Page 13 of Dropping the Ball

“It’s wild, isn’t it?” Madison asks. “How they look like they’re flying?”

It is. It’s both epic and beautiful.

“You really like birds, huh?” That’s what I say. That is what I say to this man whose work has once again moved me. I hear how snotty I sound, but it’s not what I intended.

Madison shoots me a warning glance, and I clear my throat, adding, “It’s cool.”

“Thanks.” Micah’s tone is polite.

“I mean it. I didn’t say that well. I’m not always the best with words.” At least, not when I’m outside of a work environment. “Would you tell me about it?”

“That was my senior year at UT,” he says. “The city wanted to do an art installation that reflected the diversity in Austin, so I submitted this design.”

“More pictures,” Madison says as my phone buzzes again.

These are closeups of the birds, and I realize now that they’re made with all different kinds of paper, mostly from newspapers and magazines.

“Are these doves?” I ask Micah.

“Yes. On the nose, maybe, but it’s a symbol everyone understands, and it’s a simple fold to teach.”

“This must have taken lots of birds to fill in,” I say. There are thousands.

“Swipe,” Madison says.

I do, and now it’s a picture of the structure before the birds were added.

“First day it opened,” he says. “I only made one dove.” He leans over my shoulder to point at the screen. “If you enlarge it, you’ll see mine. It’s the green one right there.”

I see it, a single origami bird, midway down the tunnel. His chest touches my shoulder, barely the brush of a dove feather, and he straightens and shifts away.

“People could only fold one,” he explains. “We asked them to choose a piece of paper that represented something about who they are. We had newspapers and magazines from all over the world, old books, cookbooks, office memos.” He gives a small, tired laugh. “I collected every paper I could find from construction demolition sites for months. Then we let people choose a piece and showed them how to fold a dove.”

He’s close. Close enough to smell. It’s not Acqua di Gio anymore. It’s better. Fresh and musky at the same time. Whatever it is, the scent is hijacking my concentration.

I focus on my phone and swipe again. The tunnel is about a quarter filled in, birds hung by color, the idea taking shape.

“More people came every day,” he says. “Volunteers helped them make their bird and then chose where to hang it. It was pretty cool.”

“That’s my favorite part,” Madison says. “Random passersby made the art, and you end up with this one massive thing built a person at a time. Do you get it now? Why Micah is the artist for this?”

I let my screen go dark and look at Micah as I slide my phone back into the pocket of my dress. “I do.”

He gives me a slight nod, and I wonder what it means. Was it curt because my “you really like birds” comment annoyed him? Efficient because Micah isn’t a wordy guy? Was that a “cool guy” nod?

“I solicited proposals for a gala-worthy installation for a soulless industrial space.” She gestures to Micah. “His won. Easily.”

“I was the cheapest,” he says.

Madison narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t even. Micah dug so far into the theme that his design came alive, even as a digital drawing. When I realized he wanted to use only reclaimed materials, I couldn’t offer him the contract fast enough.”

Micah shifts, and I swear if he’d been wearing a tie, he would have reached up to loosen his collar. “But she’s not telling you that a big part of my appeal is that the architecture firm where I work is allowing me to use twenty hours a week to focus on this, starting in October.”

“It’s a generous subsidy, and we’ll recognize them as gold sponsors,” Madison tells me. “But it’s not why I picked him.”

Had it always been this hard for him to accept praise? I’d always thought of him as disengaged, but that’s not what I’m seeing now. I’m already reinterpreting the “cool guy” head nod.

“Paint the picture, Micah.” Madison’s eyes are bright as she waits for Micah to do his thing.

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