Encore

“Hey Dwight, Dawn here.” My sister’s voice sounded as soon as I pressed the incoming call on my cell phone.

“Hey Dawn, what’s up?” I asked as I worked to complete my presentation for the meeting after lunch.

“Dad passed away.” She answered bluntly, but then she was never one to mince words.

“Who found him?”

“His care worked came calling.” She sighed and I knew she was on the verge of tears. Bryce was his care worker who checked every other day. Since dad’s stroke, he needed someone to check on him. Working for a technical corporation in Dallas and Dawn with her husband and kids in Seattle, neither one of us could check on him since he lived in Hartford, Connecticut.

“I will make arrangements to catch a flight out of here to Hartford.” I shook my head as I thought about the project I was spearheading. I had reached the critical stage. Our family always picks the worst time for emergencies.

“I don’t think I can make it.” I could hear her sniff back a couple of tears. “I feel awful.”

“Hey Dawn, it’s alright. I’m sure dad would understand.” I closed my eyes and made an about face. I could see the Dallas skyline from the twentieth floor. Seeing it always made me feel better. “It’s just…”

She could not complete her sentence. 

“Josh.” I entered my supervisor’s office after knocking.

“What’s swinging, Ike?” He smiled.

“My father passed away this morning.” I sighed.

“Oh, I am so sorry partner.” He folded his hands over the keyboard of his laptop.

“I’ve got to catch a flight to Connecticut. There’s a United flight around seven. I went ahead and booked it.” I looked down at my shoes.

“Oh, this is such a bad time, Ike.” He grimaced.

“I know, but I have to take care of his estate.” I hung my head even lower.

“I need you for the Alum-Porter deal.” He put his chin on his thumbs

“I know, but duty calls.”

“What about your sister?” He suggested.

“She can’t make it.”

“Why not? She’s just a housewife, isn’t she?” He shrugged.

Ignoring the backhanded jibe, I blinked, “I know this puts things in a bind, but I’ll only be gone a week, ten days tops.”

“I’ll see what Mr. Cooper says.” He coughed.

Mr. Gabriel Cooper was the president and CEO of Blanchard Tech and was a proponent of putting in a hard day’s work complete with perspiration and such. He was going to chair the meeting we would be having in the hour. I was hoping I could chat with him beforehand.

“Mr. Gibly.” He greeted me when I walked into the conference room five minutes early.

“Could I talk to you, sir?”

“I’m here right now.” He shrugged and let both cheeks wiggle as he did.

“My father passed away this morning.”

“So sorry to hear that. Condolences.”

“I need to fly home and take care of the arrangements for his estate and funeral.”

“Um, I’m afraid you are putting me in a very difficult situation.” He coughed into his hand. Bowing his head, I could see the gray halo that circled his shiny balk head.

“Sir, I must go home and take care of this. There is no one else.”

“This is rather unfortunate but having dealt with a family matter myself not that long ago, I will authorize it. Check with Mrs. Lowell to get your vacation authorized.” He walked away until he was behind the podium where he would be for our meeting.

The flight to Connecticut was nerve wracking. I didn’t have much time to pack, but I did manage to put some essentials into a canvass bag and rush to the ticket counter with about twenty minutes to spare. From there, I rushed to security and went through the line as the minutes ticked away. Once I was able to put my shoes on again and collect my carry-on briefcase with all of my electronics, I made it to the gate just as they started boarding. The agent smiled as I presented her with my ticket and boarding pass.

“Sir, you won’t be able to use your cell phone until we are at the gate.” The stewardess informed me.

“Laptop?” I shrugged.

“Not encouraged, but I’ll look the other way.” She smiled. 

She did not have to look the other way, because as soon as we took off, I dozed off into a deep sleep. The pilot’s voice coming through the overhead speaker woke me up, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning out descent into Hartford. The temperature is a chilly 34 degrees with some mixed precipitation.”

Oh my God, I did not have a heavy coat. It had been a long time since I braved the late autumn weather in this part of the country. I had always visited dad in the summer, even though it was almost too muggy to bear.

As I gathered my bag and stepped out of the terminal, the cold breeze, like a sudden slap in the face greeted me.

“Taxi!” I called out as I shivered.

The house I grew up in was only twenty minutes from Bradley International Airport and I was paying for ride, the cabbie as I grabbed my bag and exited the cab. Shivering in the cruel wind, I stood on the wrap around porch where dad would usually hold court. He would sit in the chair near the front door, leaning on the cane he used for the last ten years of his life and wave to any of the neighbors passing by on the sidewalk. I expected to see him sitting in his chair, but all I got was the icy wind reddening my cheeks.

Once inside, I let the warmth wash over me. Bryce had left the heat on. Dad would be incensed if he knew Bryce had done that. At the moment, I was grateful he had done so. 

Memories flooded my mind as I walked past the foyer into the living room where dad would watch his favorite shows on his ancient television. It did not have a remote. No, that was my job and then Dawn’s when I went away to college. Dad had left mom’s chair just the way she had left it, next to his with a thick Afghan blanket she had crochet herself hung over the back. I put my hands on it. Her perfume still lingered there.

I walked into the dining room where dad’s plate was still waiting for him. I picked the plate and set it on the sidebar with the rest of the china. Mom had picked out the pattern for the plates when I was still in high school. She loved the pattern of the sun shining through a flock of birds in flight. Dad did not care for it, because he did not care for eating his dinner over birds. When I went into the spare room, I saw Dawn’s bed still made up as if she was spending the night. Her piano was pushed up against the opposite wall. She had dreamed of getting a music scholarship to the University of Connecticut, but other things got in the way. It was a shame that she let her dream go so easily like a balloon filled with helium to float unencumbered among the clouds. Neither of her two children even had a clue that she once played classical music. She met Scott in high school and got married. She never managed to enroll in college.

She was happy, right? I plunked a couple of keys. I never had any musical talent. She told me she was happy, but there was always something in the way she said that made me wonder. I decided I would sleep in her bed for the night. Then I would hustle over to St. Anthony’s Funeral Home and get his final service arranged. It was sad to think that dad had outlived most of his close friends and I did not expect to have many people show up for his service.

When mom passed away, the place was filled with her friends. She had retired from her job as an administrator with the power company when she turned sixty-two. Less than a year later she was diagnosed with cancer of the uterus. Three months later she passed away leaving dad to manage by himself which he did until his stroke.

The doorbell rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

“Who is it!” I was still quite rattled as I approached the door.

“Hey man, it’s me Bryce Dalbert.” He answered as I opened the door. Bryce wore his hair in dreadlocks and jewelry hanging out piercings in his nose and lip.

“Hey, I’m Dwight.” I went to shake his hand, but he slapped my hand open palm a couple of times and raised his elbow to meet mine.

“Sorry boucha dad, dude.” He shook his head as he walked in.

“He was getting up there.” I bowed my head, “Thank you for all you did for him.”

“No prob.” He smiled. “I was gonna grab my bag. Dija know your dad like Reggae?”

“I believe he like Nat King Cole better.” I chuckled.

“Perhaps, but he really dug Marley.” He picked up his bag which he had stashed behind the couch. It was brightly colored with all sorts of patches sewn into it. “Lemme know what’s shakin’ and I will be sure to be there. I really liked him.”

I watched Bryce bop out the door and down the porch steps.

My dad did not like any of the new stuff I brought home and he said the most disparaging things about R.E.M. and U2. Springsteen would drive him out of the room. Later he would beg Dawn to play something better on her piano. She did until I got headphones. 

I had trouble envisioning him listening to Bob Marley though. My cellphone rang, “Hello”

“It’s me, Dawn.” I heard my sister’s melancholy voice, “How are things?”

“As good as you can expect.” I sighed, “I met Bryce.”

“Oh yeah, how is he?”

“Claims dad liked Bob Marley.” I laughed.

There was a pause, “Maybe he did.”

“Oh, I doubt that. His favorite was Nat King Cole.”

“Who?”

“He was a crooner from the fifties. African American musician with a gentle baritone voice. He was popular with the white audience. So much so, he got on television during some of the variety shows.” I spouted off sharing some of the information dad had dispelled on me when I asked him who he was as I went through his record collection.

“Strange.” She commented.

“How come?” I nodded.

“Dad wasn’t found of people with color.” She replied.

“How do you know?”

“Mom told me. Once there was a colored family who wanted to move in across the street, but dad and some of the neighbors told the real estate agent that this was not a Negro neighborhood.”

I had never heard that. I was just a kid when that happened, but no one ever told me what the neighbors were meeting about. 

“I think dad liked Bryce more than Bob Marley.” She concluded, “Gotta go. Kids’ bedtime.”

She hung up. And suddenly the jet lag caught me. I walked into the spare room and fell asleep without even changing into my night ware and pulling back the sheets and blankets.

Piano keys were being plunked. I thought I was dreaming, but when I opened my eyes, I saw someone sitting on the bench. His sleeves were rolled up and he was wearing an unbuttoned vest.

“Who are you?” I sat up quite startled.

“Just a minute.” He shook his head and that’s when I noticed the smoke coming from a cigarette he was smoking. If my mom were alive, she would have thrown a fit before having him bodily removed. He took a drag off of the cigarette and deposited the ashes in an ashtray.

“Don’t just a minute, me. I asked you a question.” I stood up ready to remove him from the bench.

“Do you mind?” He crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. 

“Who the heck do you think you are?” I put my hands on the keyboard cover fashioned from sturdy pine.

“Don’t do that.” He stopped me from placing the cover over the keyboard. I was growing angrier.

“I am playing an encore.” He explained.

“A what?”

“An encore.” He shook his head and smiled, “I have never played an encore before.”

“And I’m not going to let you now either.”

“I am not doing this for you.” He shook his head.

“Yeah, I can agree on that.”

“I am playing it for Benjamin Dalbert.” He shrugged and placed his hands over the keys ready to play another encore.

“My father is dead.” I snapped, “That’s why I am here. To take care of things.”

“He already told me that.” He looked at me as if he thought I was a bit slow. “And he requested me to play an encore for him.”

“Look whoever you are, my father passed away yesterday. I came all the way from Dallas, Texas to make sure his final arrangements were made.”

“Yes, he told me about you, Dwight.” His fingers touched the keys, suddenly his voice sang out accompanying his melody.

I love you

For sentimental reasons

I hope you do believe me

I'll give you my heart

Tears came to my eyes when I heard his gentle voice singing words to songs I had heard when I was much younger. When my father would have his Nat King Cole records out playing these tunes.

“My name is Nat King Coles.” He said as he played the bridge of the song.

“You can’t be.” I swallowed.

“Why not?” He smiled a smile that seemed to fill the room like his sweet baritone voice.

“You are dead.” I watched him as his fingers glided along the black and white keys.

“Yes. In February 1965. Lung cancer.” He winked at me.

My heart stopped as I remembered my mother dying in the hospital as my father held her hand until she drifted away from us. Now I found myself wishing I had been there when he drifted away.

“I thought I’d be the next great jazz artist, but God had other plans for me. He needed someone to walk through the door that only white musicians were allowed to walk through. I remember Louis Armstrong once told me I had a voice that was golden. He told me to make the most of my gift. And so, I did, but I was gone after I turned forty-five years old.” He finished the piece with a flourish, “Gifts that are given us only last so long.”

I heard a single round of applause coming from the living room.

“Dad?”

“Wasn’t that something, Dwight? The man is a genius.” He said with a glow to his voice.

I walked into the living room, but his chair was empty. Tears fell freely down my cheek.  Time becomes a memory only when it preserved safely in the past. I had always told myself to live for the moment, but the sad reality is time passes quickly. Recent becomes twenty-five years ago in what seems like just the blink of an eye. 

When I walked back into the spare room, Nat King Cole was also gone. His encore was complete.