Shadow Man began to reappear. He did not say anything, but he did make his presence known. Even on February 14th, Valentine’s Day, Mr. Brownstone saw the Shadow Man after his date with May. He left him a note that night stating that he had 15 days remaining.
The day had finally come. February 29th. It felt to Melvin Brownstone like the longest day of his life. A day to which he literally found Death at every turn. As he drove his car, as he spoke to people, and even amongst a cluster of people in the Café Robinson. Melvin was the only person that could see the Shadow Man, but death was among them all, able to tap any one of them on the shoulder.
“Good evening,” Melvin continued with all due confidence. Maybe the Shadow Man would like the performance too. “My name is Melvin. I play the violin in my spare time. And this lovely young lady is May. She’ll be accompanying me on piano.” He finished tuning his fiddle to the slightly flat piano of the café. It was not a problem as long as it was consistent. “This is our interpretation of Dvořák’s Poco Allegro Bagatelle.”
May began the opening tones of the lower register and shortly Melvin joined her in the catchy melody in which they traded exposure. Their dynamics grew together gradually as they created their wonderful music. To have May at his side was a blessing. His timing was always much better with her, and of course it sounded fuller, the way it was meant to be. The two of them met eyes for a moment during the slower part with the broken chord melody in the bass. The audience seemed to enjoy it and when they came to the end the room filled with applause. It was the most applause possible in such a small venue. May stood by Melvin’s side and they took a bow. They turned to each other and an instinct ran through Melvin. He took May in his arms and kissed her long and passionately in front of everyone. The audience seemed to like that even more.
The Shadow Man stood at the back of the building as he looked over at the clock. It was about a quarter past eleven pm. He took his black book up in his hands and flipped to the current page. He looked down at the name: Melvin Brownstone.
“He has found it. True happiness.” The Shadow Man scratched Melvin Brownstone’s name from the list. But the next name on the list read: May Hopkins. “Hmm…” The Shadow Man thought. “I liked that final performance.” He decided to scratch May Hopkins’ name from the list and move on to the next instead.
* * *
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