On A Pilgrimage To Lexington KY
Thomas Lancaster and Michael Bouvier ride together to see the Magnolia estate. Lillian and her sisters ride with their Mother.
Lillian’s father, Thomas Lancaster, would have much preferred to have ridden in the car with his ex-wife and daughters than to ride with Michael Bouvier to Lexington. But as awkward as he felt, he was still trying to make the best of things. He turned his head a moment backwards and he could see Michael’s camera on the back seat and what clearly looked like a White House brochure with a photo album laying on top of it.
“So you’ve been to the White House recently?” he asked.
“Yes, a week ago I was at the White House,” Michael answered matter-of-factly.
“I bet you have some extraordinary stories to tell,” Thomas told him.
“You don’t want me to bore you with some of my old sailor’s tales, I’ve had quite a life as some would think. I’ve been married three times. I outlived all of them.”
“I’m sorry.” Tommy paused. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you at the house that first time.”
“I sat across from Chairman Mao on February 21, 1971. On that first trip there was another photographer older than me, a man who the White House used many times. Now that is someone who drew more respect than me. Three photographs was all The Chairman allowed me. I still can’t believe where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.”
“So what are we going to see at this house in Kentucky?”
“That’s one of the things I like about you, Mr. Lancaster,” Michael noted.
“Always to the point. No pretence at all.” Thomas paused a moment as though to gather his thoughts.
“It’s an extraordinary house, with an even more extraordinary display in the basement. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“I’m not really into surprises,” Thomas acknowledged.
“You’re daughter said that about you.”
“What else did she tell you about me?” He seemed a little annoyed.
“Only good things, Mr. Lancaster, especially how much she loves you.”
“Do you mind if I look at the photographs?” Thomas asked.
“Go ahead,” Michael answered.
Thomas reached back into the back seat and retrieved the photo album. There were numerous photographs from several White House scenes, including the three photos he had taken of Maria Valenzuela.
He began to flip through the album and carefully examine all of the photographs. Michael kept glancing over at him as he turned each page of the album until the end.
“You travel in different circles than I travel in, Mr. Bouvier.”
“It seems in this particular instance, Mr. Lancaster, we’re traveling in the same circle,” Michael responded.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Thomas asked.
“You can ask me whatever you want, but I’m not sure I can give you the answers you’re looking for. I’ve photographed the famous and the powerful, but a photograph can lie. They can make a man who is dying of Addison disease look virile and healthy. They can make a liar look like a loving man and an honest man look like a liar. They can take you into another world, a world of make believe.”
Michael spoke these words, with anguish in his voice.
“You seem like a man who knows more than he’s willing to talk about.” Thomas acknowledged.
“You seem like a man who is devoted to his wife and family. A valuable commodity in this cold-blooded world.”
“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Bouvier.”
“Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your family. You’re in for a pleasant surprise when we arrive in Kentucky.” He said. “I have some bluegrass music if you don’t mind.” Michael put a CD in the player and turned up the volume on the radio and it began to play a sad and poignant blue grass piece with piano, banjo and saxophone.
Michael Bouvier’s car was behind the other car with the women and Lillian was driving.
“Are you getting tired, Baby, it’s been four hours of driving,” Lillian’s mother asked.
“I’m OK, Mommy. I got used to the driving and you remember how I was sick.”
“No one suspected you were sick,” Bridget interjected.
“We’re getting closer to lunchtime,” Lillian expressed. “Is everyone ready to stop now to get something to eat?”
“Is your father still behind us?” her mother asked.
“Mr. Bouvier has been behind us the whole way,” Lillian answered.
“Do you want to stop in Charleston?” Lillian asked.
“We can stop wherever you want,” her mother responded.
“Do you want to take a vote?” Lillian asked. “I propose we stop in Charleston. All in favour?”
Three hands went up.
“Any requests?” Lillian asked. “There’s the regular fast food or we can go to a restaurant,” she said.
“Any place is fine, Baby,” her mother responded.
“I hope Daddy and Mr. Bouvier are getting along.”
“Call your father, Allison as soon as Lily finds a restaurant.”
Lillian exited the highway to drive through the small downtown to look for a restaurant.
“I usually want to go to places near major stores,” Lillian explained. “There rarely wasn’t a time that I didn’t meet someone.”
“Your sister, Bridget, has been watching your videos, Baby, she tells us they’re beautiful.”
“It’s nothing to do with me. I just turned on the camera and let them all speak,” Lillian acknowledged.
‘How about Sanford’s?” Lillian asked. “It’s a chain but the food is palatable.”
“That would be fine,” her mother responded.
“OK then, we’ll stop here.”
Lillian pulled into the parking lot and Mr. Bouvier who was riding three cars behind her, followed her into the parking lot. She drove to the Sanford’s Restaurant which was at the center of the mall parking lot.
“Welcome to Charleston,” Allison almost shouted.
“I brought a new set of sneakers, Mommy,” Allison told her. “I think I may run around the perimeter of the parking lot.”
“You don’t have to baptize every new place we see with a ritual run,” Bridget chided her sister.
“Don’t mock your sister, Bridget. Her running is salvific. Remember what St. Paul said about the foot race. ‘I pommel my body forward like an athlete. Athletes do this for a perishable crown. How much more for a heavenly reward? Lest after preaching to others, I myself am disqualified.’” She paused. “So you see, running is a Godly thing.”
Mr. Bouvier climbed out of the Mustang.
“We’re halfway there, Mr. Bouvier,” Lillian told him. “Four hours and thirty minutes to go. I’ve gotten pretty good at predicting drive times.”
“You look jubilant,” Michael observed. “I don’t think I’ve seen a face as happy as yours at this moment. Please allow me to take a photograph.”
“I’m a mess,” Lillian responded.
“Right now you’re as beautiful as any of the stars I photographed as a young man.”
He went to the Mustang and got his camera. He carefully focused the shot with the mall as a backdrop and he took three pictures.
Lillian’s father seemed uneasy about the photographs.
“Don’t worry so much, Daddy,” she told him. “Mr. Bouvier is an angel from God.”
“I have become a messenger,” Michael observed. “I’m gratified for the chance to make myself useful again.”
The six of them then walked toward the restaurant. Michael carried the camera with him.
When they arrived at the front door, they could see that the restaurant was crowded with a mix of younger people and older patrons, waiting in line that went nearly halfway around the building.
“I see this is a popular place,” Lillian’s father commented. “There must not be much to do in this little town.”
“Have you ever been to Charleston, West Virginia before, Mr. Bouvier?” Bridget asked.
“Once, a long time ago. I came here with my first wife, Christina. She had family that lived in Charleston.” he answered.
“How long ago was that, Mr. Bouvier?” Lillian’s mother asked him.
“Nineteen sixty-seven,” Michael answered.
It took nearly twenty minutes for them to finally make it into the restaurant and the hostess that greeted them, seemed overwhelmed.
“Is it usually like this on a Thursday afternoon?” Michael asked her.
“No, this is unheard of. It’s like everyone decided to come here at the same time.”
“What is the best item you have on the menu?” Michael asked her.
“The best item is the chicken fried steak, in my humble opinion,” she responded. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer.”
“I’m in no hurry,” Michael responded. “Do you mind if I take a photograph?”
“I must look terrible,” she responded. “I haven’t stopped working since I got here at 9 o’clock,” she paused. “My boss is watching me. How quickly can you take the photograph?”
“Thirty seconds,” Michael responded.
He lifted the camera and in less than thirty seconds snapped a photograph.
“Alright, I’m done. And your name, young lady?”
“My name is Margaret. Margaret Cummings.”
“Ms. Cummings I have a present for you.”
He took out his wallet and removed a card. “This is for a friend of mine, Stavros Petronos. He is always looking for extraordinary faces. You Margaret have an extraordinary face.”
“I don’t know what to say. Let me take you to a table.”
She walked the six of them to a round table at the southern corner of the dining room.
“Your waitress will be here momentarily.”
“Are you trying to mess with her, Michael?” Lillian’s mother asked him.
“Of course I was. I believe we should mess with the minds of everyone we encounter. But I was serious. She has a marvelous face. My friend can change her life.”
The two men sat together on one side of the table and the women on the other side. A young African American woman carrying six menus approached their table.
She was wearing a badge that read, “Hi, my name is Sasha.”
She handed each of them their menus, beginning with Mr. Bouvier and ending with her father.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to decide,” the waitress explained.
Then she left to serve other tables.
“This place is a little pricey,” Lillian’s father noted.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Lancaster,” Michael interjected, “I’ll take care of lunch. It’s my pleasure.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Bouvier,” Lillian intervened. “I can take care of all of us.”
“I insist,” Michael answered her. “Don’t take this blessing from me. I have more money than I need.”
Their waitress returned to take their orders.
“What is the best meal on the menu?” Michael asked her.
“The chicken fried steak with potatoes and okra is my favourite,” she reluctantly answered.
“Then I’ll take that,” Michael told her.
“Sounds great to me,” Lillian’s mother acknowledged. “I’ll have the same.”
“I’d like the barbecue chicken with potatoes au gratin,” Lillian spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Bouvier.”
“A cheeseburger and French fries,” Allison ordered.
“Some barbecue brisket with potato salad,” Bridget spoke slowly and deliberately.
“That leaves Daddy,” Allison noted.
Their father seemed undecided, looking at the menu several times. He looked at the faces of his daughters, each unique and beautiful and the face of his ex-wife. He pondered the diplomacy of food selection. Should he choose the same food as his ex-wife as a way of acknowledging her or should he go out on his own? It had been many years of life on his own, only having to think about himself. He missed the days of political struggle over something as simple as a meal choice. He finally decided to go with his wife and Mr. Bouvier. “I’ll take the chicken fried steak with the okra.” He didn’t care what repercussions might come from his choices and he was very happy to have been included on this travel quest.
“You’re sure you don’t want us to contribute?” Lillian’s mother again proposed.
“Please don’t deprive me of the joy it brings me to do this for you. I lived a great number of years in my life, thinking only about myself. I’ve outlived three wives; I was ready to drift into isolation and obscurity. Now I have your family and all the others that come into my life. For the first time in my life I look forward to getting my mail.”
Michael sat his camera down on the tabletop. Michael then turned his chair around and took a quick look around the dining room.
“Is everything OK, Mr. Bouvier?” Lillian’s mother asked him. “You seem a little nervous about something.”
“I’m always a little nervous about some things,” Michael responded.
For the next fifteen minutes, everyone was silent. Lillian’s father was the first to break the silence.
“Is there any kind of sneak peek you can tell us about this house that we’re going to see?”
“You’ll see it in just a few hours,” Michael responded.
The waitress brought their plates and delicately laid each of them in front of them.
“Thank you, Margaret,” Michael Bouvier told her when she placed his plate last. “Your service was excellent.”
She left them to continue her rounds.
“I meant every word I told our waitress, Margaret. I’ve found myself in the last few months speaking more and trying to find a meaningful way to interact with everyone whose circle I cross,” he explained.
“Not everyone is receptive to such attention,” Lillian noted. “On my trip, there were several people who responded badly to my encounters with them.”
“Could you say the blessing, Allison?” their mother asked.
“Sure Mommy,” she hesitated a moment. “Jesus, you have provided us with the blessing of good company and good food. We ask you to continue blessing our journey, and we thank you for your immeasurable loving kindness in every detail of our lives. Amen.”
“Thank you, Allison.”
Everyone began to eat their meals.
Allison was the first to finish. She stood up a moment and stretched her legs.
“You don’t mind if I run a little while, just around the parking lot a couple of times.”
“You want to run, Baby?” her mother responded. “How long should it take? I’m sure everyone else wants to get to Kentucky as soon as we can.”
“Let her run, Mommy,” Lillian intervened. “There are days that I wish I could just run.”
“Sure, Baby. But we’re leaving in half an hour to forty minutes,” her mother responded.
Allison left the restaurant to begin her running.
“My sister likes her running,” Lillian explained. “It’s like we all live in our separate worlds and we come back together in certain intervals.”
“We all have our eccentricities,” Michael retorted. “I can wait for her to finish her running.”
“She’s been running since she was a toddler,” Lillian’s father acknowledged. “We’ve all accepted that Allison runs.”
Allison left the restaurant and began to run around the perimeter of the parking lot. Allison recognized that it might have seemed strange to an outsider. But everyone knew that in order to remain competitive, Allison needed to run every day. Everyone who knew Allison understood and had accepted her running.
While Allison was making a spectacle of herself in the parking lot, to everyone’s surprise, Michael had decided on a distraction of his own.
“I have a guitar in the trunk of my Mustang,” Michael told Bridget.
“Do you think you could play a few chords for me?” he asked.
“She can play guitar,” Bridget’s mother responded. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to sing in a restaurant. Kind of a ‘bucket list’ thing. This place seems as good as any,” he responded.
“Lilly, you wouldn’t mind going to my car and fetching my guitar for me? There is also a sheet of music. I thought we could sing when we got to Lexington. But if they let me here and I’ve become very good at persuading people, then I can sing this song here. Maybe we can create a moment, one of those nexus points between whatever world there is beyond this, and this world.”
He handed Lillian his keys and she left the restaurant to go to his car. When she opened the trunk, she found not only a guitar but a cello as well. She also found the sheet of music with the song. Lillian scanned the music, then read these words:
After I found an old letter among all my forgotten memories,
Glimmerings of days past. I laughed a moment,
for all the things I waited for I thought I knew would never come.
Some of them were tragedies like Faust among the demons.
Some of them were comedies like that special night I learned of love.
All of them were great surprises, in disguise or so obvious
In their comings and goings, I wonder how I didn’t see them long ago.
There were moments when I wondered if anything would come at all,
Doubting my persistence.
There were epics I knew I was living and had the greatest misgivings
When I knew that they were done.
They were moments of intense anticipation that time seemed to stop,
Tomorrow seemed not to come.
There were people, so many people whose faces were living symbols
And whose meetings seemed religious in their overtones.
It seems I spend my whole life waiting, waiting to meet, waiting to depart,
Waiting to arrive, waiting for time to slow down,
Waiting for time to speed up,
Waiting to see, waiting to be, and waiting to become.
She took the guitar out of the trunk and she brought it back into the restaurant. She handed it to Michael.
“I’m going to see if I can arrange this. Give the guitar and music to your sister,” he explained.
Then Michael left them for the back of the restaurant. He took his camera and went toward the kitchen to speak to the manager. He was gone for fifteen minutes, then to everyone’s surprise, he came out of the kitchen smiling.
“What happened?” Lillian asked him.
“Just watch,” Michael responded.
“He’s going to let you sing this song?” Lillian commented.
“You can jump on stage and shout ‘Let me touch him or I’ll die.’ I can sing a song in Sanford’s Restaurant in Charleston, West Virginia. Stranger things have happened in this world.”
To everyone’s surprise, the manager set up a microphone and a long black wire. He placed a small stool near the kitchen doors and Michael asked Bridget, “Can you play this for me?”
“It won’t be perfect,” she responded.’
“Nothing in life is perfect,” Michael spoke firmly.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Bridget began to strum the guitar and Michael began to sing. The patrons in the restaurant were completely surprised. As Michael’s voice grew stronger, everyone listened as he sang every word finally ending with the chorus, “I’ve spent my whole life waiting.”
When he finished the song, there was spontaneous applause coming from about half of the patrons. However, the others seemed completely confused and confounded by what had happened.
When Michael had finished his singing, he returned to his seat.
“What a crazy experience! Now I can’t say that I’ve never sang a song in a restaurant.”
Michael sat for the rest of the meal, smiling and there was a glow on his face as though a light was coming from behind his eyes. After everyone finished, he took the check, they all departed to their cars. Lillian knew she would remember this experience the rest of her life.
“You seem to have a very unusual life, Mr. Bouvier,” Lillian’s father told him as they both began to climb into the Mustang.
“Seize the moment,” Michael responded. “The stories I could tell if I were a man who told stories.”
Lillian and her mother and sisters climbed into their car. After five minutes of waiting, Michael was the first to leave and they began their drive toward Highway 79.
After Lillian’s father climbed into the car with Michael, he told Michael matter-of-factly, “It was great what you did with the singing. I’m not sure I could do what you did. Stand up in front of all those people.”
“What I did was showing off. I’ve spent my whole adult life in the public eye, the kind of courage that really matters is the kind that makes a man honor even his most difficult commitments, especially for his children. You are clearly devoted to your daughters and they’ve become wonderful young women.”
“Their mother has a large part to do with that,” Lillian’s father interjected.
“You know when we’re children for many of us, those first years are magical and then as we grow older, we stop believing in magic,” Michael commented. “These past few months have made me believe in magic once again.”
Michael put a CD of soft bluegrass music in the player and for nearly an hour as he drove, neither spoke a word to the other. They just listened to the mostly instrumental music.
“Have you ever been to Kentucky before?” Michael asked.
“No, I haven’t been to too many places, just to Baltimore and Pittsburgh to see my mother.”
“What about horses? Have you ever been around horses?” Michael asked.
“Never been around horses,” Thomas answered.
Lillian’s father had been raised in a middle-class neighbourhood in Pittsburgh, the son of a postman. He was from a completely different world as Edward Magnolia. Michael had no idea how Lillian’s father would respond to the Magnolia household.
“You’ve got a lot more stamina than I have,” Lillian’s mother told Lilly as she pummeled forward at nearly seventy miles an hour. “Where do you get the energy, Baby?”
“I get the energy from being alive, Mommy, it has been an extraordinary year!”
“What do you know about where we’re going?” her mother asked.
“Only what Michael told me and that is not much. He wants it to be a surprise.” She paused a moment. “I know, Mommy. You don’t like surprises.”
“I don’t like unpleasant surprises!” her mother responded.