"I'll try to be for you," he replied. "Ready? We'll do it a few times, record it, listen to it and correct whatever we want to correct,"
I smiled at him. The night before he had tried so hard to cheer me up after what had happened to me at the Kit-Kat Club. His first thought was that I was unhappy about not being able to please Shawn Carter. He wanted to la-low how long we had been going together: when I told him it had been my first and only time with Shawn, he looked relieved and surprised.
"I don't hang around with anyone in particular at school," he told me as he turned from the piano. "so I don't know about everyone's social life, but that was the first time I've seen you at the Kit-Kat. Where do you usually go on dates?"
"I don't," I told him.
"I don't understand," he said.
"I haven't gone on many dates."
The more he learned about me, the happier he became. "Why are you smiling?" I finally asked him.
"You're a lot like me," he said. "All this time. I thought you were so quiet and reserved because you were so far ahead of everyone else at the school socially. That's why I wasn't surprised to see you with the army guys."
I looked at him quizzically. Was it just him or did others at my school think that of me?
"I mean." he quickly added, thinking he had somehow put me down. "you definitely could be in an instant, if that's what you wanted."
I laughed to myself. Why did everyone, including and especially Mama think I was so special?
"I'm not trying to be above or ahead of anyone. Balwin," I told him.
He smiled and after a moment softly said. "You don't have to try. Ice."
Was he just trying to make me feel good again? Or was he saying these things because he was as much a loner as I was and I had come to his house? My guess was I was the first, the first girl at least.
Did he ask me because he really, truly believed in my talent or because I was a girl?
Questions, doubts, suspicions.
Why can't you just accept a compliment and leave it at that? I asked myself. What are you afraid of, Ice Goodman?
Being too much like your mother? She would certainly ask the question.
Maybe, deep down inside, you're really afraid of not being enough like her?
Shut up and sing. I told myself. Just sing.
5 A Song of My Own
I thought our first rehearsal went just all right. but Balwin was more enthusiastic. When he referred to me, he used words and expressions like "terrific," "amazing talent," "a prime candidate for any school." Of course. I assum
ed he was just being nice. I knew what it meant to compete in the world of
entertainment. Daddy had told me lots of stories about singers and musicians he had known in his life, people who were talented and yet failed to get anywhere because they didn't have the breaks they needed or the grit to keep trying.
"It's much easier to accept failure and become comfortable with it than it is to keep coming at them. Ice." he said. "You blame it on destiny or fate or luck and just settle into mediocrity. Lots of good people I know lost the fire in their spirits and now smoulder in some dark, small place, drowning their ambitions and dreams in alcohol or drugs."
The way Daddy spoke about it made me wonder what had been his private dream. When he finally revealed that he had once hoped to play the trumpet because his teacher had encouraged him. I was surprised. He had never even hinted at it before. Then he dug down in a dresser drawer to show me his trumpet mouthpiece. His maternal grandmother had bought him the instrument.
"It's all I have of the trumpet I once had," he said. "I blow on it from time to time when I get nostalgic."
"What happened to your trumpet. Daddy?" I asked. His eyes darkened and he shook his head.
"My father made me pawn it. only I pretended to have lost the mouthpiece. He beat me for that," he said.
"Why didn't you Zo back to playing, Daddy?" I asked him.