What is this, this feeling inside of me? It feels like a mixture of anxiety and depression, maybe abandonment, though I don't know where that one came from. Anxiety 'cause I'm playing again, my first gig with my brothers in eleven years. Eleven years. When I met her. Lyla. I started thinkin' about her again since my girlfriend Jennifer left me. I don't even know why I started dating her. I went to Chicago, were a bio said she lived, but she wasn't there. I was about to go back to San Diego when I saw a boarding flight heading to New York. Maybe, just maybe. I went, I got the gig, now here I am, walking through the park thinkin' about her again, the lyrics of the song, her song, goes through my mind. A young black boy catches my eye as he runs toward a group of kids with instruments, yelling, "Yo, yo!" as he goes. I look over to the area where he just was, and there's another boy, standing on a little, round stone wall surrounding a tree. He looks mad. For some reason, I feel the need to go over and comfort him. Maybe 'cause we're feeling the same kind of feeling. He bangs the guitar he's holding twice in anger, then calms, and plays a little tune. He's good. Really good. His guitar case is on the ground, open. He's playing for money, I realize. I reach into my pocket to see if I have any change, and sure enough, seven, maybe eight quarters. I walk over to him as he plays with his eyes closed, fully engrossed in the music. His music. I take out the quarters and drop them in the box slowly as he pauses. His eyes open quickly when he hears the coins drop inside the guitar case. "Great sound," I tell him. "Thanks," he says hesitantly. "Gibson J 200?" I marvel. "Can I see her?" He looks to his left to a man with red hair and cowboy hat on at a phone booth. For a minute, he seems kinda scared. I chuckle a little bit. "It's okay. I'm a musician, too." He hesitates for another second, then sits down on the wall as we trade guitars. I examine his. It's in great shape. I play it a little bit, then test the neck. "Nice. See what you can do with mine." I smile a little bit as he put the guitar strap on, remembering how often I did that when I first started playing, making sure I didn't drop it. I play something on his guitar as a starter for him. He plays it back to me. He has a strange way of playin'. He doesn't strum the guitar, he bangs on the strings to get the notes. I play the same thing over, but add a little something. He plays the add-on back to me. We start this great jam session where, for the first time, I played for no reason, not to get heard by some girl I barely know, but am in love with anyway, not even to make my brothers happy or to make them think I'm happy, but just for the fun of it. After a few minutes, we end our little song. "You're good," he comments. I smile again. "Thanks. You're good, too. How long you been playin'?" I ask. "Six months." What? "Six months? Where'd you learn to play like that in six months?" I ask, confounded. "Julliard." He states. What? "Julliard?" Unbelievable. "Yeah. I have a concert tonight." I just look at him. "You reckon I should believe you?" He just looks right back at me. "Yes." He didn't even sound angry, but he did sound a little sad. I couldn't figure out why. "But I can't go." Maybe that's why. "Well, if I went to Julliard, and I had a concert, I wouldn't miss it for the world." He glanced back at the man at the phone booth. "But what something bad happened?" I look at him incredulously. This kid's really good, and he's gonna give up? I can't believe it. "You never quit on your music. No matter what happens. 'Cause anytime something bad happens to you, that's the one place where you can escape and just let it go. And anyway, look at me. Nothin' bad is gonna happen. You gotta have a little faith." I feel like I took my own advice before I even gave it, thinkin' about how he had given up, but he's come back to it. He smiled again. Wow. "I'm Louis." I feel this weird connection when I'm around this kid, I don't know what it is. But it's there. "I'm Ev-August. August Rush." Huh. "August Rush." I'll let it slide. "Cool name." He smiles back at me. "August!" someone yells. We both look back to the man with the cowboy hat. "Come on!" he urges. "Well, I gotta go," I say, like I'm sayin' it for him. We trade back guitars. "Bye." He says. I don't know why, but I have a weird feeling that August is afraid of this guy. I feel strangely protective, and I don't know why. I try to make feel like everything's ok as I leave, so I ruffle his hair as I say goodbye. I feel him watchin' me as I walk away, so I turn back to look at him. He whispers bye again, and I can't help but laugh, knowin' he doesn't want me to leave, and, frankly, neither do I. I start walking away, but I keep looking back at him. He finally gets up and follows cowboy hat guy, who's cowboy hat, I just realize, look strangely familiar. We look at each other one last time before I break the gaze and walk out of the park. I really hope the kid makes it to that concert of his. Hell, if I knew where it was, I might even try to get there, to be there for him if he shows up, but never asked where it was. What'd you gonna do, huh?