“Yes, you’re like her, but not just like her. Do you follow me?” I thought I understood what she was saying, but I was getting more than one-liners from Martha that day, so I shook my head and waited to hear the explanation. “You are your mother and your father. You are your experiences and your fears and the love you let yourself feel. You are your degree and your talent and your passion. You are your pain, your joy, and your fantasies. You are me and Sheil and Jenny and Will and every person that touches your soul… but most of all you are you, whoever you dream that to be.” She looked at me, eyebrows arched.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I guess I’m still trying to figure out the dream.”
“Just remember what I told you about listening to your soul. What I see in you is very different than what I saw in your mother twenty-five years ago. You belong here, Mia.”
I hugged Martha for what seemed like an hour. When she finally left, I knocked on Will’s door. He opened it and leaned in the doorway, his eyes sympathetic. He was wearing black jeans and a yellow T-shirt that said Everything is Rad. I wished I felt that way.
“Hey,” he whispered. I wanted to dive into his arms, but I held strong.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just learned something about my parents and… it was tough.”
He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me, but I stepped backward away from him. He paused at my reaction and looked down for a long second. He looked back up into my eyes and then gestured with his head toward the front door. “Come with me?”
“I have to go back to Kell’s.”
“Jenny will cover for you. I’m playing at the string festival Sheil put together. Come on, you could use some musical therapy,” he said, his expression hopeful.
Nothing in the world sounded better than seeing and hearing Will play. My decision was easy. “Okay, but we should stop by the café on the way.”
He grabbed his two guitars and a dulcimer while I put my shoes on. When we got to the front room, Will stood in front of my dad’s banjo. “Let’s bring this for you.”
“No way, Will!” I said abruptly. “I’m not playing anything, I’m just going to watch.”
“You mean listen?”
“Whatever.”
“You can play any Bob Dylan song you want,” he said with a cute smile. On the banjo I only knew the handful of songs my father had taught me and they were all Dylan songs.
“Okay, fine,” I said with mock irritation. I was actually excited.
We lugged the instruments over to Kell’s so I could ask Jenny if she would cover for me. She told me if I didn’t go with Will she would never speak to me again.
We took a cab to Prospect Park in Brooklyn. When I saw all the cars and the huge stage I freaked out. Sheil had told me about the festival she puts on every year, but I had no idea it was that big. “Oh my god, Will, this is a huge deal!”
“Yeah, I’m nervous,” he said, voice shaky.
Before we got out of the cab, I put my arm around Will’s shoulder. “You’re an amazing musician.”
He turned to face me. “There are record execs here to see me tonight… It’s unnerving.” He swallowed and shook his head slightly.
“You’re gonna do great, I promise.” He looked at me like what I said was the gospel.
We grabbed the instruments and headed toward the stage, both of us a little apprehensive.
Right away I spotted Sheil backstage, gracefully running the show. She was dressed in a gorgeous maroon and gold sari and her long, shiny black hair was woven into a perfect braid running down her back. When she spotted us, her face lit up and her mouth curled into a warm smile. She came over and kissed Will on the cheek before taking my face in her hands. “My darling, I’m so glad you’re here.” Sheil could say nothing and everything with just a look. She made you feel like the only person in the world. She turned to Will and asked if he would accompany her with his electric guitar on another song and they chatted about the details.
When Sheil left, Will turned to me. “Okay, we’re doing our song last, so be thinking about which one you want to do, okay, baby?” I nodded.
There was a whole slew of musicians standing around backstage and it seemed like Will knew everyone. He was in his element; his nerves calmed as the passion came out. I tagged along from group to group while he discussed specifics about different styles of music. It seemed like every other person thanked him for helping out with a song or a recording. It was becoming clear to me that Will was well-known and respected within that community of eclectic musicians.
When it was time for the opening number, Will and four other men took their places in a line of chairs at the front of the stage. Sheil came out and gave a short speech about stringed instruments and the passionate musicians that the audience would see that night. She introduced the five men as talented artists who would be playing a medley of varying styles. Will had a dulcimer across his lap; the other men had assorted guitar-like instruments. As the show began, I stood offstage in the shadows, completely absorbed by the sound, where I decided that playing the guitar should be a prerequisite for manhood.
I looked out to the audience made up of a large group standing near the stage. Farther back were scattered blankets and people in lawn chairs. The lights from the stage projected on the faces in the audience, creating a magical ambience. Listening to the sweet sounds in the warm summer night air was enchanting. Will was unyielding on the dulcimer as the group played a familiar bluegrass tune reminiscent of my father. A lump started forming in my throat when I thought about Pops and the discovery I had made earlier that day, yet my pride for Will’s performance was greater. He played with such ease, but with thorough focus and respect for the sound. It was as though he was paying homage to the instrument as his hands moved gracefully over the strings. Another act went to the stage as Will came running toward me.