photo comes into focus. “I don’t know who this kid is or who this woman is, because she could be anyone. What she has is a family, someone to care for and, when she’s old, someone to take care of her.”
The picture fades as the lights come on, causing us all to blink and squint.
“So, I chose these three photographs not because they were my best, but because they showed people like us at their best: someone who fought for their country, but had no one to tell his stories to; a woman who found time to talk with strangers, and a mum showing her kid how to share, enjoy a picnic and to make up their own stories.”
Realising he has gone over his time slot, he looks across at the portly gentleman tapping his watch. “Sorry, I’ve taken so long to explain, but…” He checks his notes. “But, as Elliot Erwitt said, almost a hundred years ago, photography has, ‘little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.’
“I just wonder sometimes if we look, but don’t see the stories behind the people. One day, I hope to help everyone to see how ordinary people deserve to be seen and listened to. That’s all. Thanks for listening.”
Unable to help myself, I stand and applaud. “Bravo.” Following my cue, the room erupts into spontaneous applause.
Becoming suddenly aware of my presence, Jamie smiles—no, he doesn’t smile—he beams. His smile illuminates this badly lit school hall and outshines everything else in it by a mile.
The following six contenders recite poetry, play the piano, strum along to a hit record off the radio, tap dance, juggle and one ‘comedian’ even tells jokes that cause everyone in the hall to squirm in their chairs with embarrassment, but not of them have charisma and display the passion or raw talent of James Carlson.
After a session of confused scribbling, the collecting of papers, and counting of votes, the master of ceremony prepares to announce the winners in reverse order. I feel my palms perspiring.
“In third place, with a stirring rendition of “Memory” from Cats, is Julie Renwick.”
There’s applause. She collects her award.
“In second place, amazing us with his wizardry was our very own magician, Peter Leaman.”
Applause again. He collects his award, while inadvertently allowing a magician’s wand to fall from his sleeve.
Oh come on, for fuck’s sake.
“And taking first place is the aptly named Melody Derbyshire and her wonderful piano playing. Come on down and receive your award, Melody.”
What!
Instinctively I get to my feet, gearing myself up to make a formal complaint—to insist on a recount. Did no one see what I saw? Didn’t Jamie just put himself out there? Didn’t he make a profound statement about the human condition and societal responsibility and compassion?
Are you fucking kidding me?
As musician extraordinaire, Melody, prepares to play us out with another song, I make my leave. Outside, I see a teenage boy about to step out of the front door; it’s the backpack that gives his identity away.
“What a fucking fix!” I call out, causing him to glance back at me over his shoulder.
He smiles resignedly. “Don’t worry. You get used to it.”
I walk outside with him. “Get used to what? Them not having a clue about talent?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know about that. Melody was favourite to win. They just included me to make up the numbers.”
“Bullshit!” I shake my head more with disgust than disbelief. “You should have won, Jamie. They had talent, for sure, but it was taught; she’d been playing the piano for years and reading musical notes strung together by someone else. You invented something out of nothing. You saw something other people hadn’t and made sense of it. Using the quote was genius...”
He stops walking.
I stop talking.
“Look, I didn’t expect to win, so you don’t have to say stuff to make me feel better. You came. You got to watch my presentation, that’s enough. Okay?”
I contain my response behind a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” We pick up the pace, and I direct him towards Lester waiting by the Rolls, keeping any further pearls of wisdom to myself.
“Anyhow, I got the idea from you,” he says, dodging puddles.
“From me?”
“Yeah. One of your speeches was on YouTube. You started with a quote, said your bit and went back to the quote at the end. I thought it might work for me…”
“It did.”
“It worked better for you. You got a shit load of applause and they