I glanced around a building on Frenchmen Street, toward the corner where TJ normally performed, and I saw everyone was in place. As I turned back around, Elliott was right next to me.

“All set?” he asked.

“All set.”

He nodded then turned around to everyone else standing behind him. There were hundreds of people there, all holding instruments, ready to perform. In true New Orleans fashion, the second Elliott waved his hand, everyone began to play and march.

The street filled with celebration as we proceeded together, dancing in the streets, waving ribbons, and singing loud and proud in the name of one person: Theodore James. As we marched in his direction, chills raced up and down my spine. The energy of the night, of such a wonderful city was surreal.

The moment we reached TJ, he had tears in his eyes as he scanned the crowd. The hundreds of individuals were his students. He’d touched each and every one of their lives with music, had taught them how to play, how to express, how to soar. He’d helped every single one of them tap into their magic. He’d helped each person find their truth.

As the music went on, each person danced up to TJ and placed a key in his lap. Tears spilled down his cheeks as all his students gifted him with a key out of love, respect, and honor. He grew more and more overwhelmed as the keys began to pile up. They were a reminder to him that even through the hard times, he was never alone. Even through the darkness, he always had a home.

Whenever I thought of home, I didn’t think of a place; I thought of people, the ones who shaped us into the people we were meant to become, the ones who loved us with our scars and told us those scars were beautiful, the ones who allowed us to make mistakes and still loved us fully.

TJ’s home was large and filled with light, and that night, he felt it fully.

When the music slowed down, everyone cheered his name. Just as TJ was about to speak, Frenchmen Street was filled with a sound that sent chills down everyone’s spines.

Elliott and his saxophone.

My stare moved to him, stunned as he began to play.

His sounds were so painfully raw, so real. The way his fingers danced across the instrument and summoned the notes made me want to break down into tears. I kneeled next to TJ, giving him comfort as he grew overwhelmed listening to Elliott play. Ray embraced Laura as she, too, fell apart to her son’s music.

I was overtaken by memories of Elliott as he played. He was a million times better than I remembered, and I remembered his music with each note…his music that healed me when I was young and taught me what it meant to be beautifully sad…his music that had shown me my way six years before when I was lost.

His music made the world soar.

“It’s our song…” TJ whispered, squeezing my hand. “Etta James, ‘At Last’…it was our wedding song,” he cried. “Did you know he was going to play it?”

“No,” I told him. “I didn’t even know he planned to perform tonight.”

Oh, Elliott…

I stood up slowly and cleared my throat, walking over to stand beside him. I closed my eyes and began to sing along. My words fell into harmony with the notes and bars that danced from his saxophone. I became wrapped up in his sounds as my voice sang the breathtaking lyrics.

I let go fully, giving myself to the music, giving myself to Elliott Adams and his soul.

Once we finished, the streets filled with silence, and Elliott’s hazel eyes locked with mine. My heart was beating at unknown speeds, and I wondered if his was doing the same. He walked over to me, took my hand in his, and lightly squeezed it.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always,” I replied.

He then walked over to TJ, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a key. As he handed it to the closest man he had to a father, he smiled. “I know you think you lost your music after the stroke, TJ. I know you’re lost, but look around. Look at all these people here, all the lives you’ve changed, all the lives you’ve saved.” He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with emotion. “You saved us all. You didn’t lose your music, Uncle TJ. Don’t you see?” Elliott explained, gesturing toward the crowd. “You are the music.”