backstage, fixing costumes or troubleshooting a makeup crisis. Linda and I were out front, cheering for our star.
The time he spent with me sharing his music and knowledge was something I cherished—a gift. It was just between us, like the old days when he would put aside time to play catch with me in the backyard. With music, I had found a common ground that didn’t entail changing my gender. It was something we would share through the years.
P EEKING OUT FROM behind the curtain, I could see the simple setup. Just the wooden stool and microphone on the bare stage.
The school auditorium was full for the school talent show. I was in fifth grade, giving my first performance for a crowd, andI was nervous. I saw all my teachers, friends, and neighbors out in the audience. Even Roy, the crossing guard, waved to me from the back of the room.
It had been noisy just a minute ago, after Doug’s rock ’n’ roll band performed, but when I walked on stage it got very quiet. I went over to the stool while Mrs. Steinhart introduced me. She whispered, “Don’t worry, honey, they’ll love you!”
My heart pounded eighth notes as the audience applauded and I sat down. My parents and Linda were sitting in the second row. My father smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. Then he pointed to his own mouth, my cue to smile at the audience. My mother did not seem to be breathing.
I checked the tuning of my guitar one more time. My father’s eyebrows crinkled.
“Tune it before you go out,” he told me the night before. “It’s so annoying when bands come out and tune up their instruments for a half hour.”
But he didn’t understand. If one of the strings was flat or sharp, it would throw me, and I’d sing off-key. So I checked and double checked and avoided his disapproving gaze.
“This is a song called ‘Surgery’ that I found in a book of very old folk songs. I’d like to dedicate this to all the future doctors here tonight,” I said.
I got a few laughs at that line. My father thought it was very funny, but I was not so sure. He was tickled with the song itself and thought it was meant for me to sing.
I played the first few chords and started to relax, letting the music lift itself out of me, like it had been hiding there all along.It took me soaring in its updraft, propelling me to crescendo. Laying me out before the audience.
I played a measure and sang:
Surgery, surgery,
first you slice and then you stitch . . .
cut it out and you’ll be rich.
The audience faded to a soft blur and my fingers found the chords automatically. My hours of practice paid off, and I was totally immersed in the music. When I finished, there was a surprising amount of applause, and they were actually standing up. The crowd held me tight, and I let them have me. I filled myself with them and floated away.
chapter twenty-eight
2006
I FEEL CAUGHT BETWEEN the past, the present, and the future. Still collecting details on the crash and working to understand my parents’ lives, I’m trying to connect the dots to my own life. I also need to stay grounded in my present life, trying to build my writing business and planning for Justin’s upcoming high school graduation. Lately, we are discussing a graduation party, which he is resisting. I am a celebrator, but my son keeps a low profile. “Everyone is having a party, Mom,” he says. “No one will even want to come.” I’m sure that’s not remotely possible, since he has a great group of friends that are always around. We compromise and pick a weekend when no one else in his group has planned anything. A pool party in July sounds good, so we start putting together an invitation list, and I start planning the food. The planning keeps me from thinking about this next phase of my life where being a mother is not front and center. People tell me I will get used to having my son away, but I can’t imagine it.
I pull out a file of newspaper articles and start my day’s research to find out
The time he spent with me sharing his music and knowledge was something I cherished—a gift. It was just between us, like the old days when he would put aside time to play catch with me in the backyard. With music, I had found a common ground that didn’t entail changing my gender. It was something we would share through the years.
P EEKING OUT FROM behind the curtain, I could see the simple setup. Just the wooden stool and microphone on the bare stage.
The school auditorium was full for the school talent show. I was in fifth grade, giving my first performance for a crowd, andI was nervous. I saw all my teachers, friends, and neighbors out in the audience. Even Roy, the crossing guard, waved to me from the back of the room.
It had been noisy just a minute ago, after Doug’s rock ’n’ roll band performed, but when I walked on stage it got very quiet. I went over to the stool while Mrs. Steinhart introduced me. She whispered, “Don’t worry, honey, they’ll love you!”
My heart pounded eighth notes as the audience applauded and I sat down. My parents and Linda were sitting in the second row. My father smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. Then he pointed to his own mouth, my cue to smile at the audience. My mother did not seem to be breathing.
I checked the tuning of my guitar one more time. My father’s eyebrows crinkled.
“Tune it before you go out,” he told me the night before. “It’s so annoying when bands come out and tune up their instruments for a half hour.”
But he didn’t understand. If one of the strings was flat or sharp, it would throw me, and I’d sing off-key. So I checked and double checked and avoided his disapproving gaze.
“This is a song called ‘Surgery’ that I found in a book of very old folk songs. I’d like to dedicate this to all the future doctors here tonight,” I said.
I got a few laughs at that line. My father thought it was very funny, but I was not so sure. He was tickled with the song itself and thought it was meant for me to sing.
I played the first few chords and started to relax, letting the music lift itself out of me, like it had been hiding there all along.It took me soaring in its updraft, propelling me to crescendo. Laying me out before the audience.
I played a measure and sang:
Surgery, surgery,
first you slice and then you stitch . . .
cut it out and you’ll be rich.
The audience faded to a soft blur and my fingers found the chords automatically. My hours of practice paid off, and I was totally immersed in the music. When I finished, there was a surprising amount of applause, and they were actually standing up. The crowd held me tight, and I let them have me. I filled myself with them and floated away.
chapter twenty-eight
2006
I FEEL CAUGHT BETWEEN the past, the present, and the future. Still collecting details on the crash and working to understand my parents’ lives, I’m trying to connect the dots to my own life. I also need to stay grounded in my present life, trying to build my writing business and planning for Justin’s upcoming high school graduation. Lately, we are discussing a graduation party, which he is resisting. I am a celebrator, but my son keeps a low profile. “Everyone is having a party, Mom,” he says. “No one will even want to come.” I’m sure that’s not remotely possible, since he has a great group of friends that are always around. We compromise and pick a weekend when no one else in his group has planned anything. A pool party in July sounds good, so we start putting together an invitation list, and I start planning the food. The planning keeps me from thinking about this next phase of my life where being a mother is not front and center. People tell me I will get used to having my son away, but I can’t imagine it.
I pull out a file of newspaper articles and start my day’s research to find out
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