“Oh, thank you,” I say, and I wish I didn’t sound so lame or so shocked, but maybe she likes the effect her words can have on people.
“A friend of mine sent me the clip. My daughter is younger than you, still in high school, and in that rebellious stage, especially when it comes to her Armenian ancestry. She also happens to be big on cooking. I showed her your clip, and I have to say, it was like a little light went on in her mind. That weekend she asked if we had any old Armenian family recipes. I should be thankingyou.”
Uhhh, wow. So that cooking piece I did—which was a very nice and well-edited piece in my humble opinion, but didn’t exactly break barriers in journalism—did have an impact. Something I created actually helped someone? Erebuni did say that piece came from a place of strength.These are the types of pieces you’re meant for,a small voice in me urges. But I push it away, feeling the rapture of the compliment.
Then I tell myself to screw my head back on tight because I have a job to do. Still, I thank her graciously and start our interview.
•••
As I shakeCongresswoman Grove’s hand goodbye, there’s an insistent tap on my shoulder, one of thick fingers. I turn and find myself face to face with Alex Vanian, a short, staunch, balding man with thick, wiry eyebrows, who’s radiating active energy. Oh my God. Okay, cool, not a big deal that this man has breathed thesame air as Brad Pitt. That people have posters of him up in their dorm rooms. A legend. No, he’s just a person. “You a reporter?” he asks with his New York accent.
“Sure am,” I say.
He points one pudgy finger toward the tripod. “That the equipment they’re using these days?”
My phone strapped to the top of the tripod is not the picture of professionalism, and I know it. I smirk. “We’ve got the big bucks over at KTVA.”
His eyes lighten at my joke, the closest I might get to a smile. “It still rolling?”
I tap my phone’s camera on. “It is now.”
He presents himself smack in the middle of the frame and says, “Folks, it’s about time we recognize the Armenian genocide. If you want to stop seeing my ugly mug repeating this over and over, just pass the stinking bill, and I’ll be out of your hair.” Oh wow, awesome. Alex Vanian coming out strong for the Genocide Recognition Bill. And he censored his swearing, thank God. Then he pauses, and the corner of his mouth twitches up, and he transforms before my eyes into Boris the neighbor. He squints. “You’re telling me there’s aratin here?” Then, still in the frame, he winks at me and says, “Ya welcome.”
Honestly, yep, I am damn welcome because I couldn’t have asked for a better clip from Mr. Vanian.
Back at my seat, I quickly review the footage of Alex Vanian and Congresswoman Grove, and man, I am in awe of how well it turned out. This better make it to TV.Please, Armenian ancestors, help me get Richard to see that this is worth airing. Help me share this with the world.
Erebuni hasn’t texted me back, but I’m guessing she’shardcore preparing right now, maybe in the back area behind the stage, so I’m not surprised. Still, hearing from her would make the start of this event complete. Breaking my reverie, a man sits down next to me. Oh no, the violinist, I almost forgot. Garen, that’s his name. He’s younger-looking than his photos, with a curly almost-mullet thing going on, and clothes a little too big for his thin frame. He looks sullen as hell, like he has no desire to be here. Kind of makes me like him more.
His older sister, who my mom informed me is a pianist, sits next to him like his protector, and I’m hesitant to begin a conversation, but then I catch my mom hawk-eyeing me, so I guess I need to do this.
“Hi, I’m Nareh,” I say, giving him and his sister a short wave.
“Nice to meet you,” he says in a voice thick with ennui. He barely looks in my direction.
I feel you, bud. His sister gives me a half smile, like,Can we be done with this awkward intro and not have to pretend to be interested in speaking with each other?Also get that.
There’s a loud electronic tapping sound that reverberates through the hall, and when I look toward it, there’s Erebuni, mic in hand at the podium, front and center. Saved by her. And wow, she is looking damn good in a black tailored suit. Not too witchy tonight except for her pendant-and-choker combination she always wears.
The crowd begins to quiet. “Hello, everyone,” she tests, bringing the audience to a respectfully low volume.
“Congresswoman Grove, Alex Vanian, Very Reverend Father Pachikian, Principal Agopian, and all our honored guests,” she begins.
Classic way of starting an Armenian speech. Diana and I used to joke that it’s not Armenian unless you call every member of theaudience out by name and title in order of their rank and importance. I’m impressed Erebuni was able to stop at four instead of the usual twenty.
Erebuni is discussing Explore Armenia. “...the deep importance to be reminded, to be reconnected with what it means to be Armenian.”
I should be filming this. Standing up, I bump the table, and the silverware and glasses rattle, and one crashes, loudly. A few heads turn my way. God, this is embarrassing. I whisper “Sorry” to my family. Tripod in hand, I tiptoe to the sidelines, and start filming Erebuni’s speech. At a pause, she looks my way and gives an almost imperceptible smile. I have that on camera, I think, her message to me right there in public:Hello, my dear Nareh.
“To that end, I’d like to welcome Congresswoman Susan Grove to give her remarks on this worthy cause she has championed. Congresswoman...”
The two shake hands and exchange a word at the podium, then Erebuni moves off, right in my direction. The congresswoman has begun speaking, but I don’t hear any of it, just see Erebuni pacing toward me—light, unassuming steps as if this is, of course, the direction she would have chosen whether or not I was there. She takes care to not walk in the way of my shot, which I totally appreciate. But what is she going to do? How is she going to greet me? My heart pounds all the way up in my throat as she nears. And then she is next to me, and she takes me into a side hug, grasps my hand, and squeezes it once. Then she lets go.
I try not to exhale too hard, holding back my relief. That was it. She’s taking what we chatted about yesterday seriously; I won’t get outed to my entire family, not tonight.
I motion to my phone on the tripod, that I can’t talk to hernow because the film is rolling. She pulls out her phone, types, and shows it to me.You look stunning. How was the interview?
I point to her and mouthWow, and am thankful my back is turned to my family. Then I give her a thumbs-up about the interviews. She types, then shows me.
