Two nights ago I sang in the open mic session at Minard (the café, not the concert hall).

As I waited for my time, the heart managed to climb up the throat. Pressure. Fear. As expected.

I so want to sing. I want to take soulful songs and add to their spirit with my voice. I don’t want to write songs. I want to share what’s already been written.

I was scared. Would I remember all the words? Would I sing in tune? But two things were far more important:

I will sing with passion

I will get the audience to sing along during the chorus

The song is called MTA. It tells the story of the metro in Boston. Long ago the company decided to raise the fare from ten cents to fifteen. 50%!

There was about to be an election, and a fellow named George O’Brien decided to base his campaign on fighting the fare increase. But how to get people’s attention? “I’ll have someone write a protest song, and tell people to vote for me!” And that’s what happened:

Well let me tell you the story
Of a man named Charlie
On a tragic and fateful day
He put ten cents in his pocket
Kissed his wife and family
Went riding on the MTA

…

Charlie handed in his dime
At the Kendall Square station
And a change for Jamaica Plain
When he got there, the conductor told him one more nickel
Charlie couldn’t get off of that train!

Before I started, I told the audience I wanted them to sing. “The chorus shows up five times. Sing with me!”

I sang the song well. That’s good. But my heart soared when I heard the words flow back to me:

Did he ever return?
No, he never returned
And his fate is still unlearned
He may ride forever
‘Neath the streets of Boston
He’s the man who never returned

During the last chorus, we sang strong. I stopped after the word “Boston” and held out my arms.

The choir filled the room