Palouse - 43. Epilogue 2

Epilogue 2

July 2001

It was five years later. It was New York City. Traffic was at a standstill on Seventh Avenue as Micah and David watched the taxi meter continue ticking away. They only needed to go four more blocks to 57^th Street and Carnegie Hall where they’d been earlier in the day for rehearsals.
“We can walk the rest of the way,” Micah said to the driver, handing him money to pay the fare plus a tip. He grabbed the clothing bag with his tuxedo in it and hopped out of the car, followed closely by David. He had left his Guarneri safely stowed at the concert hall. The two of them crossed through two lanes of stalled cars and their exasperated drivers, finally reaching the sidewalk where they turned north and started to walk in the last of the autumn sun.
They had walked about 100 feet when they heard a young male voice behind them: “Excuse me. Can you tell me how I get to Carnegie Hall?” The voice came from a brown-haired, good-looking boy, probably about 16 years old. Micah and David looked at each other and started to giggle.
“Oh-oh, I set myself up for the oldest musician joke that there is,” the youth said.
“That you did,” Micah said, as he looked at David. “First, you need a lifemate that supports you and pushes you and is happy when you succeed.” He kissed David warmly on the lips. “Practice – practice helps, also,” and they all laughed at the punchline of the joke.
“Why don’t you follow us? That’s where we’re going,” David said. “My name’s David, and this, as you may have guessed, is my lifemate, Micah.” The three of them started to walk up Seventh Avenue.
“I’m Steven Elmore, and this is the first time I’ve ever been to New York. I live on a farm outside of Findlay, Ohio. I just got off the bus an hour ago, and I got off the subway too early.” His eyes moved from David to Micah and back. “Are you, er, together?”
“Yes, we’ve been together for a few years now,” Micah answered.
“Someday, I’d like to be with someone,” Steven said longingly, his eyes bright and serious. “But it’s hard to find someone when you live on a farm.”
“I know. I was raised on a farm in Eastern Washington, but I was lucky enough to see the world, including this part of it,” Micah said as he put his arm around David’s waist.
The light dawned on Steven. “You’re that Micah! Micah Kingman! You’re my idol. I’ve read all about you.” Steven bounced with excitement. “This is awesome. I came here to see you play. Wow! I have only 11 hours to spend in New York before I catch the bus back home and I meet Micah Kingman in person. Wow! You and Jake Cantwell are my idols. Out, proud, role models.
“I can’t believe this – meeting you. You’re the winner of the Queen Elizabeth violin competition in Belgium.
“You played at the White House.
“You’ve played with the New York Philharmonic and the Cleveland Symphony.
“You played with Yo Yo Ma.
“You started your own charity, Yei Rainbow Guardian, to keep track of and watch over foster children with Navajo blood. Then you played a nationally televised special concert at Window Rock on the Navajo reservation to raise money for it.
“You accompanied Bono on his latest CD. You’re amazing.”
“Don’t let all that exuberance go to your head, Micah,” David said, laughing.
They turned onto 57^th Street and neared the concert hall. “Steven, I’m curious; why are you coming here so early in the day?” Micah asked. “The concert doesn’t start for several more hours. Most people don’t come here until just before the performance. ”
“I have to buy a ticket, and I thought if I got here early I might find someone who will sell one cheaply.”
Micah and David exchanged looks. Then, Micah said: “We have an extra ticket that you can have. You’ll have to sit with my family and some friends from Seattle, if that’s okay.”
“Hell, I’d sit with the hogs if I had to. Oops! I didn’t mean it that way.” Micah and David started laughing. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Steven said as David handed him a ticket. “How much do I owe you?” Steven looked at the price on the ticket and blanched.
“Hmm,” David said, putting his finger to his cheek in apparent thought. “You don’t owe us anything for the ticket. It’s a gift. However, you are required to accompany us to dinner after the concert so you can recite all of Micah’s accomplishments again for those who don’t know the list. Otherwise, Micah’s head might deflate.”
A sad look came over Steven’s face. “I…I don’t have any money for anything but maybe a piece of pizza and a Coke.”
“You have the rest of your ticket money. However, your money is no good at our dinner party.”
“You’re way too generous, and I have to catch the bus at midnight, so I have to say no.”
David turned to Micah. “I guess he didn’t hear me. I said he was required to come to dinner with us if he accepted the ticket.”
“Do you think we should ask for the ticket back?” Micah said.
“Okay, okay,” Steven said, joy spreading across his lean face. “But I hope there’s something cheap on the menu.”
“The dinner could end late, and, as I said, your money is not good tonight with us. Isn’t there a bus tomorrow that you can take?” David asked.
Steven looked embarrassed. “I don’t have any place to stay, and even if there was a place, I probably don’t have any money for a room except for some place I shouldn’t stay at. I used all my savings to come here.”
“Hmm,” David said, striking the same finger-on-cheek pose as he had done earlier. “We have a suite at the Waldorf with an extra bedroom, so I think having young Steven here stay there will be added to the price of the ticket. He’s a hard bargainer. What do you think, Micah?”
“I think this young man needs to call home and tell his parents that he will be taking a later bus. That’s what I think.”
An overwhelmed Steven started to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks despite the pure joy in his wide smile. Micah and David moved up to him and put their arms over his shoulder as they walked the last few yards to the stage-door entrance, with Steven between them.
“Everybody’s going to meet us right here after the concert, so either follow my folks and our friends or just come here on your own,” Micah instructed. “I have to get inside to get ready.”
“That was sweet of you, luv,” Micah said after the stage door had closed behind them. “That boy will never forget this day, and I hope he finds a lifemate as wonderful as you are to keep him warm and true for the rest of his life.”
“You know, Micah, I hope he finds someone to support him when he falters and is happy for him when he succeeds.”
“Just like you.”
“Yep.”
As the lights dimmed two hours later, the visiting Chicago Symphony opened with Beethoven’s Coriolanus Overture, followed by Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto and a standing ovation for Micah. Sitting on the aisle five rows back were Stan, Kat and Betty, who kept wiping the tears from her eyes as her son performed. Next to them were Marcia Vilas, an awe-struck Steven, Jake, and Robbie. The promise of seats at Carnegie Hall made years earlier was fulfilled. Next to Robbie was Micah’s and David’s final guest of honor, an elderly woman from Phoenix, Arizona, who closed her eyes and remembered a nine-year-old, half-Navajo boy and Poppa M., her late husband, listening to the same concerto on the stereo.
After the concert, Micah and David treated family and friends to a late supper at Windows on the World, where they looked over the lights of Manhattan as they ate, accompanied by a couple of bottles or three or four of Robbie’s and Jake’s favorite Pol Roger Winston Churchill Cuvee champagne.

End