We arrived at the airport later than we’d intended. I’d stopped at Mr. Jorgensen’s door half a dozen times that morning, but he wasn’t there.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” my mother said. “Alisha said he’s had a lot of appointments lately.”
“Okay,” I said. But I had a strange feeling that this time it wasn’t just an appointment. That something had happened.
Something bad.
Then we were in the airport, and there were people everywhere and none of us knew where to go. My mother wanted to buy a magazine, something she never did, and my father spent ten minutes trying to understand why you had to empty out all your water, so by the time we actually got into the International Departures line, there was a good chance we were going to miss our plane entirely.
I kept looking back at the giant inner space of the airport. There were TVs everywhere, and a steadily descending waterfall covered most of one wall. People with cell phones pressed to their ears. Kids holding their parents’ hands on the escalator. And so much noise. It seemed as though a new announcement blared from the speaker system every five seconds. I was so enthralled by all the motion and noise and the immensity of the place that I didn’t even see him at first.
Mr. Jorgensen.
Alisha was there, pushing her father in a wheelchair. She left him a short distance away and rushed over to us. “I’m so sorry we weren’t there to see you off. Dad had an incident last night when he was at my place, and we’ve been at the hospital.”
He looked even more fragile sitting there.
“Is he okay?” I said.
“He will be,” Alisha said. “As much as he can be.” She said hello to my parents. The line shifted ahead of us.
“Isn’t he going to come over?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He wants to say goodbye. They gave him some drugs this morning that are making it really difficult for him to speak. So you might not get much more than a couple of words.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t completely sure what was going on, but I could see that Alisha was very concerned.
“He shouldn’t be here, but there was no way I could keep him away.”
“Can we get out of line and see him?” I asked my father.
“We’re tight for time,” he said. The line behind us stretched all the way into an area that was not cordoned off. It would take forever to get back to where we were now. My mom let people pass as Alisha stepped away. While she was walking back to her father, I had an idea. I quickly set my violin case on the floor and opened it. It only took a moment for me to get the instrument out and tighten my bow. As Alisha came back, pushing her father, I began to play. Silence swept through the terminal like a wave, leaving only the sound of my violin in its wake.
Or, at least, that was how it felt.
I played Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin—Melodia (Adagio). Slow. Steady. Letting each note flow from my fingers. Letting the sound escape the violin as though it had been freed from prison. Or as though it hadn’t ever existed until I thought to create it.
Mr. Jorgensen smiled. He brought a hand to his face. Pretended he wasn’t wiping away a tear. As I finished, he slowly nodded to me.
Everyone around us applauded. I held my violin beneath my arm. Held my bow firmly in one hand. And bowed.
But I was only bowing for Mr. Jorgensen.
“Adagio,” he said, still nodding. “At ease.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
The line pushed us forward. We were out of time.
“You’re welcome, my boy.”
“I’ll see you when I get back,” I said.
He smiled briefly. “Absolutely.”
We pushed through the doors to the security check. The guard, a man almost exactly my height with a big beard and thick black-rimmed glasses, looked at my violin as I was attempting to get it back in its case. “Was that you playing out there?”
“It was,” I said.
“That was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“No, thank you. You just made my day.”
It was as if I was gathering people’s emotions. As if every time someone listened and really heard what I was playing, I was pushing the voice of doubt farther and farther down. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That the fear would flare up again, shaking my body, clouding my mind. But I also knew I could control it.
That I just had to play for myself.