156 The Meadow “Michael?” “I am going to spend it at my mother’s,” I answer. My mother died five years ago on her fifty-first birthday. My father left after I was born. He died in a town outside Guadalajara a few years later. “Oh. And where does your mother live?” “In the city.” “Do you have other members of your family joining you?” I can feel the pain in my eardrums now as the surrounding talk crescendos. I do not want to lie to her twice, so I tell her the truth. “My sister lives in Los Angeles. She is married with one boy and one girl.” “How old are they?” “Eight and ten.” “Michael?” she asks. Denis must be the same age I am. “Yes, Denise,” I answer. “How can you sing so beautifully and at the same time talk like… well, I mean…uh….” I deliberately smile to help her feel less embarrassed. “You sing exquisitely, Michael,” she says. “It makes me want to thank God for allowing me to witness the beauty of your voice.” To help calm my nervousness, I say to her: “Zebras.” “What?” she responds. “I wonder if you can train zebras just like we train thoroughbreds. Can you put a saddle on them and train them to jog and gallop?” “Well... I’ve never thought about….” “The training of zebras would be amazing. Don’t you think?” “I hope you keep singing at Reverend Kruger’s services. It means so much to him that you come here on Christmas and sing to the racetrack people who rarely get to experience beauty.”
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