Throughout the fall, Rusty worked on his recital. The first part of the program would begin with Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D major, a challenging work that required excellent pedal technique. That would be followed by some Bach choral preludes. To end the first part of the concert he would play the Franck Pièce héroïque, a French composition from the 19th century. The second half of the concert would feature his own compositions.
Sometimes I sat in the church on Saturdays with David and listened to Rusty practice. Occasionally, he would call David up to the organ and ask him to play up and down a manual while he listened to the sound from the sanctuary. He told me that occasionally out in the pews the sounds were a little different from what he heard at the organ. David said he couldn’t hear any difference, but this sometimes influenced just what stops Rusty used on a particular piece.
One day, when I picked Rusty and David up from school, Rusty was in tears and David was trying to comfort him. As they sat in the truck, David said, “Rusty, they’re a bunch of jerks. Don’t let what they say matter to you. If you just ignore them, they’ll probably stop.”
“No, they won’t,” Rusty sobbed. “They’re mean and they’ll just keep saying these things and other people will believe what they say and begin saying them, too.”
“What are they saying, Rusty?” I asked.
Between his sobs he was able to say that they were calling him a showoff because he did well in class and he was going to give a concert, and they were also calling him a queer. “I don’t even know what they’re talking about,” he said.
I did and it wasn’t nice, but I didn’t want to tell him that.
“I’m not gonna give the concert,” he said suddenly and firmly.
“Yes, you are!” David and I said together.
“Rusty, you have to give the concert,” continued David. “It’s been advertised by the church, and besides, if you didn’t, that would just mean those creeps won.”
“I don’t care,” sobbed Rusty.
“Rusty,” I said, “let’s not talk about that for now. You’re too upset. Later, when you’ve calmed down, we can talk about it more rationally.”
There was silence in the truck for the rest of the ride, but I did notice, as I looked down at one point, that David was holding Rusty’s hand.
That night after we had finished supper, Rusty said, “Abe, I’m sick and tired of being a prodigy. I don’t want to be. I just want to be like the others.”
I thought a minute, wishing we had never heard that word, before I said quietly, “Rusty, you are extremely smart. That’s something you can’t turn off, just like you can’t turn off your abilities in math or your inability with sports. They’re all a part of you.”
“What if I just gave up playing the organ?”
“First, as David said, that would mean the creeps won and that you were giving up on yourself. But more than that, I don’t think you could give up the organ. You love it too much and you’d be very unhappy if you stopped playing.”
But that’s what he did-or tried to do. He called the former organist at the church and announced that he couldn’t play the next Sunday. The man said he’d cover for him, but he hoped Rusty would be back soon.
All week, Rusty moped around the house. He didn’t write music. He didn’t practice. Mostly he simply sat staring into space.
On the way home from school on Thursday, David asked to speak with me. When we got a chance to talk, he said he was really worried about Rusty, who wasn’t paying attention in class and wasn’t doing any of the work.
Rusty wouldn’t go to church on Sunday, so I went to our church alone. After the service, I talked with Muriel. She asked if she should talk with him and I said, “I really don’t know. Maybe we should give it a little more time.”
Rusty continued his moping around the house, but the following Thursday morning, before school, Rusty said to me, “You were right, Abe. I can’t just give up my music. When I play or compose, I get completely lost in what I’m doing. Nothing else does that for me. I have to play and I have to compose. Like you said, it’s a part of me and I can’t just change that.”
During the day I called Muriel and told her what Rusty had said. She sighed with relief.
That night, I drove him to the choir rehearsal. He got some questions about where he’d been the previous Sunday, but he just said he wasn’t feeling well.
It was harder for him to deal with the school bullies. More than once he came home crying.
Finally, one day he asked, “Abe, what’s a homo?”
Oh dear, I thought, how should I answer him?
I sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a nickname ─ a derogatory one ─ for a homosexual.”
“What’s a homosexual?”
Ah, so he didn’t know everything about sex as he’d once told me.
“Okay. Most boys when they get into their middle and later teens are attracted to girls.”
“I know that.”
“But some boys and some men are attracted to other boys or men. They are termed homosexuals. The ones who are attracted to the opposite sex are called heterosexuals. So, when the boys use the word they mean a homosexual.”
He thought for a moment. “I’m not attracted to girls,” he said quietly.
“You’re probably too young for that,” I said.
“But I am attracted to David.”
“In what way?” I asked, stalling for time.
“Well, I really like him. He’s a great friend.” He stopped for a moment before he added quietly, “I like to kiss him, and I like him to kiss me.”
This was getting serious. Perhaps Rusty was just going through a stage, but David was two years older. Did that mean that he was homosexual? Was Rusty? While this wasn’t a huge surprise, it still gave me some concern. I didn’t know what to say, but at last I said, “Rusty, you don’t have to decide right now who you’re attracted to, but I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms, however this turns out is okay by me. I love you, and I always will, no matter what. Whether a boy is heterosexual or homosexual, it’s nobody’s business but that boy’s. It’s especially not the business of any teenage jerks.”
At that, he actually giggled.
The crisis over for the moment, we went on to talk of other things.
Before Rusty gave his concert, David and I tried to teach him how to bow. He was very awkward, and one time he bent so far down that he fell face first on the floor. Fortunately, no damage was done except to his pride.
“Do I really have to know how to do this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “This isn’t like a church service. If people applaud at the concert, you need to bow, which is a way of thanking them for their applause.”
We kept at it until he was reasonably able to bow without seeming too inept.
The concert was a great success. The church was packed with parishioners, kids from the school, and many people Muriel had invited from our town. There was applause after each piece, and Rusty got off the organ bench and bowed. At the end of the concert he received a standing ovation to which he had to bow repeatedly, finally deciding just to exit with Bear because the applause wouldn’t stop.
Following the concert there was a reception in the parish hall. Rusty was mobbed by friends and even people he didn’t know. At one point, two of the boys from school came up to him. I didn’t know them, and David was nowhere to be found. I was concerned because when Rusty saw them, he became very anxious, so I stood right beside him.
One of the boys took Rusty’s hand and said, “Hey, Russell, you’re not a showoff like we said. You’re just brilliant. Anyway, Kevin and I are really sorry for what we’ve put you through. Can you ever forgive us?”
Rusty looked at him and said, “And what about being a homo?”
The boys looked properly embarrassed. They looked at each other and one of them said, “My father had a long talk with me about that. He said that whether or not you were, it was none of our business, and we should just shut up.”
“You boys really hurt me, you know, and I don’t know whether I can forgive you or not, but I’ll try.”
They thanked him and moved away as there were other people waiting to talk to him. Before he met the next people, however, he looked at me and said quietly, “Thank you Abe for being there. I don’t think I could have gotten through that without you.”
Later, on the way home, I asked Rusty how he was feeling about the concert.
“It was okay I guess, but I was a little disappointed because I know I could have played better.”
“I thought it was terrific, but if you didn’t, why didn’t you play up to your own standard?”
“Because I was too anxious, I think. Before I walked out to the organ, I was pacing back and forth in the choir room and almost threw up. I kept wondering how people would react and if I’d make too many mistakes. It wasn’t until I finished the Bach fugue that I began to settle down. I wonder if that will always happen to me when I play for an audience.”
“Maybe,” I replied, “or maybe not. I guess we’ll just have to see how the future goes.”
He nodded and settled back. A little later he thanked me again for being with him when the boys spoke to him.
“You heard me tell them I didn’t know whether I could forgive them or not. I think I’ll have to see if things have really changed when I go to school tomorrow.”
At the end of school on Monday, as I picked up David and Rusty, they were both smiling.
“Well,” Rusty said, “for the first time in a long while, nobody called me names. In fact, a lot of them congratulated me and some said they wished they’d been there.”
That was a relief. I wondered if Rusty had made a step towards acknowledging that he really was different and brilliant. Would he still have times when he hated being so intelligent and gifted? Only time would tell.
In the spring, the Millers received a visit from an officer of the U.S. Army. Immediately, they knew what it meant. David’s brother had died on a small island in the Pacific. He had been buried there. The officer presented the family with a folded American flag in a triangular box which gave the boy’s name and dates.
David’s parents were grief-stricken, and David wasn’t doing much better. I visited them a few times and made the arrangements for a memorial service. The banner in their window, which up to then had a blue star meaning the family had a soldier at war, now had a gold star, meaning someone in the family had died in war.
Rusty played at the memorial service and included a new composition which he had dedicated to David’s brother. At the end of the service, he gave a copy of the manuscript to the Millers.
Sometimes David sought comfort from us, and we did our best to provide it. We too were subdued. I hadn’t known David’s brother well, but what I knew I had liked.