Palouse 19
Copyright 2013. This work is protected under The United States Copyright Laws © 17 USC§§ 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.
Chapter 19
Injury – February 1991
Four Months Later
It was in the eleventh game of the season that Micah broke a finger on his left hand. He got sympathy from the coach and team. He got scorn from his mother. "I knew something like this would happen," she said as they left the emergency room in the Pullman hospital, with Micah's finger wrapped in splints intending to keep it immobile for the next two months.
"This is the first time in 10 years that there has been an injury on this team more than a sprained ankle," Micah pointed out. "Besides, I can play with my fingers taped together."
"Play what?"
"Basketball."
"Basketball? What about the rest of your life when high school is over? I can't believe this. This means that you will have to cancel your Seattle concert and your lesson this month with Marcia Vilas. You realize that, don't you?"
The intensity of expression on Betty's face would have been more frightening a few months earlier, but Micah had moved on. Micah didn't answer his mother, but for the first time, he didn't feel bad about it. He didn't feel under her thumb. In recent weeks, he had simply enjoyed being a teenager: the high-school social life and the parties – and Amelia. He even enjoyed sitting in the back of the band class at the piano with his trumpet. Nonetheless, he was torn: he enjoyed the sense of accomplishment and adulation and personal validation that came from his musical career – but he wouldn't mind a hiatus. The broken finger, however, was, in a way, a gift; it provided a respite from the pull of the violin career. Micah vowed to make the best of this hiatus.
He did. Every afternoon after school he didn't get on the yellow school bus. He walked to Amelia's, purportedly to study, but also to enjoy her bed when her mother was not there. In bed he was insatiable; Amelia had to force them out to the kitchen to study.
Soon, it became Arturo and his friends that transported Micah back to his home after school, even though the school bus was available, and after practices and his stays with Amelia, they became his taxi most afternoons. The trip in the extended-cab Ford between Endicott and the Kingman farm was always raucus and often made at high speed, sometimes with much squirreling of tires on dusty or muddy unpaved roads – and at times with exuberance and laughter fueled by cannabis.
The change in Micah's behavior disturbed his mother. She knew he wasn't adequately practicing even after the cast was removed from his fingers. Reports from teachers indicated that his grades were slipping. To Betty, Micah's career and life were crumbling in front of her, and she felt Micah did not realize how damaging the decline was. She stared at the white board with Micah's seriously reduced schedule for the next few months and shook her head. Even with what she'd heard from Marcia Vilas about the Amish and their Rumspringa, about how a break for teenagers helped them through normal feelings of rebellion, she couldn't accept what she feared was the loss of Micah.
* * * * *
"Micah, come here, right now!" Betty's voice climbed the stairs and flowed into Micah's and Greg's bedroom.
"I think Mom wants you," Greg said, sardonically.
"You think so?" Micah retorted as he slipped on some pants before going down to the kitchen where he found an angry Betty.
"I talked to Marcia Vilas this morning."
Micah sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself some orange juice.
"Do you have anything to say?" Betty asked.
Micah shrugged.
"She said you told her that you were going to take even more time off. You canceled your monthly lessons."
Micah shrugged again.
"Who do you think you are? What did you think you were doing?"
"I told her I was going to take some time off. I told her I'm done for a while."
"You call her back and tell her you changed your mind."
"No!"
"Well, I'll call her back and tell her you're still her student."
"You call her and tell her whatever the hell you want to. It's not going to make any damned difference."
"You watch your language, young man."
"Go to hell." Micah stood and turned away, slamming his fist against the cupboard as he left, rattling the dishes inside.
"You get back here, young man."
Micah continued up the stairs, entered his bedroom and slammed the door – hard.
"I take it things didn't go so well," Greg remarked.
"Observant, aren't you?" Micah sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. He looked across at Greg. "Hey, I'm sorry, bro. I just had an intense session with Mom. She found out that I told Marcia Vilas that I was going to take some more time off. She was pissed, to say the least."
"I'm sure she was. Are you sure you're making the right decision?"
"I want some time for me." Micah lay back on his bed for a minute and stared at the ceiling. "I'm shaking too much to keep on looking at the ceiling. Want to shoot some hoops?"
"I need to get some breakfast first."
"I'm not sure you want to go into the kitchen right now. The atmosphere is a bit stormy."
"You win. Get your shoes on. We'll go out by the front door. I'll eat when things have calmed down."
"They aren't going to calm down for a while."
* * * * *
"Your behavior lately has become unacceptable to this family. I don't know what is happening, but it needs to stop," Betty said.
"I'm living the life I want to live. Just stop ragging on me."
"You're going to come home on the school bus immediately after school now that your basketball season is over."
"Fine," Micah said bitterly, but he had no intention of obeying his mother.
Micah related this exchange the next afternoon to Amelia. "She's too domineering," Amelia said after they had made love. "Don't you see that? It's her lost career that she is trying to live through you. That's what's driving her. You need to do what's best for you, not what's best for her."
Amelia's perception came up as a result of her and Micah discussing protection; Micah had told her that her mother had to give up a piano career when she got pregnant and married.
Amelia's observation added to what Micah had been feeling, putting into words what he had sensed from the day in the attic looking through her memorabilia to her pushing him to achieve what she kept calling greatness. And, he was impressed that Amelia had picked up on his mother's ambitions so quickly. "I guess I never realized how much my mother's lost career affects her – and me, too. Now, I understand more. But I'm still pissed off at her." He turned to let Amelia cuddle his naked body to hers and to comfort him. He leaned over to kiss Amelia's breast, to flick his tongue against her nipple and to suckle gently on it. Amelia drew her hand through Micah's jet-black hair, her fingers fiddling with the woven cloth band that held his pony tail.
Micah's hand slid up the soft skin of her thigh, through the wiry hair and into the moistness of the vagina. His penis rose in concert with the movement of his hand. Amelia reached down and placed her hand around his cock and guided it into her. Micah rolled her over on her back and lay down on top of her, her breasts soft cushions against his chest. The rocking of his cock into her brought her near climax, and the final thrusting brought two intense orgasms
Dawn was breaking when he left Amelia's arms. It was almost light when he got home and tried to get to his bedroom.
"Micah, come in here." His mother was in the kitchen. "Now!"
Micah continued up the stairs without acknowledging his mother. He heard her footfalls on the stairs behind him. He had barely closed the bedroom door before his mother burst in behind him.
"Who do you think you are, staying out all night?"
"Greg is trying to sleep. Would you shut up so he can sleep?"
"I'm sorry, Greg, but this is too important," Betty said. "Micah, you're grounded."
You wish, Micah thought.
* * * * *
"Stanley, he won't give me his car keys," Betty said as they were at lunch.
"I'll support you, Betty, but are you sure you aren't being too harsh on the boy? He's been full time at the violin for almost seven years now. He's a professional on one level. He's a child on another. Don't you think it might be wise to let his child side catch up with his professional side?"
"He has too great a talent to let go to waste, Stanley. It would be a tragedy if he were to quit."
"Betty, if you push too hard, he's going to break." Stanley carried his plate and coffee cup to the dishwasher. He sighed. "I'll get those car keys tonight."
* * * * *
"I'm sorry, son, but I need your car keys," Stanley stood in Greg's and Micah's bedroom door.
"Will you tell Mom to just cool it for a while?" Micah said as he handed the keys over.
"Micah, will you just be patient with her. She has such high expectations for you. What she's doing is for your own good." And Betty's, too, Stanley thought as he returned downstairs.
It won't be too bad; I can get rides with Greg or with Amelia's brother or his friends, Micah thought. Not having a car is not the end of the world. Micah did not realize that it was going to be the end of the part of the world as he'd known it.
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