A perpetually dark and stagnant cloud hung over the street that contained a young lady and various other people. She was walking through unfamiliar territory, searching for the site of her new job. She had just been hired to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, chosen to play 1st violin. Through a series of wrong turns, she had come upon a very sinister looking street.
          As she looked around, she saw many things which she found horribly disturbing and morally apprehensive. She ignored these people, staying on her present course, determined to reach her destination.
          This particular pedestrian was clad in all red. She was wearing a wonderfully plain red dress that extended almost precisely to the tops of her kneecaps, a pair of red velvet shoes, red-rimmed eyeglasses, and of course, a red violin case with her name engraved in gold letters. “Zoë”. As Zoë walked calmly past the people on the street, her long, straight, blonde hair swayed back and forth (ever so slightly). She was wearing not a tarnish of makeup, not even a touch of lipstick or mascara. She kept her slim lips closed and her disproportionately large eyes straight forward.
          Although her eyes remained facing forward, she did notice the people she was so nonchalantly passing by.

          The first person that caught her eye was a homeless person. As Zoë passed him, the homeless person uttered (almost incoherently), “could you spare five dollars, precious?” She did not answer the homeless man’s drunken request. She simply walked on by. Almost six or seven seconds later, she heard the sound of coins dropping into a cup. She imagined what the drunk man would do with his new found fortune of approximately two dollars and sixty-four cents. She figured that he would either go buy cigarettes or liquor.
          Zoë was wrong, however. In actuality, the homeless man went and bought liquor. Only liquor. Before he purchased his heavenly indulgence, he first had to blow his nose, brush the dirt off of his jacket, straighten his thinning hair, and tie the only shoe he had on, his left shoe. After he finished grooming himself, he proceeded to the corner liquor store and spent all but twenty of his cents on a cheap six-pack of beer. He then went on his way, ending up in an alleyway behind Dairy Queen. He quickly drank his six beers, got up, and then returned to his stop on the same street in which he had begun his day. He needed some more money fast. He was beginning to sober up.
          Zoë, after hearing the clinking of what was to become a myriad of liquor in a drunken man’s stomach, continued on her much squalid journey down the street. She knew that she would never have to resort to such harsh tactics as the homeless man had just done. She also knew that if, for whatever reason, she did have to resort to such tactics, she would not exercise them simply for the act of getting drunk.
          The fact that pleased her the most was the knowledge that she would receive a paycheck from the symphony in no shorter a period of time than one month. She had worked quite hard to earn the position she had just required, and she was ready to receive the fruits of her labor.

          With these delightful little thoughts whirring around her mind, Zoë passed by two more people. Both were socially-aware activists. One was a representative of Green Peace, the other a representative of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). Both were standing next to one another, each on their own personal soapbox. Both were yelling various cliches.
          “How would you like it if you were served with a side of mashed potatoes and some green beans?!”
          “Save the rainforests!!”
          “Animals have rights too, ya know. Just like humans!!”
          “Did you know they want to build a scientific research lab on what is currently twenty acres of forest in northern California?!”
          As Zoë walked by the two “concerned” individuals, she wondered what they would do when they got off their little boxes, went home, and tended to their families (if they even had families). What she was wondering was mostly true, except for the whole bi-sexual thing.
          The two outspoken individuals were actually friends who lived next door to each other in a quiet suburban area. Both had a wife and 2.5 kids. Both had white picket fences and a dog, the dogs having the names “Rover” and “Fido”. Both men expected a warm-cooked meal when they returned home from a hard day of work. If there wasn’t a warm-cooked meal already prepared upon their arrival, the men would lose it and get quite angry with their wives. If they had an especially hard day at work, they decided to take their aggressions out on their wives. They wouldn’t slap them more than eleven or twelve times, though.
          While this whole turn of events was taking place, the children of the men would hide either in their rooms or in the hallway closets. They would bring with them either their teddy bear, or possibly a pillow if they knew the fighting would continue for most of the night.
          At the end of the evening, the men would apologize to their wives, each blaming their behaviors on the high-stress environment of their jobs. The children would return to their rooms and get tucked in by the mother, still misty with tears and embarrassment. The men would return to work the next day, both returning to their soapboxes and both uttering mindless rhetoric they had been taught to say.
          When Zoë got far enough away that she could no longer her the two men, she was once again filled with a sense of joy, almost a sense of mirth. She knew that what she was going to do with her life was truly independent from everything else. There is no set rubric for playing the violin. Each violin player is different. There are no violinist seminars where violinists from all around the nation gather around to make sure that what they are doing is cohesive with what all the rest of the violinists are doing. More importantly, the music she was going to make was not intended to question people’s ways of life (quite unlike the job qualities of the two outspoken gentlemen). She was not asking people to give up what they felt was comfortable and convenient. Her music would be played for one reason: to evoke emotion and passion in those who chose to hear it.

          As she felt her purpose in life becoming even more clear and present, Zoë began to see a glimpse of the Chicago Symphony Center. As the classic Greek architecture of the Symphony Center and the contrasting urban landscape of downtown Chicago began to take better shape and form, a man began to shout loudly in her direction.
          “Have you followed the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?”
          Zoë ignored the rude man to the best of her ability. The man, however, was very persistent. He repeated the question. She ignored him once more. The man then stepped in her path and shouted directly into her face the same question.
          “No. No, I haven’t accepted his teachings.”
          “Well then, you must repent, my child, for you have sinned. You must accept all of our Lord’s teachings.”
          “No thanks.”
          “If you don’t accept his teachings, then whose do you accept?!”
          “I accept my own teachings. I set my own boundaries and rules.”
          “Oh, you poor, misguided soul. Let me teach you the way of the Lord.”
          “No, thanks,” she replied once more. “I’m late for my first day of work.”
          After stating her intentions, Zoë gently brushed by the man and continued on her way. As she walked away, she could still hear the man yelling at various pedestrians. She noticed how insincere his pleas sounded, and therefore how insincere his intentions must be. He was a “poor, misguided soul” that needed help. The help he needed, however, could not be found in any book, in any church, or in any person. What he needed could only be found within himself and found with his own effort. She knew that she could not tell him this was what he needed, however. She knew it was not her place.

          The sun began to bleed through the dark cloud that loomed above. It appeared as if the sun was following Zoë. Wherever the sun had just left, it had begun to rain, drenching all those she had just passed. The various sycophants, philanthropists, parasites of the state, and religious fanatics were frantically running in no particular order. They were simply running. Zoë didn’t look back, though. She was headed where she headed as a result of her own effort. Those behind her were stuck in the rain as a result of their refusal to think for themselves and to actually try and be an individual.

          Within each of their own personal universes, they might be content with being disillusioned, running blindly through the torrential rain that is life. Zoë would not be content with living a life such as those lived by those in complete chaos. She wanted to live a life of convenience and of placidity. A life whose successes would be created through her own efforts, not through the efforts of others. A life whose purpose would be not to serve others, but to serve herself.
          As Zoë progressed closer and closer to her self-determined destiny, she gave her first and only look back at the chaos behind her. She didn’t laugh in vengeance or whimper in pity. She simply continued to the first day at her new job. Zoë was going to make beautiful music.

© 2000 by Andrew Morgan