Between The Beats by Foster Trecost

Commotion came from every direction. Even the lights seemed loud. The city buzzed like it was hiding something. A secret. And everyone knew it but me. Something rumbled beneath the sidewalk. A subway, though I didn’t know that then. I just remember the sound. How it rose through my shoes and settled in my chest. Like a warning. I was only a child, and it frightened me in ways I couldn’t understand.

Somewhere in the chaos, my mother’s hand let go. Maybe she saw someone she knew. Or something in a window. I never found out. But I kept walking. And she didn’t. When I turned around, she was gone. Vanished. Like a plane in the clouds.

But I didn’t allow myself to cry. Not yet. I was good at holding things in, even back then.

People moved past me in waves, their footsteps crashing against the sidewalk. I stood on the edge of it all, clutching a crumpled pack of crackers. I don’t remember where I got them. But they were all I had.

Then came the pigeon, curious and calm. It landed near my feet, almost like it had been sent. It winked with a red eye and stepped closer, unbothered by the noise. I held out a cracker and it tilted its head, as if weighing my offer. Then pecked it from my palm. Gentle. Careful. And I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

And for a few seconds, the city slowed down. The noise softened. Something inside me quieted. Not silence. It was deeper than that. Tranquility. Like the peace between beats. And I forgot, just for the moment, that I was lost. Because I didn’t feel lost.

Then there was a hand. At first it startled me, like an intrusion. But something about it felt familiar. My mother. She hugged me so tight, it hurt. But I didn’t mind. The pain proved I wasn’t alone. And the tears I’d been saving, I let them fall.

We started walking, her grip tighter than ever. I looked back for the pigeon. But it wasn’t there. Moved on, as pigeons do. But I never forgot what I had learned. Even now, when my surroundings get too hectic, I close my eyes and return to that moment.

To the pigeon. To the breath I was holding. To the hidden pocket of stillness.

There will be pauses. Peace between beats. You just have to find them.