A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,16

at the stage. She could hear the crowd more clearly now. Tell a story. Tell a story.

A single spotlight lit center stage and Michael stood alone. He had changed to a plaid, button down shirt, and sweat was pouring down his chest, fabric clinging to his body. He put his hands in his front pockets and said into the mike, “I’ve got a four year old niece who says the same thing every time I see her.”

Laughter, and then the crowd got quiet.

“Well, tonight I’ve got two new stories for you.” There was a burst of applause. Michael grinned. “That’s what you get for being the hometown crowd.” The applause rolled again, died down. “I’ll start with Max. I have a dog named Max. We never figured out what he was, exactly. We think part Irish wolfhound and part Alaskan brown bear. He was a gift from this woman I knew for a while.”

“Gretchen Miles,” someone yelled from the audience.

“Bitch,” someone else yelled.

Michael shook his head. “Man, you guys are harsh.” More laughter. “Anyway, the only real people food Max ever ate was pastrami, because my niece fed him about a half a pound of the stuff one afternoon.” Diane took a quick intake of breath as the audience laughed. “And from that moment on he could smell pastrami from a mile away, and whenever he did he went crazy.”

He took his hands out of his pockets to pull the front of his shirt away from his chest. “So, last week, I’m back home and I figure I’ll take Max out to Bloomfield Park. I got the Frisbee, I got tennis balls, we’re ready for anything, you know? So, we’re on the ball field, the park is practically empty, we’re having this great old time, and suddenly the wind shifts. Max freezes, and takes off like a shot and I know, man, I just know.” He paused and dropped his voice. “Shhhiiiit. It’s pastrami.”

Diane sank lower into her seat as Sue hit her excitedly on the arm.

“So Max is flying, and I am pounding after him, and there’s one, lone woman, sitting at a picnic table, eating a sandwich.” Laughter. “I yell, ‘he wants your sandwich’, and the woman jumps up on the picnic table, and she sticks out her hand and Max leaps like a gazelle, gets the sandwich, and it’s gone .” The audience started to clap and cheer. Michael was shaking his head, one hand on his hip. “So I’m looking up at this woman.” He got in closer to the mike, and dropped his voice again. “Sensational legs.” Diane glanced over at Emily, who was open-mouthed. “And this great tattoo right above her ankle.”

The crowd roared and hooted. Diane felt the blood drumming in her ears.

“Since she didn’t say anything about suing me,” Michael went on, “I bought her lunch and invited her to the show.” He shaded his eyes and looked down at them. “Are you girls having a good time?”

Megan, Emily and all their friends shrieked and waved excitedly. Michael nodded.

“Good.” He turned to the stage hand that had walked onstage with another microphone and an acoustic guitar. “Thanks, man.” He slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted the mike.

“Now I’m going to tell you all about my sisters. I have three, all older, and they were all into music, and I spent my whole childhood sneaking into one of their rooms, and listening to whatever they were listening to. That’s how I began to love music. That’s when I decided to make it a part of my life.”

His voice had dropped, grown softer, and Diane could feel everyone leaning in, straining to hear.

“When I was five, I started taking piano lessons, because everyone in my house took piano lessons. But I wanted to play guitar. Angela, my youngest sister, was taking guitar lessons. I made a deal with my Dad that I’d go to my piano lesson like a good little boy, if I could also go with Angela. So she took me along with her, I’d sit in the corner and listen, then we’d go home and practice together, and that’s how I learned to play the guitar. Angela had this big, old Lennon-McCartney songbook, and we learned every song.” The crowd burst into applause. As they quieted, he went on.

“My sisters all loved the Beatles, especially Paul. I would play and they would sing along. And that is just about as perfect a memory you could have.” He had