On Saturday I decide to visit my granddad at the seniors’ residence where he lives. Lilac Grove Retirement Complex is way out in the suburbs, so I have to make two bus transfers and then walk several blocks to get there. I don’t mind, though, because it’s a nice day. When I arrive at Lilac Grove, lots of elderly folks are wandering about the grounds, but not Granddad. I know exactly where I’ll find him.
Sure enough, he’s on the wide back veranda, happily strumming on his guitar and smiling down at the other residents who pass in front of him as they wander through the flower gardens.
“Gerri!” he says, waving happily when he sees me. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m great, Granddad,” I say, leaning down to hug him. “How are you?”
“Well, it’s hard to complain on a day like this,” he says. “Have a seat.”
I pull a wicker chair up beside his bench and sit down.
“What were you playing?” I ask.
In response, his fingers begin to pick out a cheerful bluegrass melody that I recognize right away. After a few bars, he starts singing.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when times are gray…
I love my granddad’s voice. It’s sweet and simple, with a soft, husky edge. I smile broadly at him and tap my feet with the rhythm, happy to be listening, but after another verse, he stops abruptly.
“Gerri,” he says. “What in blazes is wrong?”
“What do you mean, Granddad?”
“I’ve been playing that song for you since you weren’t even up to my knee,” he says. “That’s the first time you haven’t joined in.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I guess I don’t really feel like singing today. I love listening to you though. You should keep playing.”
“Not a chance, sweetheart,” he says. “You’ve gotta pay if you want to hear me play, and the only currency I’ll accept is your pretty voice.”
He carefully lays his guitar down on the bench next to him and leans in to look me in the eye.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Gerri.”
“It’s no big deal,” I say. “It’s just this stupid TV show.”
“Is this the one you were talking about last time you visited? The singing contest?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I had my audition last week. They didn’t pick me.”
“So now you don’t want to sing because some TV people didn’t want you on their show?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, shrugging.
“Are these people friends of yours?” he asks.
“No. They’re the judges. They travel to cities around the country and look for talent.”
“So some complete strangers didn’t much care for your singing, and that bothers you enough that you won’t even sing with your dear old granddad the way you have been since you were just a wee little thing?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, although it kind of is like that.
“Do you remember when I moved in here, Gerri?” he asks me. “How unhappy I was?”
I nod.
“I missed your grandma something fierce,” he says. “I missed that little house we spent all those years in, and the garden we planted together. I missed my workshop and my reading chair next to the big brick fireplace. Moving in here felt like a death sentence, like I was giving up my independence.”
I remember how sad he was all the time, sitting in his room and staring out the window. Before Lilac Grove, I’d always loved visiting my grandfather, but when he had to sell the house and move into his little apartment, it stopped being fun.
“I remember that,” I tell him. “You were depressed.”
“I got over it though, didn’t I?” he asks. “Do you want to know how?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Well, Gerri, I was sitting in my room one day, a few months after I moved in, just staring at the television. I don’t even remember what I was watching—probably wasn’t even paying attention to it. Anyway, a commercial came on and the jingle in the background was an old country-and-western tune I used to play, and I started kind of humming along and tapping my feet. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was up out of my chair, digging around in the closet.”
He reaches over and picks up his guitar. “I hadn’t so much as looked at this old girl the whole time I’d been living here, but she was in there waiting for me.”
He starts to play a cheerful, fast-paced tune that I recognize right away. This time, when he starts to sing, I lean forward in my chair and join him. I’m still not really in the mood to sing, but I don’t want to disappoint him a second time.
Hey, hey, good-lookin’
Whaaaatcha got cookin’?
The funny thing is, as our voices weave together and I fall naturally back into the harmonies that Granddad taught me so many years ago, I start to enjoy myself. There’s something really nice about singing with someone whose voice fits well with yours. On the surface, you wouldn’t necessarily expect my high young voice to match with Granddad’s husky old baritone, but when they blend, a whole new sound emerges. It’s hard to know where it even comes from.
He brings the song to a close with a tidy little riff and a couple of pats on the guitar, then reaches over and slaps me on the knee.
“That’s more like it!” he says. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“It was fun,” I agree.
“Music sure helped me get out of that funk,” he says. “Far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty much the best way we’ve got to express ourselves. Helps us feel better when we’re feeling down, and it helps us bring a little bit of happiness into other people’s lives when we’re feeling good. One thing it should never be is an excuse for people to judge one another. There’s plenty of other reasons to do that without dragging music into the mix.”
Two old ladies walk up the steps from the garden and come over to us.
“Oh, wonderful,” says one of them. “Nelson has his guitar out!”
“Ladies,” says Granddad, “this is my granddaughter, Gerri. Gerri, this is Dina and Lucille.”
“Nice to meet you, Gerri,” says Dina. “Your grandfather talks about you all the time. Says you’ve got quite a lovely singing voice.”
I laugh. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Come on, Nelson,” says Lucille, dragging a couple of chairs over to join us. “Give us a tune.”
“What do you think, Gerri?” says Granddad. “Any requests?”
“How about ‘Back in Baby’s Arms’?” I say after thinking for a few moments.
“I’m pretty sure I can oblige,” he says.
He starts to play, and soon all four of us are belting it out. I glance at Lucille and Dina, their heads thrown back and giant smiles stretched across their faces, and I realize that they don’t give a hoot about their stage presence. They’re singing because they want to be part of the music, nothing more complicated than that.
After supper I sit down with my parents to watch the special two-hour season premiere of Big Time. The first episode of every season is always focused on auditions. They spend a few minutes on each of the ten audition cities; first they show the big crowds lined up to try out, and then some clips from the audition highlights.
Within the first few minutes of the show, a girl gets rejected, even though I think she has a great voice. I feel bad for her, but I can’t help feeling a bit comforted too. A little while later the judges let a guy through even though my parents and I agree that he wasn’t very good. I remember that Big Time is always like this. You can never really tell what the judges are going to say. Tim Canon is consistent though. He’s rude to everyone, even the people he likes—not that it makes me feel much better about the things he said to me.
“Look!” yells my mother excitedly, and I realize they’ve cut to the big lineup outside the building where I auditioned. There are a few quick shots of the crowd, but I’m not in any of them. The crowd shots are followed immediately by the second day of auditions, making it appear as if they happened on the same day, although I know better. My heart starts to pound. I really hope they don’t show my audition, because I don’t want to end up on TV looking like an idiot. Poppy appears on the screen almost right away. She strides out in front of the judges as confident as anything and cheerfully announces her name.
“Look!” says Mom. “It’s your friend! That girl who babysat you!”
“She didn’t ‘babysit’ me,” I say.
Tim Canon says something rude about Poppy’s outfit, and Poppy sasses him right back, which gets the other judges laughing and even forces a smile out of Tim.
“She’s a natural,” says Dad.
Then Poppy sings a gorgeous full-throated rendition of “At Last,” by Etta James. The judges can’t praise her enough, even Tim, and when she leaves the room the cameras stay on them for a few more seconds.
“That girl is the real deal,” says GG as Tim and Maria nod. “She could win the whole thing.”
Next, they show Babette Gaudet’s audition. She comes marching into the judging area and basically proceeds to bomb out. I’m not surprised, since she was pretty bad in the group audition. Tim Canon rips into her as cheerfully as ever, and even GG gets in on the act, telling Babette she should quit singing altogether. What strikes me is that while she’s singing, Babette really does seem to be enjoying herself. She’s off-key for sure, but she’s smiling and her eyes are closed. You can tell she’s really lost in the song. After they rip her apart, though, she looks totally defeated, and she storms out of the room as they continue to laugh at her. Only Maria Tillerman, sitting forward with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, doesn’t seem to be enjoying the spectacular flameout.
It’s not out of the ordinary for the Big Time judges to be mean to a contestant, but I feel differently about it this time. I know what it’s like to stand in front of them, hoping they’ll tell you you’re great, only to have them stomp on your self-esteem. It isn’t as funny when you know how it feels.
It turns out I have nothing to worry about. Just like Maria Tillerman predicted, I don’t show up onscreen at all. After Babette’s appearance the show cuts to a commercial, and when it comes back they’re on to another city. My audition is lost to history.
When the show’s over, I go up to my room and send Poppy a quick message.
Wow! You were amazing! I’m so proud of you, and I know you’re going to do great. I’ll be voting for you every week.
I pause for a minute before writing the second half of my message.
I’ve been asked to join a choral group. I think I’m going to give it a shot. Maybe next time you’re in town, you’ll have a chance to see me sing too.