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"I was homeless and penniless when I wrote this song," he said softly into the microphone. There were a few scattered yells as a response to Micah's statement, and they caused him to smile thoughtfully. "I wrote it, and then the very next day, I met a woman who became like a mother to me. I was sitting on a corner with my guitar and a bag that contained literally everything I owned. I was a mess, and I'm sure I didn't smell very good. Anyway, this lady and I became friends that day. She owned a restaurant, and for the next two years, I became close to her and her family. I lived in this tiny room while I… got my stuff together." He smiled and sighed thoughtfully, remembering. "May we all be like Rita and see potential in people." He stepped away from the mic and strummed the first notes of Madeline again on the acoustic guitar, and the crowd went completely berserk.
Micah was a mellow guy, and he grinned shyly and tried not to flinch at the eruption. I sat there and gazed adoringly at him as he reacted and then continued playing.
Who was this Rita lady, anyway?I felt like I wanted to shake her hand. I thought I would ask Micah about her if I had the chance backstage.
Most of us knew every word and sang along as he played Madeline. I had suffered loss in my life, and I was going through a rough time when it first came out. I thought about how much it helped me. I imagined myself being Madeline back then, and I pictured a better life for myself. I thought about someone loving me for who I was and it kept me going. I sang some, but I liked it more when I was able to listen to Micah's voice rather than my own. It was a slow song, and he sang with honesty and raw passion. His voice was unique and wonderful. His talent was so undeniable that I couldn’t fathom how this lady, Rita, was the first one who noticed it.
It was surreal to be staring up at this man from the first row and I took it all in, knowing I would remember this concert for the rest of my life.
The song ended, and Micah took off his guitar to a chorus of cheers. We chanted for another encore for a few seconds, but we quickly realized they weren't coming back out when the theater lights came up.
Justin, the radio DJ, and his lady friend were sitting next to me, and he led us to a backstage area once the show was over. We weren't the only ones with lanyards getting in line. There were probably thirty or forty people backstage in the waiting area where Justin led us. One of Micah's representatives spoke to Justin and someone else who looked like they were in charge. Then he turned to address us all.
"You'll each have a few seconds with Micah," he announced. "You can pose for a photograph. Micah has got to get on the road, and there's a whole line of people here, so he is not going to get to spend more than a few seconds with each of you.Please have your cameras ready."
Justin gave me insider information. I had talked to him and gotten along with him and his girlfriend all night. He put his hand around my arm when we went to form the line.
"Micah's going to spend the most time with the ones in the back," he said.
So, I got in line last with only Justin standing behind me, and he was off to the side with his girlfriend like they weren't interested in talking to Micah.
The line moved slowly, but it moved. It took about thirty minutes before I came to the place in the doorway where I could clearly see Micah. The woman that got to see him just ahead of us gushed about how she had been to so many of his concerts she couldn't count. They reminisced about one of them where Micah had been sick, and I could hear Micah telling her he tested positive for strep throat after the show. She went on and on about how good the concert had been in spite of his condition, and Micah seemed to react well to her.
They took a picture and Micah said how nice it had been to meet her. It had been an engaging conversation, and I was too busy watching it to realize that it was now my turn to step up and meet Micah. Monique and I were ushered up to where he was standing, and we took turns shaking his hand.
"Hey, I'm Jordan. I'm a huge fan, and it's my first time to see you live," I said, regurgitating the thing I had imagined I might say to him.
"Oh, hello, Jordan. I'm glad you made it to the show," Micah said.
"I want to know more about Rita," was the next thing that came out of my mouth.
"My Rita?" he asked, putting a hand to his chest and looking surprised that I knew her name.
I nodded. "The lady you were talking about that helped you out."
"She's amazing. She was once homeless and living in that same room she leased me."
"You're kidding!"
"No, yeah, she's the best. She's got this whole wonderful life now."
"What a cool story. She sounds amazing."
"She is," he said with no hesitation. "We should all have a Rita in our lives." Micah had been smiling as he spoke, and I was awestruck by his cool, calm demeanor. He held the smile as he gestured at Monique. "You can hand that to him," he said, pointing at the guy who was strategically placed in the room to take a picture for us.
I wanted to ask more about Rita. I wanted to talk to Micah about experiences he had being homeless. I could have stayed there and asked him questions all night. But instead, I went through all the normal, rushed meet-and-greet motions. I posed for a photograph with Monique and Micah, and then I turned and shook his hand, feeling like I wanted to say something genuine.
"Thank you for your music," I said. "It helped get me through some hard things."
"Oh, thank you for saying that," he said, sounding humble and surprised.
I wanted to reach out and hug him, but I had to remember that he didn't know me nearly as much as I felt like I knew him. Monique stepped forward to retrieve her phone from the other guy. I absentmindedly shook Micah's hand again and before I knew it, we were back in the rented limo that would take us back to the radio station.
Chapter 2
Three months later
I could not get Rita out of my mind. The concert in Amarillo was unforgettable, but the part that stuck with me the most wasn't Micah's smile or his lyrics or voice. It was the story he told before the encore. I was not a writer, but I wanted to write a story about Rita. I had a feeling that her story needed to be told, and writing was the only way I could think of telling it.
