Performance

Ayana and Jamal Johnson set out in separate cars for the concert at Yardley High. Folu had left earlier, picked up by a friend. He’d been nervous, trying not to touch his new gold nose ornament too often. Once at the piano, his hands, his ears, everything— would be occupied.

“Your water? Your music? A hug for your mother?” Ayana was nervous, too.

“I know you’ll do well,” his father said. “Remember what we talked about.”

This was the first time in years that the Johnsons had all been together. The gumbo had been mighty fine; it had smothered any awkwardness with hot, spicy good-will and memories of a younger family in Stone Mountain, Folu a toddler, Akin and Morayo in grade school, Yejide in high school as Folu was now. The table was crowded and noisy, the children were young adults. Ayana and Jamal caught each other smiling more than once.

Orville had coaxed Kendall Huggins into attending, though the kid had claimed to like only hip-hop music. He wasn’t averse to riding in the Mustang, though. Edwina had bought Kendall a new long-sleeved beige pullover shirt for the occasion; Kendall immediately pushed the sleeves up past his elbows. “Squeeze into the back,” Orville told him. “Someone else is joining us, and he’s gotta sit up front.” Orville was picking up old Jed Moore, who’d expressed an interest in hearing the students play now that he’d found the proper hearing aid.

Edwina had had to leave for Knoxville to attend her father’s funeral that day and wasn’t expected back in time for the concert. Edward Neuendorfer's end had come too soon; she wasn’t ready, she didn’t want to go. But neither did she want Eileen and Alexa to have any reason to talk about her. The service would be Unitarian. The burial would be at Lynnhurst Cemetery. No casket, just ashes.

When Orville mentioned that she might have been left something in a will, Edwina laughed. “He already gave me everything I needed,” she said. “He was there when I was born. He gave me his last name. He was there after my mother left. He paid for my dorm room at Vanderbilt. He took me to lunch once a month while I was at school.” She started to cry, wishing she’d had a more intimate conversation with the man who raised her— that last time. She hadn’t believed he was mortal. “I never blamed him for wanting to marry,” she sniffled. But she did.

When Ben Stillman arrived at the Yardley High auditorium, it was already brimming with bodies and sounds. He looked around for Orville, found him in the third row. He’d saved Ben an aisle seat next to Kendall. “Yo, Benjamin,” Kendall said, smiling at his own impolite greeting. “Good to see you, Mr. Huggins,” said Ben, with a wink, a point and a clicking noise, something he hadn’t tried since before S&C Medical Equipment existed.

The program said that the show would start with the ensemble playing some old big band tunes. Then Folu would play alone--improvisations on an original theme. Then the ensemble would reconvene for some more modern tunes, including a composition by Jamal Johnson. “You didn’t tell me you got yourself into this!” Ayana looked at her husband sitting beside her as if this is what they’d been doing all along. Jamal grinned. “I have tunes to spare,” he said. “Folu liked this one, and I guess the others did, too.”

It was during the second number, “Body and Soul,” that Jamal reached for Ayana’s hand and kept it. “Some folks are dancing over there,” whispered Ayana. “We’ll dance later, at home,” Jamal whispered back.

There were more students in the ensemble than had been named on Ayana’s flyer. Eurydicee Parham stood at the front of the group, half conducting, half moving to the music. She knew these youngsters were well-rehearsed and joyful; they led themselves most of the time.

Too bad there’s not a singer, thought Yejide. She liked songs to have words, take-home messages. But then Euridycee, the only black faculty member at Yardley High School, moved forward to address the audience. This had been her last year of teaching, she explained. She was retiring. But before she did, she was going to do one thing she’d always wanted to do: sing “Summertime.” And she did.

The older woman’s voice, so different from the auto-tuned incantations Yejide listened to on her phone, affected her strangely. She felt the baby stirring. Maybe because the music was live, here and now? When the song was over Yejide applauded wildly, along with everyone else. The baby jumped.

Then Dr. Parham introduced Folu, who was already seated at the school’s fancy electronic keyboard; he rose, bowed, then sat again. As he began the outline of a melody, keeping a rhythm with his left hand, his father recognized phrases he himself had played at home in the old days, but with new wanderings. The music went to unexpected places that took Jamal by surprise, though he’d heard Folu play just two months ago during his visit. There was completion and confidence in these sounds. Folu knew what he was doing, Jamal was certain now. He finally let go of Ayana’s hand to clap and wave with the others when Folu arrived at the end of his journey.

Now the ensemble focused on pieces that left room for improvising. The featured musicians took solos, one for each song. Marjorie ran her scales on “Round Midnight,” Carl attempted an expansive trumpet tour of Spanish themes on “Flamenco Sketches,” and Jason took an exciting drum solo on “Ornithology.” Before guest bassist John Hamar lyrically traipsed along during Jamal’s composition called “Dream Scheme,” Dr. Parham had come to the mic to say that the tune was by Folu’s father. Folu had another chance to shine during the last song, and turned in a creative solo on “Blue Nile.”

The concert had lasted two hours. People were tired, especially the musicians, but it seemed there was no end to the talking, hugging, milling about, congratulating, praising, more talking, thank you’s, in the auditorium and lobby. Orville, who had been enthralled the entire time, finally noticed that Jed was asleep in his seat and sat back down next to him.

“I’ll drive Kendall to your place,” Ben said, thinking he could use the opportunity to ask the kid about his plans for the future.

“I don’t know when I’ll be home,” Orville said. “I can’t wake Jed up.”

The service for Mr. Neuendorfer had been well-attended. Aging former colleagues from Oak Ridge, students from the few classes he’d taught, friends of Eileen’s, Unitarians of all sorts— Edwina hadn’t known her father had attended any church. It was a nice place. And now she was standing in the middle of the Lynnhurst Cemetery keeping an eye on Eileen and Alexa, who were watching the proceedings. The box with Edwina and Alexa’s father’s ashes was being placed into a hole in the ground with practiced grace by two funeral home employees. The Unitarian minister read another poem. Three people from the church sang “’Tis the Gift to Be Simple” in harmony.

Edwina looked around; the light was golden and shadows long. Probably time to take her leave. She noticed two women standing some distance away. One of them looked like an older version of herself. Fear and attraction wrapped around her body like a whip. She took a few steps, she had to make sure.

And then she could not help crying out. “Amma!”

— Macoff