A few days after the end of the term I got a call from Emmy. She wanted to talk about the open mic night that Mr. Canseco had mentioned to her at the Winter Carnival concert.

“Will you please come with me? I could never do it without you there,” Emmy pleaded. “It is Wednesday night, and only for three hours. Please?”

Resigned, I sighed into the phone. “Of course I’ll come. What are friends for, right? Where is it?”

“It is at a coffee shop called ‘Edward’s’ down in San Diego, in a part of town with a strange name. It is called ‘Normal Heights’. What kind of name is that for a district?”

“Normal Heights? I’ve heard of it, but I’m not quite sure where it is. I think it’s an older part of town, though. So what exactly is the deal?”

“I looked it up online,” Emmy replied. “We have to get there half an hour early and put my name in the drawing. They pick eight performers at random from a hat. The performers each get twenty minutes, and at the end of the three hours all the audience gets to vote on who was the best. The winner gets paid to perform on Friday.”

“Well, obviously it’s stacked in favor of who brings the most friends, then. Although that isn’t really fair, I guess it makes sense from a coffee shop owner’s perspective. He just cares who’ll bring in the biggest crowd, right?” I mused.

“Should I invite a lot of people?” asked Emmy, seeing my point.

“It’d be tough to get a big group down there. Being from North County will definitely be a disadvantage. No, I think you’ll just have to win it the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” Emmy asked, puzzled. “What is that?”

“Just be the best, that’s all,” I responded with a chuckle.

“Oh,” she said, quiet for a moment. “I can try, but it might be that I am not the best.”

“Are you kidding? You’re absolutely amazing, Emmy. Of course you’ll be the best.”

“Thank you, Leah. That means very much to me.”

Wednesday afternoon, Emmy picked me up from the nursery and took me home for a quick shower. “You smell like the forest,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ve been helping out with the Christmas tree sales the last couple of days. The work’s O.K., but the smell of the pine sap gets to you after a while.”

After cleaning up, we hit the road. Our plan (such as it was) was to get there early enough to find someplace to have a bite to eat beforehand. Mr. Canseco had told Emmy that there were plenty of restaurants in the area but parking might be difficult, so we had no idea what to expect. We found the coffee shop easily enough thanks to the GPS in Emmy’s car, then drove around the area for a bit checking it out. It was an older area, sure, but it had a kind of funky charm. Parking wasn’t as bad as we had feared, maybe because it was midweek rather than a Friday or Saturday evening. We parked half a block from the coffee shop, but then walked a block the other way to a little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant for dinner. The food was good, but Emmy seemed too nervous to actually eat anything. I enjoyed my souvlaki plenty well, even though Emmy’s excitement made it hard to concentrate on the food.

After we ate (well, I did, anyway), we walked back to the coffee shop so Emmy could sign in. There was a dry-erase signboard outside announcing open mic night and listing the schedule for sign-in, performances and voting.

We went inside, me carrying Emmy’s guitar case for her so she could fill out whatever needed to be filled out.

I liked the place right away. It had a warm feel to it, with soft honey-colored walls and art hung everywhere. Low tables, old couches, and comfy chairs dominated the furnishings. The sign in was right at the counter, so Emmy bought us a couple of coffees while I found us some seats near the small stage.

She sat down moments later, handing me a delicious mocha with chocolate and caramel. She had her usual espresso, but I was pretty sure she didn’t need any caffeine at all. She was buzzing from anticipation already, so I reached over and took her hand. When she looked at me with surprise, I gave her hand a squeeze which made her smile. She squeezed my hand in return, then sat back to try to relax a bit, but kept hold of my hand.

Looking around I noticed that most of the people here in this coffee shop fit into the ‘urban hipster’ category, and thankfully most were far too cool to give Emmy more than a quick glance. Well, at least they were keeping their curiosity surreptitious, with only brief peeks in our direction. This was a pleasant change from the open stares that I’d seen in most other places the two of us had been and it made me feel better about the evening.

When the emcee took the stage to announce the names and order of the performers both Emmy and I sat up to pay better attention. He pulled the names one by one out of the old-fashioned bowler hat, and thankfully Emmy’s was fifth up. After he finished a fair number of people in the coffee shop picked up their instruments (mostly guitars) and left, which eased the overcrowding a bit.

Emmy noticed the others leaving, too. “Why do they not want to hear the others perform? Did they only come to hear themselves?” she pondered.

“When you put it that way, it does seem pretty ridiculous,” I conceded.

The first up was a guy with a beat-up old guitar made of what looked like galvanized sheet metal. His voice was good, but he insisted on strumming his guitar too loud and then having to shout over it.

After him came a couple of young women who sang duets in harmony with no musical instruments backing them up. They were actually really good and seemed to have tons of support in the audience. I was already calculating Emmy’s chances, which I thought were better than the first guy but not so good against the two women.

Third was another guitar player who played old folk tunes, singing with a surprisingly deep voice for such a smallish guy. Fourth I don’t remember, so whoever it was must not have been all that interesting.

Finally it was Emmy’s turn. She sat on the stool as the emcee introduced her as “Emmy De Lascaux, from Paris, France.” First off, she started by playing the classical Spanish stuff I’d heard her play many times before. After a couple of minutes she started singing, which I’d never heard her do while playing that style of music. She sang it in French, but it sounded strange because of the way she sang- it sounded very, very Middle Eastern. The exotic sound of her voice and the exquisite elegance of the guitar had everybody straining to hear, and it was quieter in the coffee shop than it had been at any point so far that night.

When she finished the song, she thanked everybody for the applause and explained that it was an old Algerian tune about two lovers who could never be together because their families hated each other.

Her second song took me a long time to recognize, because it sounded so different from what I was used to. Emmy was two thirds of the way through the song before it hit me she was doing a Guns N’ Roses tune. When I finally clued in and actually listened to the words I realized the song lyrics were a lot better than I’d ever realized, and much, much sadder.

Towards the end of the song Emmy’s playing became softer and more subdued, and so did her singing. There was a catch in her voice that almost sounded like sobbing as she leaned over her guitar, face partially hidden from the audience. When she sang the last line about not crying tonight the hush in the coffee shop as her voice faded away was almost physical- it was as if no one dared break the moment. When the last note trailed away, Emmy looked up at the crowd and smiled without any hint at all of the sorrow we’d been hearing in her voice. We all realized we’d been holding our breaths, and felt silly for it.

After the applause, Emmy went straight into her next melody. It was a complete contrast. Where the last song had been sad and despondent, this one was sweet and soulful. The guitar line was gentle, and Emmy’s singing was clear and pure enough to bring tears to my eyes. It was something about finding comfort and peace in the arms of an angel, and it was heartbreakingly tender. At the end of the song when she let her guitar fade softly away there was silence for a moment, then more applause than I’d heard for anybody else that night. Emmy stood up and gave a little bow, and thanked the audience. As Emmy walked back to the couch where I was sitting, I could see the happiness in her face and in the way she walked. She was positively giddy when she sat down next to me, giving me a big hug.

“Oh, Leah! Did you like it?” she asked.

“Of course I did! You were completely incredible!” I replied, then leaning in to whisper “If I weren’t already in love with you, that last song would have made me fall head over heels.”

Whispering back, wide-eyed at my comment, she asked “Do you truly mean that?”

“Uh huh. That last song made me cry, I wanted to hold you so bad,” I said, still whispering.

Emmy smiled shyly, then admitted “That song makes me think of you, and the way I felt when you held me.”

“Can we, I mean, well…” I stammered, not sure how to phrase it.

Emmy’s deep vivid green eyes looked into mine, curious as to what it was I was trying to say.

I just blurted it out without any grace or finesse. “I want you to stay with me tonight.” Realizing how that sounded, I fumbled “I mean, can you spend the night at my house tonight? Or maybe, since your parents aren’t home we can stay at your house? I just really want…” I finished, not sure how to get my foot out of my mouth. Thankfully, Emmy didn’t seem to notice my poor word choice.

“Leah. There is nothing in the world I would like more than to sleep in the same bed as you tonight. Nothing. If it is O.K. with your mother, you could come to my house tonight. Or I could stay with you. It doesn’t matter to me where, as long as it is with you.” She took my hand and held it, scooting a little closer to me on the threadbare old couch. The warmth of her companionship filled me with a tingling glow, and I just knew there was a stupid grin on my face but I just couldn’t help myself.

The last three performers came and went, and I couldn’t tell you a thing about them. All I know is that I didn’t let Emmy’s hand go even for a second, and I didn’t care if people saw, or what they thought. I had given up fighting it and admitted it to myself. I was in love, and that was all that mattered.

When the time to vote rolled around it was neck and neck. The duet women won, but Emmy came in a close second. For Emmy’s second place she won fifty dollars and a guaranteed spot on next month’s open mic contest night. After the awards, the emcee came over to where Emmy and I were standing.

“Emmy, right?” he asked. When Emmy nodded, he went on “By all rights you should have won. You were clearly the best, most talented performer here tonight. If you want to book some gigs, just give me a call and I’ll see where I can fit you in.”

“Thank you. That would be wonderful,” Emmy replied.

“Well, with your talent, not to mention your looks, I’m pretty sure you’ll bring in the crowds. Maybe not the first night, but when word gets around…” he trailed off, handing Emmy his business card.

Emmy tried to play it cool, saying “Thank you very much. Perhaps we can set something up sometime soon,” but I wasn’t fooled. She was as thrilled as a kid on Christmas morning. We strolled out as nonchalantly as possible, but when we got to Emmy’s car half a block away, she set her guitar case down and threw her arms around me in a hug.

“Leah!” She exclaimed. “I earned fifty dollars! Fifty dollars just for singing! And he wants me to come back and play some more!” She was literally bouncing up and down with exhilaration.

“Um, Emmy, I hate to rain on your parade, but you spend fifty bucks before breakfast some days. For you that just isn’t much money at all,” I cautioned.

“No, it is not very much money, that is true,” Emmy acknowledged. “But that is not the significance of it. Do you see this?” she asked, holding up the two twenties and a ten.

“Yeah…” I said, unsure where she was going with this.

“This is the first money that I have ever earned, for anything. Always, what I have had has been given to me. Certainly I have been given everything I have wanted, but I have earned none of it. This little bit of cash,” she said, holding up the bills, “is the very first of my own money I have ever had.” The serious look on her face made it clear to me how much this mattered to her.

“Um… so what are you going to do with your new-found wealth?”

“I am going to save it. I am going to fold these up,” again waving the fifty dollars for emphasis, “and put them somewhere that will remind me that I earned this money. But in the meanwhile, I want some ice cream,” Emmy said, changing the subject. “Mr. Canseco gave me the address of an Italian-style ice cream shop that he said is very good. Would you like some, too?”

The ice cream place was a lot like the coffee shop had been. The urban hipsters in the cramped shop were all too jaded to pay attention to how different Emmy looked from the norm. I found this very refreshing, I realized. It was nice just to be out in public with Emmy and not be painfully aware of how everybody stared at her all the time.

We shared a bowl of chocolate hazelnut gelato, Emmy still on a high from her performance and the conversation with the coffee shop owner.

“Leah, he said he could book me for shows if I wanted. Can you imagine? How amazing would that be to start playing for people like that!” she gushed while we ate the gelato. Well, mostly I ate the ice cream, but Emmy did have a couple of spoonfuls. She was so wildly happy that all I could do was just smile and agree with everything she said.

On our way back to the car I called Mom and asked her if it would be O.K. if I spent the night at Emmy’s and she okayed it, but added “Honey, remember what we talked about,” to my dismay.

“Mom, please. I can’t be having this conversation with you right now- or for that matter, ever.” If she wanted me to die of mortification, this was an awfully good way of getting the job done.

“Lee, I know you don’t feel comfortable talking about sexual matters, but this is your health we are talking about. Emmy’s too,” she added.

“Look, Mom. Can we please just drop it?” I pleaded.

“I just want you to be careful, Lee. That’s all I ask.”

As I put the phone back in my pocket, Emmy asked “Is everything O.K.?”

“Yeah, it’s just fine. It’s just…” I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence.

Emmy took my hand as we walked. “Leah, thank you for tonight. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I cannot express how much it means to me.”

“Emmy, I…” I faltered. “You’re welcome,” I finished, wishing I could get up the nerve to express myself.

We climbed into the Mini, and as I pulled onto the freeway to head back north, Emmy put her hand on my leg. “Can you stay with me tonight?” she asked, in a soft, hopeful voice.

“Yeah, Mom said it would be fine. And you know what, Emmy?”

“What?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. But I want to ask a favor.”

“I would do anything for you, Leah. Please know that. What is it you want?”

“That last song you played tonight? Could you play it again for me when we get back to your place?” I asked, hopefully.

Emmy laughed that beautiful musical laugh of hers, and responded “I would love to play that song for you again. You are the one I played it for at the coffee shop, Leah. You were the one that I was thinking of as I sang it. You are the one who has finally made me understand songs like that.”

Then, very softly, almost a whisper, she added “You are the angel that brings me peace.”

I rested my hand on top of hers and we drove on in silence, just being together.