The Secret Life of Hubcaps
Four- My Name Is Micah
Once upon a time, in a city not too far from here, in a large office, in a tall building, behind a bulky desk sat a man named Big. “Find me another one, a prophet, psychic, seer… I don’t give a damn what you call it, find one NOW!” Big is handsome. The kind of handsome that raises the serotonin levels in everyone he meets. He is smart, graceful, always on the edge of a smile. Today he is not smiling. He is, however shining. Today Big is glowing with a light bordering on flame. A single drop of sweat lands on the desk in front of him. Steam rises off his temple.
The air in the room is brittle. A wrong move can break us all to pieces. I have not taken a breath in minutes. Static electricity jumps from person to person. Outside the noise of the crowd is deafening. Here, in this perfect place of class and style, it is a low roar. Right now no one in this room admits the world exists. It has ceased to turn on its axis. Evaporated into nothingness, banished from the space occupied by Big.
My right hand shakes, just a little. There is no need to hide it, as I know no one can see me in his glow. His eyes are waves, pulling me along in the undertow and pushing me away as they crash onto my shore. Now he is all about me. “Tell me everything you know about your ‘so called’ prophet.” The others use this as a chance to escape. Before I feel sorry for myself, I remember that when this is over, I will go home. They all have to come back tomorrow for another red tide.
“A busker is a street musician: someone that works for tips. You can find them in front of the Art Institute or the hallways at O’Hare.” My voice squeaked; this is not a good start. He knows this part, I’m sure. Still, he says nothing, so I go on. “I heard about her on Craigslist; the discussion boards were full of hype. ‘Micah told me the future or Micah healed my dog…’ Nothing BY Micah, who would follow someone that posts their God like qualities online? There was certainly a lot about her.” I settle into my chair as the urge to pee dies down.
“I have never had the need to believe in anything. If I was going to follow an idea or a person, Craigslist would be a poor place to start. Guess I was looking for something to write about other than payoffs and politics.” Big shows his legendary ‘I care about what you have to say’ face. I become Hervé Villechaize to his Ricardo Montalban. He drops the intensity down a notch, but remains Khan, not Mr. Roarke.
“She was trying to play a song in a pizzeria on North Clark when I finally met her.It sounded like Smoke Stack Lightning as sung by KT Tunstall. In a few more months, she would have been somebody’s ‘Next Big Thing’, with or without me. I decided I would do it myself. No matter how many times I searched online, I could not find a photo of the already semi-famous singing prophet. I expected to find someone in white robes, swaying to a sitar and sitting in the Lotus position. I found her engaging and alert. She laughed easily then. As you know, that would change. How can this Holy Wonder Gyrl be playing an out of tune guitar in a faded summer dress? She needed a marketing firm to win the world. I was too happy to help.”
“I sat at a table in my own little world. …or should I say, ‘her own little world’. Her voice was a high alto as she sang.”
My name is Micah
I was born in 1982
In the city of dreams and the Lincoln Park Zoo
Sometimes I know things
A voice from nowhere talks to me
I see things that others do not see
I Will Not Close My Eyes
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