The Brandywine Prophet

2.2 The Evolution of the Brandywine Prophet

(Live the life you’ve imagined!) The voice never left.

There was no sign of apprehension in Janie’s eyes as she watched Hannah Banerjee play a dumbed down version of “Fur Elise” on the piano. Tonight marked the end of her years in the preteen division. She was only twelve years old, but next month she would dance with the teenagers in Miss Kayla’s studio.

The recital was open to all Brandywine residents as a special talent show for the community and another excuse for parents to videotape their kids performing mundane works of art. Every year the recital was held in a different home; this year, Sandeep and Jenna Banerjee saved two months of piano tuition by hosting. He was a doctor (or lawyer, or business executive) and she was a stay-at-home helicopter for their daughter, Hannah, who was currently butchering Beethoven. Glancing around their (lovely) home, it seemed their favorite color was that light shade of beige that designers recommend painting walls before trying to sell. If Sandeep had any aesthetic ties left from his Indian heritage, Brandywine stripped it away like turpentine and slathered it with light brown.

In anticipation of the recital, Sandeep spent the week in his garage building a wooden platform--ten feet wide and six inches off the ground--for the dancers to perform on. He constructed the little stage so it could be disassembled and reassembled for future recitals. Miss Kimberly saw the set-up, gave the wood a quick tap, and deemed the particleboard unsuitable for dancing. Sandeep nodded and agreed, and now the stage stood upright, leaning belly out against the dining-room windows.

(Follow your dreams!)

Will spent the last five days suppressing the urge to herald his vision. Even now, sitting in rented folding chairs listening to dreck and clapping like he was at a golf tournament, he wanted to tip over the makeshift stage, climb on top and shout “Let me tell you what happened!” Sarah must have sensed his desire; three times, just when Will thought he might actually stand up and proclaim his news, her hand slid around Janie’s back and squeezed his shoulder.

William recognized the end of “Fur Elise” and readied his polite clap. Hannah finished better than she started, slid from the bench, and stood to meet her applause.

“Finally!” a boy in the front row yelled and threw up his hands. Hannah blushed and crinkled her brow to hold back tears, but the audience couldn’t help but snicker at the outburst. The little boy’s parents grabbed him and told him “bad,” but at least the kid had the cahoonas to say what everybody was thinking. Better not do that after Janie’s dance, Will thought.

The single-leaf program indicated that Janie was next. She rose from her seat and took the “stage” with what Will perceived as a slight air of superiority, or maybe boredom from doing what she had nearly perfected. He glanced at Hyde and Kayla (was she wearing a tutu?) and made sure his new friend had the video camera ready like they discussed. Will wanted this dance on tape, but he wouldn’t stoop to the same level of obsessive adoration as the other parents.

Miss Kimberly ducked and scuttled to the CD player, pushed play, and Janie began her ballet dance to “Hallelujah.”

Fifteen years ago Will deemed “Hallelujah” his favorite song, but too many overly sentimental teenybopper renditions defiled Leonard Cohen’s original erotic reverence and Will had to train his body not to shudder at the version Janie chose for her dance. “But I like the lyrics, Dad!” she said when he tried to talk her out of it. How could he argue with that?

Will split his attention between Janie and the little boy in front. He leaned forward to observe the toddler’s face through the chairs and purses; joy from the successful outburst was still painted on his face. At about five years old, he wouldn’t understand that jokes lose their humor the second time around, and with the chuckles he received after Hannah’s performance, he’d try it again. Janie’s reaction would be different, to say the least.