starlight and dewdrops

The snow had finally stopped, and just in time it seemed, as happy families and elderly couples all made their way into the church for the annual Christmas recital. Some children stopped to scoop up handfuls of snow, and their parents shrieked and scolded them, brushing the snow from their good coats while the kids rolled their eyes and whined at having to go to church when they could be at home waiting for Santa to arrive.

He waited until the crowd had thinned before emerging from his car. Smoothing back his hair and pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck, he took the concrete steps two at a time and entered the building. He felt a chill run up his spine as soon as he was inside. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew it wasn’t just because of the cold.

He didn’t hang his coat like everyone else had. Better to keep it on in case he needed to make a hasty exit.

“Merry Christmas,” a woman said to him with a smile. She handed him a folded church bulletin. “Do you have a child performing?”

He blinked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, I do,” he answered.

“Well, take a seat anywhere you’d like,” she said, and ushered him inside.

He swallowed hard and slipped into an empty pew in the very back, clutching the bulletin in both hands. After a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, he opened it and scanned the names, searching only for one.

Michael Scofield – age 5 – performing “Beautiful Dreamer” on the piano

He sat up a little straighter, peering over people to see better. It didn’t take him long to spot the boy, sitting right up front with the rest of the kids performing tonight. A few rows back, he saw Lincoln.

And her.

He ducked and slumped a little. He didn’t want her see him. He wanted to stay as long as he could, see Michael play. But if she knew he was there, she’d make him leave.

Leaning out into the aisle, he watched as Michael studied his sheet music, his expression serious as his eyes flitted over the notes, memorizing each one. He knew Michael was smart, a regular little Einstein according to the boy’s mother. She had told him that over the phone, right before she said not to come around.

“They don’t need you,” she said. “Lincoln has adjusted just fine, and Michael doesn’t even know you.”

“But I’m clean now,” he said. “I want to see them. I’m their father.”

“In name only,” she responded, and hung up.

So he watched from afar as his boys grew up without him. He happened to be at the grocery store a week ago when he overheard two little old ladies talking about the recital coming up at the church where they were Sunday school teachers. One of them mentioned Michael’s name, saying how impressed she was that a boy his age could play such a complex piece of music.

He knew he had to be there, to witness his son’s performance.

The church service wasn’t nearly as boring as he’d thought it would be, and soon it was time for the kids to showcase their talents. He sat through a couple of bad renditions of classic Christmas carols, and then it was Michael’s turn.

He held his breath as Michael took one last look at his music, then carefully placed it on the pew. He took a seat at the piano, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes a bit and began to play.

As the first strains of the music filled the church, everyone fell silent. There were no crying babies or rustling of papers. It was like magic, and Michael’s father felt a great surge of pride that everyone was so fascinated with his son.

When the final note was played, he couldn’t help himself. He brought his hands together in a loud and crisp clap that drew everyone’s attention to him, including Lincoln’s and his ex-wife’s. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and Lincoln could only glare.

But it was Michael’s reaction that hit him hardest. The boy stood up to take a bow, then paused and focused on him, frowning as if trying to place him. Although Michael had never seen him in person, he felt that his son knew him. And then Michael nodded, ever so slightly.

He smiled back, and while everyone else was rising to their feet to applaud, he quietly slipped out of the church. The starlight outside illuminated the snow hanging from the tree branches, making them sparkle and shine. Standing on the steps, he folded the bulletin carefully and tucked it into his coat pocket. Then he hurried to his car, got in and pulled out into the street.

As he passed the front door of the church, he saw a boy standing there. It was Michael, staring out with inquisitive eyes. And then his mother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside.

Michael’s father choked back a tear and drove away. He didn’t see Michael for years after that. He kept tabs on him though, knew that the boy had grown up, gone to college, graduated with a degree and got a good job. It wasn’t until one day he happened to have the news on and saw the story. His smart, wonderful and talented son had robbed a bank.

He went to the bottom drawer of his bedroom dresser and picked out the faded church bulletin, still creased in the center. He read the line for the hundredth time.

Michael Scofield – age 5 – performing “Beautiful Dreamer” on the piano

He looked to the television, saw Michael being handcuffed and placed in a patrol car. Angry now, he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it in the garbage can. Then he turned off the television and went out for his first drink in over 20 years.

~end