Stacy's Song Page 6

  ****

  I went out to the backyard and lay in the blue hammock Dad had hung between two big trees. I rested in the shade and enjoyed feeling lazy. I gave myself permission to stretch out and enjoy my freedom. I watched clouds that looked like clipper ships at full sail skim the Western horizon. I felt snug, cradled in the cocoon of the hammock. The air was rare, fragrant with flowers sweet with the scent of growing plants and grass. Some people turned dreams into reality; I was turning reality into dreams. I was nearly dozing when my mother called my name. She must’ve spied me from the kitchen window that faced the back. With a groan I set my big clodhoppers back on the ground and went in to see what she wanted.

  “I need someone to take out the garbage,” Mom said.

  Andy walked into the kitchen as if on cue, leaking the last of a messy ice-pop on the ceramic floor tile.

  “Looks like a job for Spaceman,” I said.

  “Nope, that’s not me anymore.”

  Mom looked at each of us. “I don’t care who does it but the trash better be out before I come back here.” With that, she left the room.

  “It’s a job for Mutant Girl.” Andy pointed at me.

  “Oh yeah?” I grabbed Andy by the front of his sticky T-shirt. “I think it’s a job for a bratty kid. If I’m forced to take out the trash, I’m dumping you in it.”

  “I’ll tell Dad!” Andy said, playing the Big D card.

  I glared at him hands on hips. He took the garbage out to the can without further comment. I guess there are some advantages to being the large economy size after all.

  ****

  That evening, I went to the Norris house for band practice. Nothing had changed much in the ten days I was away. I still wondered what Liz had meant by a surprise, and once or twice I caught sight of Liz and Jimmy exchanging knowing smiles or looks and wondered if it had anything to do with the surprise.

  We usually took a break at nine, with Liz serving a small snack at that time. Tonight Michael changed the routine and called for a break at eight. Liz brought out chocolate chip cookies and lemonade. We kicked back, relaxed and talked for a while. I told them how beautiful Canada was. Liz and Jimmy both agreed they would like to go there someday. I thought they meant they’d like to go together. Michael seemed preoccupied and did little talking.

  After we demolished the cookies Liz turned to him. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell Stacy?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “It’s no big thing. Liz tends to over-dramatize.” He actually sounded nervous.

  “Come on, Michael, it’s time to let Stacy judge for herself.” Liz seemed impatient with him.

  Michael returned to the piano and started playing. At the same time, Liz handed me a copy of the music. The work was entitled: Stacy’s Song, printed in the clear neat writing I had come to associate with Liz. The song Michael played was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. It had an incredible melody and the orchestration was unique. But there were no words, not that the music needed any. I was so moved that when he finished playing, I just sat there, unable to applaud or articulate a word.

  “You don’t like it do you?” he asked.

  I was jolted into a response. “Are you kidding me? I love it! It’s so passionate.”

  “Michael wrote it especially for you,” Liz said. But she needn’t have spoken. I understood.

  “Great stuff,” Jimmy approved, “Mike, I think it needs lyrics.”

  “I want Stacy to write them,” Michael responded. “It’s her song.”

  “That makes sense,” Jimmy agreed.

  “Michael, you know I can’t do that,” I protested.

  “Sure you can. Anyway the song will wait for you until you’re ready for it,” he said. There was an air of finality in his voice that informed me of the futility of arguing.

  I took the copy of the music from Liz and placed it into my handbag. “Thank you. It’s a wonderful gift. I’ll always treasure it. I’m afraid you’ll have a long wait for those lyrics though.”

  “That’s all right. When there’s something worthwhile at stake I can wait. I wrote another song while you were away. It’s a duet. I want you to sing it with me.”

  Liz handed me another sheet of music and I looked it over carefully.

  “Let’s run through it,” Michael said. “I’ve been waiting for you to return before we tried this one out.”

  It seemed as if they had all been waiting for me; I felt as if I belonged. I’d come home in the true sense. We played it through once on the instruments: Michael on piano, Jimmy on drums, Liz on lead guitar and me on bass guitar. Then Michael had me sing the song and he joined in harmonizing with my voice.

  “We got a gift for each other,

  something only we can share.

  Our love is a high beyond compare,

  a feeling so rare.

  It’s the gift we give each other.

  Our love is understanding,

  like a depthless sea

  where there’s only you and me

  and total harmony.

  Your love means everything to me.

  We got a gift for each other,

  something only we can share.”

  Like Michael’s other work the song had a haunting melody but the beat was much gentler than his usual compositions. I felt overwhelmed. His talent amazed me.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” I told him. “You just seem to get better all the time.”

  “Yeah, Mike, you do the romantic stuff real good,” Jimmy remarked. “I like it almost as much as your hard rockin’ rhythms.”

  “I think it’s your best yet.” I put my hand on his but his face reddened and he withdrew from me.

  “Thanks,” he said in a stiff gruff voice. “I was afraid you’d think it was weak.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking and feeling behind those dark glasses. I wanted so bad to reach out and make him reach out to me. He was trying to do it through his music but I wanted and needed more. It was his handicap that kept us apart, not just his blindness but his emotional impairment as well. He was shackled in a prison of his own grief and guilt. I would have given anything to change that. I needed to find the key that would unlock his prison cell.

  ****

  On Tuesday morning, it was drizzling and I decided to go to the mall. It was more a looking expedition than a buying one. I figured in a week or so I’d get my mom to come with me so we could purchase some clothes for school. September wasn’t far away now. I had hoped to be in the mall with Karen, but as it turned out, she had plans with Randy, so I took the bus and looked around by myself for a while. The new fall clothes were on display at all the stores. I enjoyed window-shopping, mentally taking notes on where I would steer my mother when we shopped together.

  At this point I couldn’t help wishing my share of the money the band had earned was in my pocket. It would have been nice to spend money I personally earned rather than just having my allowance. But I understood how Michael felt about putting that money toward new equipment. Still, some degree of financial independence would have been great. Next summer maybe I would look for a job. I’d be sixteen. Most kids found jobs for the summer by then. I figured I could flip burgers with the best of them.

  Around noon I grew weary of walking around. I thought about stopping for lunch, but didn’t particularly look forward to eating by myself. I decided it was time to head home. As I passed a long row of potted trees, a particular store caught my eye. The sign said Swan’s in large red letters. I found myself blinking at it. I remembered what Liz had told me. Her mother managed this store. Maybe I could stop in and say hello. Then I remembered this was Tuesday and Liz was off today. Still, I found myself walking into the store just to look around or so I thought. I examined a rack of slacks and then one of skirts.

  A middle-aged saleswoman approached. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Mrs. Norris?” I asked on impulse.

  She shook her frizzled, gray head at m
e. “No, Hun, she’s in the back. Her office is all the way at the rear. You sure I can’t help you with something? We got a great sale on handbags today.”

  “Not right now,” I told her. I walked in the direction the saleswoman had indicated. Somewhere between the profusion of mohair sweaters, hot cords, and denim jeans it occurred to me that I might be making a mistake acting in haste, but what could I say, I just went ahead and did it anyway. When I thought I was right about something, I acted no matter what the consequences might be.

  The office door was partly open; I knocked anyway. I do know how to be polite.

  “Yes, come in.” The voice was commanding. It reminded me somehow of Michael’s.

  Mrs. Norris was curled over her desk writing out invoices. Her gray hair was rinsed and tinted the same delicate shade of blue as robin’s eggs. The eyes that looked up at me were as gray and serious as those of Liz. “What can I do for you?”

  “You don’t know me, Mrs. Norris, but I’m a friend of Michael and Liz. In fact I’m a member of their band.” It seemed like the words got choked as I spoke. I cleared my throat and tried again. “The reason I came by was to have a word with you about Michael.” I tapped my toe nervously as Mrs. Norris stared at me her eyebrows furrowing into question marks.

  “I don’t understand. Is something wrong with Michael?”

  “No more than usual but isn’t that enough?”

  She just stared at me with a cold, unflinching gaze. “Is there some purpose for you coming here, Ms…”

  “Stacy Nelson. I do have a reason for being here. You see, Michael blames himself for his father’s death. I think you’re probably the only person who can help him get over his guilt. I don’t think he’ll ever have a normal life if he doesn’t.” I swallowed hard and waited for her to respond.

  “Michael told you that?” She appeared more shocked than surprised.

  “He didn’t have to tell me. I’m his friend.” I rubbed my sweaty hands against my shorts.

  “Pardon me, but I hardly think this is any of your business.” Mrs. Norris rose to her feet as her face began coloring. She was a tall imposing figure but I was just as tall if not taller and starting to get angry.

  “I thought if you could talk to him explain that it wasn’t his fault he might start to think differently. He needs to get past his guilt feelings.”

  “Look, young lady, not that it’s any of your business but in a real sense Michael was responsible for what happened. The night of the accident my husband was exhausted. He didn’t want to go to that baseball game. However, he’d promised Michael he would. If Michael had been a little less selfish there never would have been an accident. My husband would still be alive and Michael would have his sight.”

  “Assuming that’s all true, the fact remains that lots of people were on the road that night and many of them were just as tired as your husband. In fact the accident had nothing to do with how weary your husband might have been or whether or not Michael acted selfishly. The accident happened because a drunk driver hit their car. Please be fair, Mrs. Norris, and place the blame where it belongs. Don’t take it out on Michael because it just isn’t right. Maybe he can learn to handle his handicap better if you take away the burden of guilt. It’s just too much for a kid his age to bear.”

  Mrs. Norris turned away from me. “Please leave! Get out of here!”

  Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked out of the store on legs that worked like rubber bands. At that point I knew what I’d done was a mistake. I guess some of the things meant with the best intentions cause the most problems. I had no one to blame but myself. I acted without thinking out the consequences.

  ****

  Around six that evening, Michael phoned. He told me he was canceling practice but asked if I could come over anyway for a talk. His voice sounded ominous. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his mother had already talked with him about my visit.

  I took the bus at six-thirty and arrived at Michael’s house a little before seven. I felt like a thundercloud was hanging over my head ready to burst. As soon as I went in, I knew it was going to be bad. The door was open and Michael was on the floor doing push-ups. He continued the exercise until he dropped from exhaustion. Then I let him know I was there.

  He got up from the floor and came toward me, breathless and drenched in sweat the T-shirt clinging to his muscular chest. “My mother phoned from work. She was upset. She had quite a bit to say. She told me how you came to see her. Did the two of you have an argument?”

  “Not exactly. It was more in the nature of a disagreement.”

  “Well what was this disagreement about?”

  I fidgeted my feet on the carpet. “About you.”

  “I see.”

  No, he didn’t see, but I wished he could. Wasn’t that a big part of our problem?

  “What made you do it?” He put his arms none too gently on my shoulders.

  “I wanted to help. I happen to care about you.”

  “I told you before I don’t want your pity!” He angrily pushed me away from him.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not getting it!”

  “Look, from now on let’s keep our relationship strictly business. Okay? Nothing personal. No walks, no talks, no nothing! It was a mistake. I realize that. My fault. The only thing you and I can share is music. Got that?”

  “Understood. Over and out. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I agreed, choked with anger. My face burned. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know, Michael, there are all kinds of ways to be blind and right now you’re every one of them.” With that, I turned quickly and ran out the front door. My chest heaved and my heart burst with pain. I didn’t let myself cry until I got home and could shut the door to my bedroom.

  Chapter Six

  Our Labor Day performance at the swim club drew a lot of compliments—true they mostly came from my mother and father but I could live with that. However, there were fewer people at the Labor Day celebration than July the 4th. I can’t say why because Mr. Kemp always throws a terrific party that day. His workers barbecued hamburgers, chicken, hot dogs and ribs and there was also corn on the cob, potato salad, cole slaw, soda for the kids, beer and mixed drinks for the adults. The staff had scheduled all sorts of activities, from egg tosses to ping pong tournaments. My brother Andy practiced shuffleboard for weeks so he would be ready for the father-son tournament, which offered a trophy to the winners.

  Our band played well enough but my heart wasn’t in it. Ever since Michael and I agreed to have nothing but a platonic work relationship I felt down. Of course I realized I had to get over my feelings for him or just spend the rest of my life being miserable and I’m much too sensible for that. Like the song title says: Big girls don’t cry. So Michael didn’t want to get involved with me, tough nuts. I would just have to accept that. Nobody said it was going to be easy. But it wasn’t a tragedy either. I’d just have to live with it.

  ****

  School started that week. It was like being thrown into an icy shower after coasting along in a warm bath. It took some time for me to readjust. I was a junior now, finally an upperclassman, and that felt good but Physics was even more difficult than Biology and Algebra II didn’t appear any easier than Algebra I had been. I tried my best to concentrate on my schoolwork.

  Mr. Kemp closed the club for redecorating during the month of September but promised to have us back to play on Fridays for teen nights during the coming autumn months. Michael wasn’t satisfied; he wanted us to find work for September.

  A week into the school term Jimmy actually found us a gig. “I got it all lined up,” he explained with pride at one of our practice sessions. “There’s this nerdy kid, Denny Moore, who wants to have a party. He asked me in school about the band. I told him we were available if he had some cash. The only catch is he doesn’t know if he can hire us because so far almost no one who’s been invited to the party accepted.”

  “That does present a problem,” I agre
ed. “Who’s he been asking that doesn’t want to go?”

  “The popular kids, jocks mostly.”

  I thought for a moment. “Isn’t he a real smart kid?”

  “Yeah, he’s a brainiac. He also wants to be popular. That’s why he’s throwing the party. He knows he can get the other nerds to show up but he wants the in-crowd too.”

  “I think I might know a way to get them to come,” I told Jimmy. My own gray matter was working on overdrive.

  “Good,” Michael said, “Because we could use the work. Liz priced equipment and we still don’t have enough money. It’s okay when we’re at the club because Kemp is good about letting us use his amps but we’ve got to have our own quality stuff or no one will ever take us seriously.”

  “I’ll let you know if my idea works out,” I told him.

  The first thing I planned to do was talk with Karen. Now that she was hanging out with Randy and his friends, popularity was rubbing off on her like B.O.

  “I need a favor,” I told her. “Denny Moore is inviting you and your new friends to a party he’s giving. I want you to convince Randy and his buddies to go to it.”

  Karen frowned at me. “I don’t have that much influence.”

  “Randy does. Can’t you convince him? If you do this favor for me, I’ll owe you one. Okay?”

  “Denny acts like he’s better than the rest of us because he’s school smart. Nobody likes him except maybe his fellow nerds. Do you know what you’re asking? He’s such a...”

  “Don’t worry it’s not contagious,” I assured her.

  “It just might be!” She puckered her lips as though she’d been sucking on a lemon.

  “Its only one party, Karen, but if you’re afraid then don’t. I wouldn’t want to hurt your popularity.” I started to walk away. Karen stopped me.

  “All right,” she said, “but you owe me big and don’t forget it!”