Palouse - 14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Detroit – Late March 1989

A Few Weeks Later

Stan stood for a moment outside Gate 7 at Spokane Airport after seeing Micah and Betty onto the Northwest flight to Detroit for the National Young Violinists Contest. It had been months since Micah and she had been to a competition, so Betty was as excited as Micah for this cross-country venture.

Though Micah had traveled numerous times alone on planes between Spokane and Seattle, going across country to Detroit with a change of planes in Minneapolis was something more complicated. Micah had read the Northwest Airlines brochure in the seat pocket and knew what gate to head for to board the plane for the Minneapolis-Detroit leg, but Betty was anxious.

“Mom, I already figured it out. Don’t worry.” Of course, telling his mother not to worry was the wrong thing to say when he saw his mother drum her fingers on the armrest. He decided to say nothing more.

But Betty was worried about something else, assuming they made the connection in Minneapolis. They were supposed to be picked up at the Detroit Airport and escorted to the hotel where the competition would be held. But what if something happened and they were stuck at the Detroit airport? What if they got separated? Furthermore, Betty had promised to call home the minute they got to the hotel, so figuring out how to do that was yet another worry.

To Micah, Betty was overwrought and her concerns silly. They had instructions on what hotel to go to, and Micah figured they could find their way easily enough if no one met them; they could take a taxi, if necessary. He’d had to use a taxi once in Seattle to go to Jake and Robbie’s, so he knew what to do.

As it turned out, the flight part of the trip was uneventful. Micah had flown so much in the past few years that he was as bored as the seasoned travelers that populated many of the seats in the planes he’d been on, and he had learned how to entertain himself on airplane flights. His calmness served to steady Betty, as well.

So the trip to Detroit passed agreeably enough, and they were soon in the hands of a lean, tall, gray-haired man standing at the exit gate holding up a card with the name Kingman on it.

“That’s us,” Micah said, pointing to the sign. Of course, not much introduction was necessary; there was no mistaking a violin case and a 13-year old, half-native-American boy accompanied by his mother. Samuel Frere introduced himself as Micah and Betty came up to the sign.

“We’ll get your luggage and take you to the hotel,” Samuel Frere announced.

The hotel was in the Renaissance Center in the heart of Detroit. Mr. Frere checked them in and took them to a room on the 26^th floor using the glass-sided elevator that rose through the spectacle of the atrium. The experience that the architects intended from the elevator ride was not lost on Micah or Betty. Samuel Frere saw Micah and Betty into their room, which contained two queen-sized beds. He asked Micah to join the other contestants for dinner after he got settled and informed Betty that the parents would be meeting for dinner at a reserved space in the hotel restaurant.

“Could you meet me in the lobby in half an hour, Micah?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

After Samuel Frere left, Micah put his suitcase on the stand, set his violin case in the closet and then explored the room, pushing down on the side of the bed, opening and closing the curtains, clicking the television on and off, checking out the shampoo in the basket in the bathroom and looking in the mini-bar. Betty wanted to do the same, but she didn’t want to appear to be a teenager. The half hour passed quickly, and Micah descended the elevator to the first floor. In the meantime, Betty sat at the desk trying to figure out how to use the telephone for a long-distance collect call to Stan.

Several other contestants had joined with the other contest officials, and the group headed to the hotel’s restaurant. Dinner gave the contestants a chance to learn something about each other. Each was asked to say a few words. The other contestants came from prestigious big-city music schools in places like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and Cleveland .

“I live in a small town in Eastern Washington in what is called the Palouse country,” Micah said when it was his turn. “I started playing the violin when I was nine. Besides music, I like reading, writing, mathematics and basketball. I have five brothers and sisters. I’m adopted.”

“How big is your town?” someone asked.

“About 500 people, I would guess.”

“How many are in the, what did you call it, Endicott Symphony Orchestra – four?” another contestant remarked with a snicker; Micah did not miss the air of condescension.

What the other contestants didn’t realize was that Micah’s passion for music and sense of challenge translated into competitiveness, and Micah vowed to increase the intensity of his contest performance.

Across the atrium, Betty was experiencing a similar putdown. Her finest clothes were small-town clothes from Penney’s. The other parents wore garments from the fine clothing shops in New York, Chicago, San Francisco and the like. Betty’s descriptions to them of the Endicott farm met with faux-interest, and they assumed that her son had been picked because of his Navajo heritage that they had read about in the contest’s brochure. At the end of the dinner, Betty hoped her reaction would translate to her son’s effort to win the competition.

She didn’t need to worry. Micah, for his own competitive reasons, increased the intensity of his performance, and he won the contest in a walkaway, performing Paganini’s Caprice No. 1 in E. The victory in the most prestigious youth contest in the country instantly put him at the top of the nation’s young violinists – and not incidentally garnered him a $5000 honorarium. Micah didn’t know it at this time, but his first-place finish would earn him invitations to perform as a soloist with symphonies – youth and otherwise – throughout the country. He would enjoy the challenge of learning many of the fine works for violin and orchestra, though he most wanted to play the Mendelssohn concerto in honor of Poppa M. Because of his victory, he now was afforded several opportunities to do so.

Micah, a soon-to-be 14-year old, also would gain invitations to meet with the superstars of violin performance – Isaac Stern, Joshua Bell, Itzhak Perlman, Midori.

* * * * *

Every square of the kitchen calendar that Betty kept for Micah became full with the usual lessons, practice, rehearsals and performances but also with new, solo-engagements that grew out of his win in Detroit. She assumed the role of Micah’s agent, posting a calendar on the kitchen wall and maintaining it. Micah’s life became a daze of movement – travel in cars, airplanes, travel to school and lessons – and always practice. His life was governed from the time he woke up each day until the time he was allowed to go to bed, as he reflected years later while reminiscing with David Stirling about their pasts.

“I wouldn’t want your life,” Greg said one night in the few minutes they were able to talk across the darkened bedroom before going to sleep. “You’re my brother, but I realize I really don’t know anything about you – about what you’re thinking, who you like at school, what you do for, uh, sex, what you want to do besides play that damned violin. We used to talk; we used to shoot some hoops down at the barn – at least, sometimes – but now…nothing. You’re like a stranger that shows up in this bedroom most nights and falls immediately to sleep. You don’t have a life, you realize. Are you sure this is what you want, Micah?”

“I…guess so. I guess I don’t know anything else.”

“Come over here,” Greg said, patting the side of his bed. “I’ll give you a backrub. I’ll give you some human contact. That’s one thing you’re missing.”

Micah crossed the room and slid into Greg’s single bed. He felt Greg’s hand reach under his pajama tops and gently rub his back. He sighed with pleasure. It was as if he needed only physical contact to comfort him – a need that never showed up in the squares of the calendar. He fell asleep and woke with Greg’s arm thrown across his back.

“Thanks, Greg,” he said quietly, not knowing if his brother was even awake enough to hear him. I’ve been missing something important, he thought to himself. What he felt was a primal need for touch, for human warmth, for what he missed as an infant, toddler and child in foster homes – until he arrived at the McDougalls.