Stretto
Stretto
Stretto: Pertaining to the fugue, the overlapping of the same theme or motif by two or more voices a few beats apart.
“Those passengers traveling with us on flight 198 to San Francisco, your flight has been delayed due to air traffic. The new scheduled departure is 6:45 pm. We do apologize for the inconvenience.”
Grace Lee kept brushing her straight, shiny black hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear so she could glimpse at her father. He sat beside her holding his black and silver phone wearing his grey sport coat, crisp white shirt and grey slacks. This trip would be the most time they had spent together in months. Would they find anything to talk about?
He looked at her, shrugged, and said, “We’ve got stuff to do,” and went back to studying his phone.
Mr. Lee was a big time corporate lawyer who traveled to his offices in Chicago, San Francisco, New York, Hong Kong and London 200 days out of every year. Grace’s mother, Dr. Lee, worked in the city, although she may as well have worked in Hong Kong or London given how often Grace actually saw her. Most of the time, Grace and her brother, Nelson, inhabited their enormous, clean, shiny apartment alone, perched high above the city. Grace understood that fifteen year old brothers generally wanted nothing to do with their eleven year old sisters, so she stayed out of her brother’s way. They each spun around their own axles. Grace saw her family from a distance, as if she were viewing them through a telescope. She could see their colors, shapes and movement, but she had no idea if anything was happening underneath the surface of each planet.
Her dad was right, though. Grace did “have stuff to do.” She had to worry about her upcoming Juilliard audition, do her homework, worry about her Juilliard audition, read, and worry about her Juilliard audition. At her last audition, almost a year before, she had played everything perfectly. Every. Single. Note. The evaluators acknowledged that she chose an unusually advanced piece for a ten year-old. Still, they didn’t accept her into the exclusive Saturday program. Although Grace demonstrated “technical mastery,” they said her playing “lacked interpretation.” “Perhaps with another year or two of practice and maturity,” they said, “she’d be able to “express herself more thoroughly through her music.”
The evaluation crushed Grace. Playing music was the only outlet available to her for expressing herself. It’s what motivated her to put in the long hours practicing. Playing the piano was Grace’s version of talking, laughing, crying, and yelling.
Her next audition was four weeks away. Even though Grace possessed full physical command of her audition piece, her hands never rested. She constantly tapped out the notes of the beastly concerto she was playing. The other part, though, the interpretation, she wasn’t sure about.
It’s not that she didn’t have interesting thoughts and feelings to express. She not only read a ton of books, but often made up her own stories about civilizations hidden in remote forests. She tried to figure out how each member of her family felt at the end of each day based off of their body language and tone of voice. She puzzled over what made some kids at school so confident and popular, and other kids so invisible. She worried about the world collapsing into war or simply becoming uninhabitable because of the climate crisis. It felt like her mind never rested. She just wasn’t accustomed to sharing what was inside of her. Like the rest of her family, she didn’t talk much. Lack of expression was a Lee family tradition. Her emotions stayed sealed up inside her, trained to stay put.
But now she needed a way to coax them out. Grace knew that in order for her to express herself through her music, she had to figure out how to express herself in general. She watched the world around her for clues about how to do this.
He stumbles, He falls
To the outside observer, tripping in the corridor of the airport was a forgivable, clumsy incident, but Sam knew better. He used to be an athlete, a body conscious individual who rarely made clumsy mistakes. And yet, there he was lying face first in the middle of the hallway of a busy airport.
As soon as his hands and knees hit the floor, the flow of traffic behind him halted. He heard the squeaks of rubber soled shoes stopping suddenly, and a slushy mixture of gasps and exclamations of “Oooh, are you alright?” coming from at least ten different people around him.
Then he heard a high pitched beeping sound. An airport car pulled up next to him. Sam sat up cross-legged like a kindergartener and put his thumb up in the air. The crowd dispersed upon seeing that someone in uniform was attending to the fallen man.
The driver looked down at him and said, “Are you alright?”
“Can a brother get a ride?” Sam said with a sheepish smile.
“Of course. What gate are you going to?” asked the driver.
Sam fumbled for his boarding pass. He found it in his pocket and looked down at it. Oh yeah! “E9,” Sam said with a chuckle, “which also happens to be my apartment number.”
“Well, I can’t take you to your apartment, but if you want to hop on, I’ll take you to your gate. You sure you’re alright?”
“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” answered Sam with a smile. No problems here. Just a few dozen tumors eating away at my brain. No big deal. Nothing anyone can do about it. Keep moving. Keep smiling. Enjoy yourself.
First encounter
A man dropped into the seat beside Grace. He probably only weighed 140 or 150 pounds, but he fell into the chair with the velocity and force of a 300 pound man.
“The weary traveler arrives at his stop,” the man stated. Then he closed his eyes and rested his chin against his chest. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes, looked over at the gate, and then asked her father, “Excuse me, sir, I see that it says our flight is delayed. Did they happen to make an announcement about how long it will be until we leave?”
Mr. Lee responded, “They said we’re supposed to leave at 6:45, but we’ll see.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Grace saw the man notice her textbook, Uncovering the Past: Mesopotamia, bouncing on her lap to the beat of her squeaking sport sandal.
“Hammurabi’s code,” the stranger stated. She looked up at him. He nodded at her book. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That is one of the two things I remember learning about ancient Mesopotamia. That and ziggurats, because who can forget a word like ziggurats?”
Grace gave him a polite smile and zipped up her orange sweatshirt. Her knee stopped bouncing momentarily.
He reached inside his corn colored sport coat and pulled out a red handkerchief. He wiped his forehead and the back of his neck. He’s quite sweaty, Grace thought. Why is he so sweaty? The air conditioning is blasting.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I know, it’s strange that I could actually be hot in this ice box. It wasn’t an easy trip through security and then all the way down here to the gate. Between long lines, tripping in the hall and almost getting run over by one of those airport cars, I wasn’t quite sure I was going to make it. But here I am.”
Grace’s father looked up from his phone at the man and gave him an awkward little smile. Then he turned his attention to his daughter. “Grace, do you want to get something to eat before we board? It’s a long flight — ”
“Five hours and 13 minutes,” Grace and the talkative stranger stated at the exact same time. Grace whipped her head around to the right.
The man bowed his head. He laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…You should get something to eat. Your dad’s right. It is a long flight. And if you buy something here, it will be mediocre tasting and mildly expensive, as opposed to the snack boxes on the plane which are awful tasting and exorbitantly expensive.”
Mr. Lee, perplexed about why this stranger continued to talk to his daughter, said, “True. Come on, Grace. There’s a Wolfgang Puck just down the hall.”
“Voolfgang!” the man announced in an exaggerated Austrian accent. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”
Mr. Lee gave a polite chuckle and motioned for Grace to get up and walk away with him. “Funny guy,” said Mr. Lee as they stepped over the tangle of legs and luggage on their way to the clearing in the corridor.
Grace looked back. The man’s head hung heavily. It looked like he was whispering to himself and smiling. He is funny, she thought. Not really ha ha funny, kind of strange funny.
Music From the Ballroom
Sam slept late his first morning at the Palace hotel. He woke up at 11:00 am, showered, shaved, and put on one of his three linen suits — the light blue one. He chose to wear a light yellow short sleeve button down shirt, and he even selected a dark blue bow tie to top off the whole ensemble. Even though cancer made his insides repulsive, he was determined to keep his outside appearance stylish until he couldn’t anymore.
Rather than continuing the radiation therapy that wasn’t working and having his blood drawn every two weeks at his oncologist’s office, Sam sold off and donated most of his belongings and decided to trade in his old jeans, concert T-shirts, and Old Navy button downs for seven sharp, yet comfortable ensembles.
He went to Brooks Brothers for the first and last time in his life. Arriving as soon as the store opened, Sam befriended a classy, middle aged salesman named Walter. Sam explained his plan: “Listen, Walter, I need seven ensembles that I can wear as complete outfits or that I can mix and match depending on weather. I’m spending the rest of the Spring and possibly the Summer seasons in San Francisco. Money is not an issue. I totally trust your aesthetic sensibility. I’ll only offer my input about comfort level.” Sam added, “Also, I need you to suggest the most appropriate luggage for my new wardrobe.” Thankful for the license to design this customer’s wardrobe, Walter was also kind enough to go online to help Sam pick out the perfect hanging bag and rolling suitcase.
Two weeks later, wearing one of his linen suits, Sam ate a solitary, light breakfast in the hotel’s Garden Court cafe. When he finished, he paid the bill, slowly rose from the table, and steadied himself. He sighed knowing this was a day to move slowly.
He peered down the corridor and saw a placard that read “Gold Ballroom.” He wasn’t in any shape for dancing, but maybe he’d catch the staff setting up for a wedding or something. That could be interesting. He’d never have one of his own, so he might as well revel in other people’s happy events. He had a couple of hours to kill before his sister, Gali, was scheduled to pick him up. Sam looked forward to seeing Gali, but he needed to fortify himself against whatever emotional tidal wave she might throw at him.
He walked close to the right side of the corridor wall, just in case. Then Sam saw the father and daughter from the airport emerge out of the intersection of two hallways.
The girl and her father opened the oversized ballroom door. She had books tucked under her arm. The door floated shut behind them. Sam walked a few steps further. Seconds later, only the father re-appeared out of the ballroom, eyes on his phone. He walked away briskly.
Something else emerged from the ballroom, only this something was invisible. Music. It squeezed its way through the cracks in the walls and doorway. Scales ripped off a piano with astounding speed. For a solid five minutes, Sam stood stock still and let the musical notes swim past him in the hallway. The music transported him back to his apartment in New York City.
Sam had lived directly above a concert pianist. Her rehearsals provided the soundtrack for his life. When Sam was stuck at home lying on the couch during his first foray into cancer, the music, complex and rich, lent beauty to the ugly episode in his life. It allowed Sam to feel like a character in his own movie. One who would weather his battle with dignity and emerge victorious in the end. The movie didn’t turn out that way, but the soundtrack had been great.
Sam needed to sit. He spotted a chair in the hallway across from the ballroom door.
Fast and furious notes continued to fly through the air. Every once in awhile, a few measures repeated two, three or four times, the way one might run a paint roller over a spot on the wall to make sure the color found its way into each bump and crevice. Sam lost himself in the music. Listening to it made him feel like he was dancing without having to leave the chair. For a few moments, he forgot that dancing was out of the question.
After about an hour, the music stopped. A hotel employee walked by. “Excuse me,” Sam asked, “do you have the time?”
“It’s almost noon.”
“Oooh, I better get going. I have to be in the lobby in 15 minutes!” Sam said with a start.
“Sir, the lobby is just down this hall and to the right,” explained the employee.
“I know,” Sam said slowly rising to his feet.
When he arrived, he saw his sister sitting in a taut, anxious position. She looked to the left, checked her phone, looked to the right, and then saw Sam. She made the nonverbal, wide-eyed hands in the air signal for “There you are! Where have you been? Don’t you ever answer your phone?!?” Once he made it down the hall, she embraced him.
“Gali, hi, I’m so sorry. I totally lost track — ” Sam started.
“Hi, Sam. Come on. It’s 12 o’clock. I called you three times! We have to get back. Brad has to leave for work.”
“I’m really sorry. I finished breakfast, and then I heard this girl playing the piano — ”
“Tell me about it in the car,” Gali said as she beelined toward the lobby’s exit. She whipped around in the rotating door so fast that the door hit Sam on the back of his heels sending him smashing into the glass at the front of the wedge-shaped enclosure.
The doorman blurted, “Oh Jeez! Careful! Sir, are you okay?”
His exclamation caught Grace’s attention as she stood by the elevator waiting to head back up to the 5th floor. She saw Sam propped diagonally between the two panes of glass, scrambling to regain his balance. The woman just outside of the revolving door exclaimed, “Dude! Sam, what happened? Are you okay in there? Come on. We really have to — ”
The elevator door opened. Grace stepped inside and thought, That was the funny guy from the airport.
The second encounter
The next morning, Sam woke up at 6:30 am, but he lay in bed for a long time drifting in and out of sleep and dreams. He didn’t have to get up. He could stay in bed all day, and he was trying to find within himself the “should.” I should get up, Sam thought, because that’s what living people do.
What about dying people? What was the difference right now between living and dying? Dying was the act of marching, or in his case, tripping his way to the finish line. Didn’t people always live until they died? Everyone was living and dying. Including him.
I should get up, he told himself, because that’s what living-dying people do. Keep it moving. No point in wallowing.
Sam performed the same routine as the day before, minus the shaving. This time, he chose a sweater vest instead of a sport coat. He looked in the mirror before leaving his room. I look like a golfer, he thought.
Again, Sam headed downstairs to the Garden Court Cafe. He ordered something different for breakfast — Brioche French Toast with amaretto berries, whipped ricotta, and toasted almonds. If all goes well, Sam thought, I’ll have the chance to try everything on the menu at least once. That was something to look forward to.
After breakfast, Sam told the waiter to charge the meal to his room, and then he rose steadily to his feet. He felt heavy, like there was a pound of sand in each of his limbs. Maybe that would keep him more securely anchored to the ground, less clumsy. Probably not. Sam decided to attempt a stroll down the same corridor as the previous day.
He looked around the lobby as he emerged from the cafe, and there they were again — the father and daughter from the airport! The father was dressed in a grey suit, like the one he wore in the airport, but a little shinier, like it was wet. In contrast, the girl wore a T-shirt and a pair of hiking pants which appeared to have the capability to transform into shorts if she simply unzipped around each leg just above the knee. The dad gave the girl a high five with his free hand (the other hand, of course, was holding his phone). She also had only one hand free because she was holding a spiral bound notebook and a red folder. Sheet music peeked out of the folder.
Sam walked toward the mismatched father-daughter pair until he was standing awkwardly close to them. “Well, hello, airport friends!” he said.
The girl looked up at him with a stoic expression. Then a little smile crept upon her lips. She almost let out a giggle, but thought better of it.
The father swung his head toward Sam. The tension in his jaw communicated that he was, at the very least bothered, and, more likely, disturbed by the interruption. How was it possible that of all the millions of places in San Francisco, this strange man was staying at the same hotel as him?
Sam thrust out his hand toward the father. “I should introduce myself if we’re going to keep bumping into each other like this. I’m Sam.” He waited a surprisingly long amount of time for the man to shake his hand. Finally, Mr. Slick Grey Suit took Sam’s hand, pumped it once and then let go. Turning to the girl, Sam asked, “Did I hear you playing the piano yesterday in the ballroom?” She nodded yes. “Wow! Really impressive. I’m sure you know, Mr…”
“Lee.”
“Mr. Lee, your daughter is so talented. Truth be told, I was walking down the corridor yesterday, and I heard music pouring out of the ballroom. There happened to be a chair in the hallway, so I sat down to listen. I was so taken with the music, so…arrested by it, that I was late to meet my sister!”
“Well, thank you, Sam. Grace is quite talented. She’s trying to get into a program at Juilliard, and she really must practice everyday. The hotel staff was very kind to allow her the use of the piano in the ballroom for the duration of our stay. If you’ll excuse us, I really must go. I have a meeting.”
“Of course. Nice to see you again. Have a good day,” Sam replied. He turned slowly and walked toward a cushioned leather loveseat about 50 feet away.
Mr. Lee watched Sam retreat. Then, he looked at Grace and asked, “You’ll be okay?”
Grace nodded. With that, Mr. Lee turned and walked out of the lobby. His timing with the revolving door was impeccable. He orbited through the exit without ever touching the glass while continuing to type on his phone and reach for his rental car keys. Sam watched the whole thing. Dammit. Amazing, he thought. Not fair.
Grace also watched her father go, only she regarded his departure with resignation rather than awe. After Mr. Lee disappeared into his black shiny car, Grace turned to head toward the ballroom. Sam called out to her as she walked past him, “Are you going to practice now?” Grace nodded. “Would you mind if I listened again? I’m happy to sit outside the ballroom. I don’t have anywhere to go right now, and I’d consider it a real honor.”
With a shrug of her shoulders, Grace answered, “Okay. You don’t have to sit in the hall. There are chairs inside the ballroom.”
Shimmering gold curtains hung on either side of the eight foot windows inside the enormous room. Ornate golden trim framed soaring cream colored walls. “Wow! Look at this place,” Sam remarked. “It’s so…majestic, don’t you think?”
Grace looked around the room. She hadn’t noticed all the decoration yesterday. She looked back at Sam and shrugged. Shrugging was a habit for Grace, especially when people asked her how she felt or what she thought about something. She never knew how to answer, and she never understood how other people could answer questions like that so automatically.
Grace walked her thin, athletic frame directly to the shiny black grand piano in the far corner. Her hiking pants made a swishing sound, and her sandals squeaked. She lifted the lid and propped it up with ease.
Sam dropped into a chair and sat with his back against one of the towering walls on the extreme opposite side of the space. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
Grace began with scales again. Warming up really was a physical exercise for her, not a mental one. As her fingers and wrists loosened, her mind drifted. She found it slightly thrilling that a stranger wanted to listen to her practice the piano. She wanted to give him a good show.
When her warm up ended, Grace started the real practice. She opened her folder and took out her sheet music. Prokofiev, the beast. The beautiful challenging dragon she needed to slay; and slay it she would. She had an audience now, and she would not stumble before him — them — Sam or Prokofiev.
Sam stared at Grace’s back while she played. Her body and movements appeared mechanical from his vantage point. She maintained a steely posture, and her fingers and wrists and arms moved like cogs in a machine. Every note called the following notes forward like an army rising up to challenge Grace right there in that moment. She executed them, if not with ease, at least with calmness and confidence. Grace did not strike Sam as one who bowed to the impending army easily.
Sam wouldn’t have known if she made a mistake, but it sounded to him like she possessed complete technical mastery over the piece. Yet, he found himself listening for something else, trying to find something between the notes. A reason. An explanation. A connection between one note and the next.
Grace played for an hour, maybe an hour and a half; and then she stopped. She reached up, folded her sheet music and tucked it back into her folder. The end of the rehearsal struck Sam as abrupt. He couldn’t help but notice that Grace’s facial expression was exactly the same now as it was when she began playing.
“So, what now?” Sam asked.
“I’m done practicing for today. Now I wait for my dad to finish work.”
“What will you do while you’re waiting?”
Grace shrugged. “Order lunch. Read. Do some homework.”
“Well, thank you for letting me sit here and listen.”
Again, Grace shrugged. “You’re welcome. I’ll be practicing here at the same time each day until Friday. If you want to listen again, you can.” That was dumb, thought Grace, I’m sure he has better things to do.
“Thank you. I think I will. I should be here until Friday.”
“Maybe we’ll be on the same flight back to New York.”
“No, I’m not going back to New York.”
“Oh. You moved here?”
“…Sort of. Yeah, I guess.”
Grace nodded and tried to think of something else to say. “Are you going golfing today?”
Sam looked at her quizzically. “I’m sorry?”
“Are you — ”
Looking down at his outfit, Sam said, “Oh! It does look that way, doesn’t it. No. No golf for me today.”
Grace nodded again. She wasn’t sure what to say next. Finally, Sam broke the silence. “My sister is dropping off my nephew in about 20 minutes. He’s bringing his chess set with him. Do you play?”
Grace nodded. “In school. We have to.”
“He learned in school, too. Now he’s on a chess team. Goes to tournaments and everything.”
Grace only had two uncles. One lived in South Korea, and the other lived in Alabama. She never saw them. It sounded to her like Sam knew a lot about his nephew.
“I guess it’s time to get up,” said Sam after another minute. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Grace said, not sure if she was wishing him luck for the chess match or for something else.
Sam rocked his upper body back to get a little momentum. Then, he leaned forward and shifted his weight onto his legs, but this motion did not result in him standing. “Hmm,“ uttered Sam, “that didn’t work the way I thought it might.”
“Try again,” said Grace. As she watched him sway back again, Grace thought about all the times she saw notes on a piece of sheet music, read them, understood them, could even hear them in her head, but could not get her stubborn hands to play them correctly. She would go back and try again and again until the notes flowed from her brain, down her arms, through her wrists and out of her fingertips. She didn’t know why Sam was having trouble standing, but she figured he just needed to break through some sort of body-brain barrier. It took a few tries, but he finally made it to his feet.
Grace moved ahead to open the door for him. Sam looked her directly in the eyes and said, “Thank you, again…for the music. And now the door. You really are a very kind person, you know.” Grace looked down and shrugged again.
The two walked out of the ballroom and toward the lobby. Sam stumbled a few times. It looked to Grace as if one of his feet just didn’t lift high enough, which caused his toes to drag behind him. Each time he stumbled, he caught himself with one hand against the wall, brought both feet to the ground side by side, and stood still for a moment to reset.
When Sam stopped, Grace paused alongside him.
Just as Sam and Grace reached the lobby, Gali and her son, Charlie, came spinning through the revolving door. Sam waved to them. He turned to Grace and asked, “Would you like to join us? You can play the winner if you want. I mean, I know he’s younger than you, but he’s like this funny little genius. You’d probably like each other.”
“Hi Sam,” Gali said in a breathy, rushed manner. “I have to run. I’ll pick up Charlie at 5. Is that okay?”
“Gali, Charlie, this is Grace. Grace, this is Gali and Charlie. Gali is my sister, and she is, as usual, in a rush,” Sam explained. “And Charlie, here, is a chess master.”
“No I’m not,” Charlie said.
“In training,” clarified Sam.
“Sorry, it’s true, I am in a rush. But nice to meet you,” Gali said smiling at Grace and placing one hand on the top of Charlie’s head. “Charlie, I’ll see you at 5. Let your Uncle Sam win at least one game, okay? We don’t want to shatter his sense of self or anything.” Gali quickly wrapped her arm around Charlie’s shoulder and gave it an energetic squeeze. Then she turned around and swiftly walked back out the revolving door.
“So, Charles? Ice cream sundaes and chess?” offered Sam. “And you, Grace? Would you like to join us?”
Of course she wanted to, but she said, “No thanks. I’d better head upstairs in case my dad calls. He usually does around 1.”
“Okay,” said Sam. “Feel free to join us after you talk to him. Either that, or I’ll see you in the ballroom tomorrow?” Grace nodded, turned and walked toward the elevators. When she looked back, she saw that Sam’s arm was around Charlie’s shoulder. She wondered if they would just eat and play chess, or whether they actually talked to one another. Sam seemed to like to talk. I wonder what they talk about, she thought.
Sundaes and Chess
“I see you’ve learned to attack the middle of the board. Smart. If you control the center, you, most likely, control the game,” Sam stated.
“Mmhmm, that’s what my chess coach says,” Charlie answered.
“So you’ve started playing in tournaments?”
“Yeah, a few.”
“And how are they going?”
“I like playing, but I don’t win. Unless I get a bye.”
Sam smiled. “Nothing wrong with enjoying a bye once in awhile.”
Charlie shrugged and moved a pawn. Then, looking up at Sam, he asked, “Why are you dressed so fancy?”
“Oh, well, I decided to get rid of all my old ratty clothes and buy some new fancy outfits that I can wear for the rest of my life.”
“The rest of your life?”
“Yeah, it’s simpler that way. Less choices, but better choices.”
Charlie bobbed his head with understanding. “I basically wear the same thing everyday. I get it. My clothes won’t last me for the rest of my life, though.”
“Well, you have a much longer journey ahead of you than me, my friend,” Sam answered. He picked up his chocolate sundae and scraped what was left of the hot fudge at the bottom of the glass dish.
Charlie pushed his brow down toward his eyes and lifted one side of his mouth with an unconvinced expression. “You’ll probably have to replace a few things along the way.”
“Nope, I don’t think so,” Sam answered. Silence. White pawn to E6. Black bishop to F3. “My clothes will last,” said Sam. “Hey, can I tell you something? It’s kind of a secret and kind of not. I mean, it’s a secret right now, but it won’t be for long. I just want to tell you first. It’s pretty serious.”
“Are you getting married, or something?” asked Charlie.
“What? No. I have cancer.”
“You had cancer,” corrected Charlie.
“Yes, I did — ”
“When I was 6,” Charlie remembered.
“I have it again,” explained Sam. “Well, actually, I’m not really sure that it ever went away.” Charlie looked up from the chessboard and gave his uncle a skeptical look. Sam continued as if he was telling a ghost story. “It was lurking in my head, roaming around, planting its seeds in my brain.”
“That sucks,” responded Charlie.
“Yup, big time,” Sam agreed.
“When are you — ?”
“Going to die?” guessed Sam.
“What?!?” Charlie blurted. “No, when are you going to tell my mom. I’m not that good at keeping secrets.”
“Oh!” Sam saw that Charlie was rattled. He tried to lighten his tone. “Um, maybe in a few days when we have dinner with Grandma and Grandpa. I’ll give you a signal when the cat’s out of the bag,” he promised.
“Okay. I’ll try not to say anything.”
“Thanks, man.”
Charlie moved his bishop. “Checkmate!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Sam looked down at the board. Checkmate, indeed. “You little bastard,” he said with a smile, stretching out his hand for Charlie to shake.
Charlie shook his hand, and then sat back in his chair. “Where’s your cancer?”
“In my brain.”
“Oh.” Charlie stared at the chessboard and then looked up at his uncle. “That’s probably why you lost. I’m not that good at chess. I never win,” he said with a shrug and a smile.
“Maybe. It could’ve been the cancer. Or you might be better than you think you are.”
“Or you’re just a really bad chess player,” Charlie said pointing at his uncle and smiling. Then, the corners of his smile dropped. He started putting the chess pieces back in the navy blue cloth bag, but then he paused. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You won fair and square,” Sam said.
“That you have cancer. Again. It’s really unfair,” Charlie explained. Overcome by his nephew’s compassion, Sam picked up a pawn and nodded his head. Up to this point, he hadn’t cried about his situation. Not when the doctor gave him the diagnosis or prognosis. He didn’t see the point in crying. He’d rather spend his remaining days enjoying himself. Easy breezy. The look on Charlie’s face wasn’t making it easy, though.
“When are you going back to New York?” asked Charlie.
“Oh, I’m not. I’m staying in San Francisco.” Handfuls of pawns dropped into the bag.
“For good? You’re moving here?” Charlie asked.
“Well, yeah, for good. I want to be near you guys.” Sam tried to keep his voice upbeat even though the content of his words were anything but.
“When are you going to die?” Charlie said. Ever since Charlie was little, Sam marveled at his nephew’s directness. It never came off as rude or disrespectful. On the contrary, it was refreshing. It was one of the reasons Sam chose to share his news with Charlie first. He knew his sister would have a very big and layered reaction. Charlie was an easier trial run. His reaction was pure.
“Not sure,” Sam explained. “Probably sometime in the next 6 months.”
“Will you teach me how to skateboard first?” Charlie asked.
“Mmm, I’ll try, but my balance isn’t so good these days.” Sam pointed at his head. “Brain cancer.”
“Mmm,” Charlie said, nodding with understanding.
“If I do manage to teach you, what will you teach me in exchange?”
Charlie considered the question. “Spells? From Harry Potter?”
“Excellent. You have a deal.”
Just then, Sam looked up and saw Grace standing by the hostess station. He waved to get her attention and beckoned her over to the table. “Grace, I’m so glad you decided to join us. Charlie, look what she has.”
Charlie looked at Grace’s book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, “Cool,” he said.
“This young wizard just agreed to teach me some spells,” Sam told Grace.
“If — ” Charlie interjected.
“If I teach him how to skateboard.” Both parts of the agreement struck Grace as equally impossible. From what she observed, Sam needed a magical spell to get himself out of a seated position.
“Charlie just beat me pretty bad at chess. Do you want next game?”
Grace shrugged.
“Do you have plans with your dad?”
She shook her head. After checking in to make sure she made it back to the hotel room, Mr. Lee explained to Grace that his meetings would probably run long.
“I can order you a sundae if you like. Charlie and I were just about to order our seconds.”
“We were?” Charlie said, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, why not? Life is short. Set up the board. Let’s see if Grace’s chess game is as good as her piano playing. She’s a master on the piano. Whattya say, Grace?”
“Okay.” Grace suddenly felt like her vacation began, like she dropped into an exotic world where people ate ice cream for lunch and spent their days playing games and talking to each other. Sam didn’t seem to mind at all that he had to hang out with his 9 year old nephew and that he kept running into a weird girl from the airport who spent her vacation alone in the hotel while her dad worked.
Neither of the kids understood that their presence, their lack of judgement or need to tell Sam what to do was just what the doctor ordered. Actually, the doctor ordered Sam to try one more round of radiation, but Sam knew it was useless. He wasn’t going to win this battle, so he might as well lose on his own terms.
Charlie unfolded the board and dumped the pieces out of the cloth bag.
“Charlie,” Sam said leaning into the board, “do you know about castling?”
“Yeah, it’s when you switch your rook and king after the knight and the bishop are out of the way.”
“Right. And then your king is protected by the three pawns in front of it.”
“My chess teacher says you should castle within the first ten moves of the game,” said Grace.
“Is that right?” Sam said, pleased that Grace entered the conversation. “You should try that, Charlie.”
“Yeah, but you castled in the last game, and then you lost because your king got trapped in the corner,” Charlie pointed out.
“That’s true,” Sam affirmed.
“That happens to me all the time,” said Grace.
Never trust a nine year old
After listening to Grace play for the third day in a row, Sam walked with his young friend down the hallway. When the corridor opened up into the lobby, Sam stopped. “Oh, Gali,” he whispered when he spotted his sister sitting on the same round cushioned seat where she had been impatiently waiting a couple days before. Again, she held her phone, looked left, looked right, checked her phone again and quickly wiped her face to conceal her tears before they became apparent to those around her.
Grace saw Sam looking at his sister. His brow actually furrowed, and she thought she heard him say, “Damn!” under his breath. “I think she’s upset with me,” Sam said pointing at his sister from a distance. “I should probably go talk to her.”
Grace nodded and turned to look at Gali. “She looks more sad than mad.”
“Yes, I’m sure she’s feeling both of those things. Intensely. She feels everything intensely. And loudly,” Sam said. “I guess that’s normal, though.”
Grace listened with fascination. Normal? she thought. “Loud” and “feelings” were not words Grace associated with “normal.”
Sam continued, “I told a secret to Charlie before I told her. To be fair, he did warn me that he was bad at keeping secrets. He is, after all, only 9, so I really can’t blame him. I think he might have told her, and now she’s mad. And sad.”
Grace wanted so badly to know the secret herself, but she figured Sam would tell her if he wanted to.
Sam waited a moment to see if Grace would ask him to share his secret. He figured she’d ask if she was interested. When she remained quiet, Sam broke the silence. “Well, wish me luck,” Sam said holding up crossed fingers.
“Good luck,” Grace said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sam nodded and slowly walked toward Gali. Grace turned to walk toward the elevators.
When she arrived at the elevator, she tried to train her eyes on the brushed metal door in front of her. She felt a pull, however, a need to see what was going to happen between Sam and his sister. She glanced once and saw Sam’s sister with her head extended past her shoulders, hands upturned in a questioning, incredulous way. Grace snapped her head back to the elevator.
The next time she glanced over, Sam and his sister embraced one another, and Grace thought she saw tears running down the sister’s face. Again. Grace snapped her attention back to the elevator. Finally, the door slid open.
As she stepped onto the elevator, Grace stole one final glance. This time, Sam and his sister sat side by side on the round cushioned seat holding hands. The sister was definitely crying now. The elevator door closed.
Grace wondered what was at the center of this encounter. Sam had flown from New York, like Grace had. He was staying at the hotel, like she was, and yet, what had he said? That he wasn’t going back to New York? Maybe his sister just found out he was planning to stay, and those were tears of joy. No, thought Grace, not a chance. There was more to their story. The sister was clearly more upset with Sam.
Everything about Sam intrigued her — his unusual level of friendliness, the way he thanked her profusely for letting him listen to her play the piano, the fact that he held hands with his sister. She liked watching him and being around him. She knew that was weird. Maybe it was because he was kind of a stranger, or because she knew that when she left San Francisco she’d never see him again, but she felt like hanging out with him might be exactly what she needed before returning to New York and facing her Juilliard audition.
Maybe, Grace thought, I’ll have lunch in the cafe today instead of ordering room service. She knew she should wait for her dad’s call. He always called the room instead of her cell phone to make sure she had safely returned from her rehearsal in the ballroom. It was only 12:15. He wasn’t going to call for another 45 minutes. If she waited to go downstairs until after his call, she’d miss everything. She put her piano books down, and she headed to the lobby.
Grace arrived just in time to see Gali reach down to help Sam off the gold cushioned couch. She watched Sam and Gali the way a naturalist might observe animals in the wild.
They walked arm in arm toward the glass revolving door. Instead of whizzing through it, Gali held the door still until both she and Sam were safely inside one wedge. Then, she pushed it forward until they stepped outside. As they waited for the valet to bring the car around, Gali kept rubbing her brother’s back and squeezing his shoulder. One time, she grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug. There was so much feeling between the siblings. So much expression.
A request
After Grace finished slaying the piano dragon the next day, Sam said, “When did you say your audition was?”
“In a month,” Grace answered.
“Well, I’ve heard you play that piece perfectly at least five times. I mean, I assume it’s perfect. It sounds perfect to me, at least. You seem like you’re all set,” Sam said.
Grace looked down at her music sitting in her lap and said, “Perfect isn’t good enough. I played it perfect the last time, and I didn’t get in.”
“How is that possible? Maybe there weren’t enough openings in the program,” Sam suggested.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. Her knee started bouncing up and down. “They said I was ‘technically perfect’ but my playing ‘lacked interpretation.’”
“What does that mean?”
“That I don’t have any feelings when I play,” Grace explained.
“Huh,” answered Sam. That must be it, Sam thought, the stuff in between the notes that was missing. After a few moments of silence, he added, “I’m going to have to disagree with the Juilliard peeps.”
Sam slapped his hands down on his knees to punctuate his declaration, and then he began the routine of standing up from his chair. To him, it felt as if his body was moving in opposition to his thoughts. When his mind commanded “up,” his body leaned back. When his mind commanded “forward,” his body rooted down into the ground. The doctors said this might happen. Even so, it was incredibly frustrating, and his patience was wearing thin. He knew the progression of his disease was inevitable. He consciously chose to stop treatment and make this trip out to San Francisco. The doctors advised him not to travel alone. He just wanted to keep moving until he couldn’t anymore. It was getting noticeably harder by the day.
Sam appreciated that Grace never reached out her hand to help him out of the chair. Each time he tried and failed, she just said, “Try again.” She didn’t offer suggestions or adjustments or notes. Her distance was refreshing.
This was exactly why, as he had explained to Gali, he wanted to stay at the hotel as long as possible. The people there treated him like an odd stranger. They were polite and distant. Having experienced chemo and radiation three years ago, staying in a hotel seemed like a good option for this last part of living-dying. At least he had chosen a hotel close to Gali and their parents so that when the time came to check into hospice, they wouldn’t have far to drive.
“I’m going to take a walk down the street to the skate shop. Would you care to join me? You could call your dad and ask his permission,” Sam suggested.
“You’re going to buy skates?” Grace asked skeptically.
“A skateboard. For Charlie. Not for me. Oh god, can you imagine?”
Grace shrugged and shook her head ‘no.’ She closed her eyes and smiled ever so slightly.
Was she picturing me on a skateboard? wondered Sam. “I used to be really good, actually. I could do tricks and everything. I started when I was about your age. Skating was huge here in the ‘90’s. When I moved to New York, it was the absolute best way to get around. But it’s been awhile. Anyway, I promised Charlie I’d teach him. First step is to buy the kit. This will officially be the second time I’m pissing off my sister this week.”
Grace’s heart beat a little bit faster. It would be rude to prod Sam to divulge more information about his discussion with Gali the other day. She was just so fascinated by how his family discussed things. In her house, people floated around in silence.
Sam interrupted Grace’s thought tangent. “Did you see her yesterday? My sister, Gali? I wasn’t sure if she was going to melt into a puddle of tears in my lap or clock me with her keychain! It was — ”
“Intense,” Grace interjected.
“Yes, intense. That’s one word for it. I knew it was coming,” Sam explained.
Just wait it out, Grace told herself. It’s coming. He’s about to break wide open!
Suddenly, Sam was on his feet. “Aha! I did it!” he exclaimed. “Apparently the key to regaining what should be my automatic movements is to talk to you about my family. How long did you say you were going to be in town?”
“Until Friday.”
“Oof. That will probably be the last time I make it out of a chair,” Sam said with a chuckle.
“You have a good sense of humor about it,” Grace said, hoping Sam would define what “it” was.
“Yeah. I suppose I do. But when it comes down to it, my choices are limited in terms of how I could respond to my situation. Laugh. Cry. Rage.” Sam enumerated each emotional response on his fingers.
“Or nothing,” Grace stated without the slightest consideration of whether or not “nothing” qualified as an emotional choice.
“Nothing,” Sam repeated. “I’ve never considered that as a possibility. But I will now.” Sam held up a fourth finger. “Nothing.” Sam smiled looking directly into Grace’s eyes.
“Anyway,” he continued, “would you like to take a stroll down to the skate shop with me? You’d be doing me a huge favor, especially if I have to sit down and then stand back up again.” Sam raised his eyebrows in an expression that was the equivalent of dangling a carrot in front of a horse.
“Okay,” answered Grace.
“But do call your dad for me. I don’t want him to think I’m some creep sneaking around with his 11 year old daughter. I could even talk to him.”
“Mmmm, he doesn’t really like to talk,” Grace stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll run my books upstairs and call him. Then I’ll meet you in the lobby. Don’t sit down!”
Grace had no intention of calling her father. There was no way he’d let her leave the hotel with the strange guy from the airport.
Sam smiled. “You got it. Lobby. No sitting.” I think she just made a joke, Sam remarked to himself.
At the skate shop
Grace walked around looking at each skateboard hanging from the wall like pieces of artwork hanging in a museum. She let Sam conduct his business behind her. Apparently he did know a lot about skateboards. She overheard him asking about the “Osprey double kick skateboard” and referring to a “7.5” deck, low trucks, soft wheels and ABEC 3 bearings.” None if it made any sense to her.
As he was picking out the skateboard, he asked each employee what kind of board they used and where they liked to go skate. He shared stories about his memories of growing up and skateboarding in San Francisco. After 15 minutes, it looked like he had a new group of friends.
How does he do it? Grace wondered. It all seemed so easy for him — talking, sharing, feeling.
After arranging for all the stuff he bought to be delivered to the hotel in a couple of hours, Sam turned to Grace and asked, “Food? You didn’t lunch, did you?”
Stepping out of the jungle of tattooed, pierced and very friendly salespeople, Grace and Sam looked around. Sam announced their options. “Sushi, burritos, pizza or ice cream. And, yes, ice cream is an option for lunch.”
“Burritos,” Grace pronounced. Her decisiveness impressed Sam.
“Healthy choice.”
As Sam stepped off the curb, he stumbled and fell hard. For the first time, Grace reflexively reached out to try to catch him, but she was too late. Down he went. Sam’s knees hit the ground first. Luckily, his arms broke the impact of his upper body before his face and head smashed to the concrete. “Shit!” Sam yelled upon impact. He laid on the street face down.
Sam doubted his ability to orchestrate his way back up onto his feet. Grace’s reflex to help him retreated halfway back into her mind. She wasn’t sure what to do. Then she heard him exhale hard. Buried in his exhale was some sound, like a whimper. Was he crying? She had to help him.
“Grace, would you mind just helping me roll onto my back? I can’t seem to do it on my own. I can’t seem to do anything on my own.” She heard struggle in his voice. Frustration. Anger, maybe.
Without hesitation, Grace crouched down, tucked Sam’s right arm in close to his body, put her left hand under his head and deftly reached for Sam’s right shoulder. She pulled it toward her. After turning him halfway over, Grace lifted her right hand and placed it on Sam’s hip to complete the maneuver.
“That was really good. You’re strong. You should consider a job as a lifeguard or an EMT if the whole classical piano thing doesn’t pan out,” Sam said lying on the street. His breathing smoothed out, but his face still looked flushed. His smile had not returned.
“Why do you keep falling and tripping and taking so long to stand up from a chair?” Grace blurted out. It was as if Sam’s fall shook something loose inside of her.
“Would you believe me if I said I’m training to be a clown?”
Grace shook her head ‘no.’
“Fine,” Sam sighed. “Tumors. Brain tumors. Lots of them. They’re eating away the pathways in my brain, so nothing is working the way they should.” Sam paused to consider this description. “Or,” he said upon reflection, “they are working exactly as they should because I have a lot of cancer up there.” Sam tapped his forefinger against his temple.
“That sucks,” Grace stated as she plopped from a crouching position to a seated one beside Sam.
Sam cocked his head toward Grace with surprise. Then he nodded his head. “Big time,” he agreed. “I thought if I pared down my wardrobe and got rid of all my belongings and moved into that fancy hotel that I could just live out my days like I was on vacation. Just ride it out. But it looks like it’s not that easy.”
Grace felt her throat tighten. Her vision went blurry. Sam had shown her more attention and kindness in the last 3 days than anyone had in all her previous days. It was unfair. “Sorry,” said Grace.
“No need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve only helped,” answered Sam.
“No, I just…well, I’m not sure what to say,” said Grace.
“Zugzwang,” said Sam lying on his back looking up at the sky. “Did they teach you that term in your chess class at school?”
Grace shook her head. She was pretty sure she would’ve remembered that one.
“It’s part of the endgame. It’s a move a player has to make even if it puts him in danger. And it’s just a funny sounding word.”
“Zugzwang. I’ll have to remember that one.”
The next 30 minutes were like an underwater ballet of tattooed skateboard clerks discovering Sam supine on the street in front of their store, lifting him from under his armpits and carrying him inside. They set him down on a deep cushioned corduroy brown couch. Four ice packs were placed on his knees, which were very, very sore and swollen, and six Advil into his mouth. Sam refused to consent to an ambulance. Grace oversaw all the activity closely.
When Sam was finally settled, he pulled two $20 bills from his wallet and held them out to Grace. “Burrito for you, chocolate ice cream for me.” Grace took the bills and nodded. She felt an urgent need to help Sam, to express to him even a fraction of the kindness he had shown her. Each minute they spent together, Grace allowed herself to speak more, to smile more, to care more. It was happening. That connection between her inner life and the outside world. Sam brought it out in her.
When she returned with their lunch, Grace stated, “I know how to get you back to the hotel.”
“Really?” Sam said surprised. “Because these guys do not have a wheelchair.”
“But they have a lot of wheels. We can strap this loveseat on top of five or six skateboards to make, basically, an enormous and very comfortable wheelchair. Then we’ll wheel you back to the hotel.”
“Huh,” Sam said considering this wild idea. He looked over at the scrappy band of employees. “What do you guys think?”
“Totally! Let’s do it!” they said.
Grace smiled. Her idea was driving action, getting people excited. “Do you think you should call Gali now?” she asked Sam.
“No. I’ll call her from the hotel. This plan sounds like too much fun to pass up. She’ll get worried and try to stop us. I can’t let her do that,” Sam insisted.
It all happened just the way Grace described it would. She walked beside his cushioned throne as the gaggle of scrappy, grinning skateboarders pushed Sam through the streets. Every time they came to a curb they let out a loud ‘Whoa!’ or ‘Dude!”
Grace, of course, had a million questions — what would happen next? Where would Sam go?
When they arrived at the hotel, the doorman stepped forward. “Good afternoon,” he said to the scraggly band of skaters surrounding Sam.
“Hello, Simon,” Sam answered reading the doorman’s name tag. “I know this looks strange. I am actually a guest at the hotel. You might remember me from my spectacular revolving door fall the other day.”
“Oh, yes,” the doorman said with a chuckle. He wasn’t sure if acknowledging Sam as a guest was more or less important than downplaying his memory of Sam’s fall. He didn’t want to cause the guest undue embarrassment. Then again, someone who arrived at one of the finest hotels in San Francisco astride a loveseat strapped to six skateboards probably didn’t easily embarrass.
“I took another spill today,” Sam explained. “These gentlemen and this fine young lady, who will one day become either a famous concert pianist or the president of the United States, were kind enough to get me back here on this…chariot. Pretty creative, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it before. I’m sorry to hear you fell again. Is there anything I can do to help you?” asked the doorman.
“Well, yes. I am going to need some help getting up to my room. Do you happen to have a wheelchair handy?”
“Yes, sir. I believe we do. Wait here just one moment.”
Sam and Grace watched through the glass door as several hotel employees gathered in the lobby.
“When do you expect your dad?” Sam asked.
“Umm, around six, I think,” Grace answered.
“Are you going to get to do anything fun with him before you leave on Friday?”
Grace shrugged. “I think we’re going out to dinner tonight. And tomorrow he said we were going to Alcatraz.”
“Mmmmmm. I see we have very similar plans.”
Grace was surprised. “You’re going to Alcatraz?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I will, most likely be confined to a hospice facility, which is kind of like a prison,” Sam quipped. “Will you practice tomorrow morning before you head out?”
Grace nodded. “I have to. My audition is the week after we get back.”
“I’m sure you’ll get in.”
Grace shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
“Well I do. I’ve never heard someone your age play the way you do. I don’t even know how you move your fingers that quickly. I can’t even get my feet to take a simple step when I want them to.”
“Well, that’s different.”
“Well, I’d really like to listen to you play one more time tomorrow. Would that be all right?”
“Yeah,” Grace nodded.
“I better call Gali,” said Sam pulling out his phone. Grace took a few steps away to give him some privacy. When she saw Simon walking back to the entrance of the hotel, she told Sam, “Here comes the wheelchair.”
The doorman swung the wheelchair around and backed his way through the regular door. “Okay, sir, here you go. Let me help you into the chair. Will someone be able to help you out once you’re back in your room?”
“Yes. My sister is on her way. She’ll take care of everything. Trust me.” Grace watched the doorman hoist Sam onto his feet and into the wheelchair. They were awkward dance partners. Once in the chair, Sam said to Grace, “See you tomorrow in the ballroom.” Grace nodded. The doorman laughed.
The trial run
The next morning when Grace arrived at the ballroom, Sam was seated in the wheelchair waiting outside the door. Gali and Charlie stood behind him, each resting one hand on a wheel chair handle. “Hi, Grace. Would you mind terribly if Gali and Charlie listened in today? Gali refuses to leave my side, and she also refuses to let Charlie out of her sight for fear he might try out his new skateboard.” Gali slapped Sam’s shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s fine, I guess,” Grace said smiling.
“Thank you,” said Sam bowing his head to Grace. Looking up he added, “You two are in for a real treat. You will not believe how Grace plays.”
Grace started with her warm up as usual. When she finished, she turned around to face her audience. “This is good because when I audition there will be four people in the room with me. This can be like my trial run.”
“Should you practice introducing yourself, or anything? You know, since we’re here,” Sam asked.
Grace shrugged. “Okay.” She stood beside the piano. “I’m Grace Lee, and I’ll be playing Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto Number 3.”
“Excellent!” Sam said in an indistinguishable foreign accent. “Go head, Ms. Lee.”
Grace looked at Sam, sitting in his borrowed wheelchair flanked by his sister and nephew. He looked to her like a king. He not only sat above his subjects, but he rose above his own situation. Sam looked Grace right in the eyes, dropped his vague foreign character, placed his hand on his heart and ever so slightly bowed his head. Grace mirrored his motion.
When Grace sat down at the piano, she imagined the bench rose off the ground to meet her, and the piano levitated to touch her fingers. She took a deep inhale. She knew that this recital was her final gift to her new friend. Play the whole piece this time, she said to herself. Not just the notes. When she exhaled, Grace imagined the doors that kept all her feelings locked up flew open.
Then she began to play.
Her fingers pressed the keys, and her feet pressed the pedals; but this time, the piano spoke back to her. Instead of the piano being played by her, she and the piano entered a dialogue. Grace didn’t shrug and respond with one word answers. She laid bare her bottled up heart. She filled up and then shattered all the silence, not just in this ballroom, but in the moments she sat with her father in the airport and in the empty evenings when she and her brother existed in their modern, stark, cold apartment. With the crescendos she fought back with those evaluators from last year’s audition, showing that she did have emotions. Emotions were coursing through her veins every minute of every day, and now she finally let them out. She let them ride on each note. The hammers pounded on the strings begging her mother to come home from work, to see her, to talk to her. The minor notes stretched out their hands to Sam. Poor Sam. Trying so hard to hold it all together, to keep smiling. Grace laid down each measure, layer upon layer, like a down blanket where he could be comfortable, where he didn’t have to fight to stand up anymore.
When she played her last note, she let her fingers rest on the keys until the last trace of sound seeped from the cracks of the ballroom. Then Grace lifted her hands and stood to face her panel of listeners.
Sam stared at her wide-eyed, as if she had surprised him by playing a different piece of music than the one he’d heard her practice all week. He glanced over to Gali whose hands covered her face. “She really liked it,” Sam explained to Grace.
His sister moved her hand to reveal a face, laughing through tears. “It was absolutely beautiful.”
“You see that?” Sam exclaimed. “Real live emotion. You made that happen.” Then he turned to Charlie. “And you? What did you think?”
“It was really good.”
“There you have it. Gali can hardly speak due to overwhelming emotion. Charlie says it was, and I quote, ‘really good.’ And I think if that’s the last piece of music I ever hear, I will die a happy man.”
Grace, Charlie and Gali froze.
“Too soon?” Sam asked. “Okay, then, I agree with Charlie. It was really good. You’re a shoe in. If they don’t accept you into the program this year, they are the ones who lack emotion, or interpretation, or whatever they called it. So there.” With that, Sam stuck out his tongue.
Grace smiled and looked down at her watch. “I have to go.”
“Yes! Alcatraz awaits! Do me one favor. Will you send me a postcard to let me know how it goes? The audition. Here is Gali’s address. She’ll make sure I get it.” Sam handed Grace a folded piece of paper.
“Sure,” Grace said. She gathered her things from the piano and held the tall golden door open so Gali could push Sam’s wheelchair through.
Mr. Lee stood outside the ballroom staring at his phone. When he looked up, he squinted his eyes with confusion. He couldn’t understand why three people emerged from the ballroom along with his daughter.
Sam extended his hand, “Mr. Lee. Have a great time in Alcatraz. Goodbye, Grace.”
The news
Three weeks later, Grace received a letter. It read:
Dear Grace,
Congratulations! I had no doubt in my mind you’d be accepted into the program at Juilliard. The piece you played for us at the Palace hotel was truly the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard. You brought Sam great joy on one of his final days.
He died three days before we received your postcard. During his last few days, my parents, Charlie or me were always at his side. We ate ice cream sundaes together, listened to music, and Sam tried his best from his bed to teach Charlie to skateboard.
Thank you for showing my brother such kindness.
Sincerely, Gali
P.S. Charlie says hi and congrats!
