It was the day of our first group rehearsal. The four of us had been talking about the piece during the breaks in band rehearsals every day and they were still all excited. They’d all been practicing hard. We’d find out today how it sounded when we did it together for the first time, and how well we could each play the solo part individually and in unison.
Kevin and Becky were both coming for the swimming and steaks after the rehearsal. We’d talked about it at lunch during the week. I’d told them it was only four of us band kids practicing together, that neither of them would be at all interested in that, it would bore them silly, and then afterwards it was just some casual swimming and a little dinner, it was no big deal, and there was absolutely no reason for them to show up. They ignored me and chatted about it like it was a big party, the social event of the year or something. Jeeeze. You’d think I’d never thrown a party before. Well, I hadn’t, but still. And it wasn’t a party. It was merely something so we four clarinetists could get to know each other better because we’d be having to sweat bullets getting the Concertino up and running to performance standards, working hard and accepting criticism from each other, and it would be easier to do that if we were friends as well as colleagues.
So, as I said, today was the day. Our first group rehearsal. Kevin came early.
I let him in, and while walking up to my room, I told him, “We’re not rehearsing till three, and the swimming will probably be an hour after that, so you’re, let’s see, three hours early, dufus.”
He ignored me as usual and lay down on my bed. When he came over, he lay on my bed a lot. There were extra chairs in my room, but he always chose the bed. I’d pondered whether he was trying to send subliminal messages to me, and didn’t just scoff at the notion because he was devious enough to do that. Of course, to get any pleasure out of it, he’d have to realize how difficult it was for me to look at him lying there, spread out, hands behind his head, little tufts of golden hair sometimes peeking out under the short sleeves of his T-shirts, just how terribly tempting he looked. I thought perhaps he did realize it. Bastard!
“I thought I’d sit in, listen to you guys play,” he said, yanking a pillow out from under the top of the bedspread and leaning it against the headboard, then wriggling up so he was propped against it. “I’ve only ever heard you when you were playing with the rest of the band. And at the Christmas concert, showing off by walking out late onto the stage so everyone would have to clap for you. I knew you were just late on stage, probably because you were playing with yourself backstage and lost track of the time, and then when you got out there, you thought you might as well see if your instrument would actually play, maybe wondering if it had an air leak somewhere, and when you were tooting on it, standing around in a daze, looking confused, everyone else tuned to you. What a load of crap that was. But that note you played is the only thing I’ve ever heard you do, and while it was a nice enough note and all, it was also a tad boring, being a monotone and all, and there seems to be an undue amount of fuss about your playing, seeing as it’s mostly just one note. Wasn’t there a song written about you, something called Johnny One Note?”
I fixed him with my eye, then said sternly, “Is that what you think was happening?” He didn’t seem intimidated at all, so I regrouped. “Anyway, stop changing the subject. You’re here too early. And besides, you can’t listen to us rehearse.”
“Why not?” He wrinkled up his forehead, looking perplexed. “I thought I could give you some pointers, you know, help out here and there. Tell whoever it is he’s out of tune, or lagging behind the beat or something. You know, help out.” He scratched his nose, then started checking his fingernails.
“Because this is our first time together,” I explained, using the voice one would to a two-year-old balky child, “we’ll all be a little nervous, each of us hoping that everyone else doesn’t play better than we do, hoping we can hold our own. We don’t want someone watching, hearing all our mistakes. Especially if he’s going to comment on them. We’ll have enough pressure on us already. And I know you, you’d start making funny remarks, and we’d either be insulted or be laughing too much to play.”
“So you’re going to kick me out?” He played the aggrieved sad soul so well I thought he might even be serious. The fact he was settling more comfortably back into the pillow as he said it dispelled that thought as soon as I had it.
“No, you can go swimming early, you can play pool, you can watch TV, you can call Becky over and do whatever dirty stuff you do with her, you can even play with your little noodle in the bathroom for all I care. You just can’t listen to us.”
“I don’t do dirty stuff with Becky. That’s a nasty thought. I thought you knew me better than that. I love her more than almost anyone, but I’m not in love with her, I’m gay, and I’m in love with you.”
I sighed with exasperation. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want us to be friends, you know that. How many times do I have to say that?”
“One less time than I say I’m in love with you. I’m waiting for you to tell me you’re in love with me again. You did once. You need to again. That’s what I’m waiting for.”
Damn he could be aggravating. At least he smiled after he said it.
◊ ◊
Monica arrived first. She was a junior, like me. She was short and a little on the heavy side, but had a fun personality. Okay, that might be a cliché, but it was also Monica. She sat next to me in band. We talked a little during breaks in rehearsals, but not much because I was busy with the entire section and didn’t have much time for it. I didn’t know her well, but she was easy to like, and was an excellent player. We got along great as stand partners. She did what she was supposed to do in that she tried to complement my playing. If I got quieter, she did too; if I played, say, a louder or softer sforzando than she did when one appeared in the music, the next time through, she changed her volume to match what I’d done. She let me set the standard, and then duplicated it. She also turned the page if the music we were playing had pages to turn.
I’d decided the best place to rehearse would be down in the basement entertainment area. The hardwood dance floor there would provide some resonance and make us sound great. I sometimes practiced down there, and it was so much livelier than my bedroom or the room where we had our piano that it made it seem like I had the greatest clarinet sound in the world. I was hoping it might give the other kids some added confidence.
Monica had a friend with her and introduced me to her. I got a big grin on my face, asked them to excuse me for a second, and ran upstairs to collect Kevin.
I dragged him down and introduced him to Monica and her friend Keri and asked him to entertain Keri while we were all busy. He gave me a look, when his back was turned to the girls, that might have frightened paint off metal, and I smiled back at him. Then I took Monica down and told her she could get warmed up, and that I’d be back with the others as they appeared.
Within the next ten minutes, everyone was there. Jason had brought a friend, too, a boy named Ryan I recognized from school. Stephanie came alone. I went looking for Kevin and found him on the phone; I overheard him saying, “Get your ass over here, NOW.” I assumed he was talking to Becky, and I laughed as I hauled him over and introduced him to Jason and Ryan.
When we four were all together in the basement, we warmed up a little, then tuned. I was the host, and also the section head in band, but I didn’t really want to be in charge here. We were four clarinetists all playing the same part. Two of us, Jason and Stephanie, were seniors. We each had our own stand and music, and were seated in a square, facing the person across from us with another player to our right and left. When we were ready to begin, I stopped and said, “Hey guys, I just want to set some ground rules. We’re four soloists here. None of us is in charge. We’re all equal. If anyone has a comment, a suggestion on how to do something, speak up. I think for this to work, we all have to discuss and agree on what’s being done. I’ll make the first suggestion, right now, and we can discuss it. In recordings I’ve heard of this piece, the soloist always uses a lot of rubato. When there are groups of triplets, or sixteenth note runs, he or she will take them off tempo, and then rush or slow down to catch up with the accompaniment. That works fine when it’s one player, but with four of us, I think we ought to strictly follow the music. If, later, when we know where we are, we want to add some stylistic colorations that we all like, we can, but to start with, I think we should play it as it’s written. What do the rest of you think?”
They looked at each other, and then Jason said, “I think that’s just the way to do it, or we’ll be stumbling all over ourselves. I think the thing that will sell this, or ruin it, is how much we sound like one instrument playing. So doing what you said, Matt, is important. I also want to suggest something. The piece is marked at a pretty fast tempo in the first and third movements, and to practice it tonight, I suggest we take it slower, just to get the feel of it and each other.”
We all agreed to both suggestions. We were ready then, and they all looked at me. So, not wanting to confuse things, I gave us a beat, a little slower than the piece was marked. Then, with the clarinet in my mouth, slightly raised and lowered it in time with the tempo I thought appropriate, and we began.
I was thrilled. We could all play the piece! I had been sure they would be able to, with sufficient practice, but hadn’t really known how much work they’d been putting into it by themselves. Now I knew. They’d obviously practiced it a lot. Some parts of that piece are really tricky, and every one of us ran through them almost faultlessly! This was going to work!
When we were done, we all put our clarinets in our laps, and then just grinned at each other. I felt so thrilled, so triumphant, that grinning wasn’t enough, and I jumped up and high-fived everyone, and they all did the same.
We were excited, and all started talking at once. I was talking to Monica, Stephanie and Jason were enthusing to each other, and it was obvious we were all on the same page. We’d each had doubts if this would work. Now, we knew it could. We felt great.
We played some more, all of us relishing the opportunity. We worked on a couple spots that had been rough. We were able to talk about stuff, even make suggestions to each other, without anyone getting their ego bruised. It was fun, and I think we all were looking forward to getting together again.
◊ ◊
When we finally went upstairs, I could hear some noise from outside, so I led everyone out onto the patio. The other kids, Kevin, Becky, Keri and Ryan, were all in the pool and looked like they were having fun. The day wasn’t really hot, but this was Southern California, and even in February, it was warm. We kept the pool temperature in the low 70’s all the time, but for today I’d warmed it up to 80.
I looked at my fellow musicians and asked if they wanted to swim. They all said they did and had all brought swimming suits. I told them they could change in either the pool house or any of our bathrooms. I showed Monica the downstairs bathroom, Stephanie the upstairs one, and then let Jason use the one in my bedroom while I quickly changed in the bedroom itself, hurrying so my dignity wouldn’t be compromised if Jason came out before I was fully suited up.
We all swam for about an hour. Then we climbed out, dried off, and settled into chairs on the patio. I got them all the soft drinks they requested. Then we just chatted.
My father came out and, as he was carrying a tray full of meat, was greeted enthusiastically. He got everyone’s doneness order, and soon we were drinking in the appetizing odors coming from the grill.
I went in the house for another round of drinks. My mother was in the kitchen, putting together her world famous potato salad. Well, she always called it that, while Dad and I kidded her, but it actually was terrific.
“Matt?” she said as I walked by.
“Yeah?”
“I think we’re going to have to rub some muscle salve on you tonight. You’re going to be really sore.”
“Huh?” I wondered what in the world she was talking about. I had no reason at all to be sore anywhere. “Why should my muscles be sore?”
She grinned at me. “Your mouth muscles. You haven’t used your smile muscles so much in years. I think someone’s really happy.”
I started to frown at her, and then stopped. She was right. I was really happy. I was sitting with a bunch of kids, just talking about nothing, and it was about the first time in like forever I’d done that. I was holding my own in the conversation, something I never did in a group, and even though some of us didn’t know each other very well, for some reason, we were all getting along great. Dad was barbecuing, we were all meshing, everyone was enjoying themselves, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in the middle of something like this.
Maybe this was like it was supposed to be, when you were a kid.
I walked over to Mom and gave her a big hug. “Thanks for pointing that out, Mom,” I said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”
Hey, I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to give my parents grief. It didn’t work, however. She knew me too well. She just laughed at me.
◊ ◊
We have a large table on our patio, and we were all able to eat together, all eight of us. The steaks were superb, thick rib eyes, and Dad had cooked them all to order. He liked to entertain and was a good chef.
We ate like the teens we were, and there was nothing left when we were finished. Steaks, potato salad, fruit salad, green bean casserole and warm French bread: we ate it all. After that, everyone gave my parents their thanks for the meal and hospitality, and then they left, almost as a group. Each one of them came up to me and personally thanked me for the invitation. I felt some bonding had occurred that afternoon with my fellow clarinetists.
Kevin and Becky stuck around, of course. They were both like family now, and they helped me get all the dishes into the kitchen, and load the dishwasher. Then we went up to my room.
Kevin took his accustomed spot on my bed. Becky and I joined him, she also sprawling on a pillow against the headboard, her legs out straight in front of her, me sitting cross-legged between her feet and Kevin’s bent legs.
Kevin belched. “You know,” he said, sounding pensive, an unfamiliar tone for him to use, “I had a really good time today. Those kids, every one of them, they were really nice. I’m kind of used to having to be a little careful around kids I don’t know. I didn’t have that feeling at all today. I relaxed, and I can’t always do that with strangers. If that’s the way band people are, maybe I’ll take up music. I figure I can learn to play the triangle without too many lessons.”
Becky snorted. “That’d be the right instrument for you, all right. Anything bigger, no one could see you behind it.”
“Hey, I just had this conversation with Matt. I’m bigger now.”
“Don’t go trying to show her. She wouldn’t stop you like I did.” That was my contribution.
“I didn’t mean bigger that way. But I am, and when you’re not around playing mommy, maybe I will show her, if she asks me nicely.”
“You’re incorrigible. Isn’t that the word they use for bratty children?” Becky was smiling now, so I turned to her and continued. “And don’t you dare ask him. Damn, all he ever does is think about sex, and all you ever do is encourage him. I don’t want to talk about that. I feel too good today. Let’s talk about that—about today.”
“What about it?” she asked.
“I don’t expect either of you would have noticed. Maybe this stuff isn’t strange to you. But I haven’t had people over before, not like that. I’m still getting used to you two. Now these guys all were acting like friends. Like they liked me, like they weren’t at all bothered by all the crap I went through. And it just feels good. Really, really good. Everything today just was fun, and pleasant, and, well, I’m not used to it. But I want to be. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be, for kids my age.”
Kevin looked at Becky, and she returned his gaze. Then they both turned to me. It was Kevin who spoke.
“So you’re feeling mellow and happy and satisfied and good about yourself?”
“Yeah, that’s it exactly.”
“Should we tell him then, Becky? Should we let him in on it?” He was speaking very seriously now.
She frowned. “I don’t think so, Kev. Don’t do it. Really.”
“I think I have to. We can’t leave him deluded like this. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“What the hell are you two on about?” I asked, beginning to feel some beginnings of trepidation.
Kevin started to reply, and Becky cut him off. “Oh, it’s nothing Matt. Just nothing. Don’t pay any attention at all to him. Hey, how did rehearsal go?”
Kevin said, “Yeah, tell us about that.” Then looked at Becky and nodded slightly.
“Okay you two, what’s going on? Tell me.”
They exchanged another glance, then both turned to me, looking very uncertain. “Should we, Kevin?” she asked him.
“Well . . . .”
“Guys!”
“Okay, okay, but I hate to do this. See, we knew you felt a little worried about them coming over, and we knew it would hurt if they acted like I knew they would around you, and—” He stopped and looked at Becky, then said, all in a rush, “Well, Becky convinced me we should pay them to be friendly to you, and we gave them each $20 not to cause any problems. Now don’t hold that against them because—”
That was as far as he got. For the briefest of moments, I’d sort of almost believed him, but then the memory of the afternoon had kicked in, the memory of the rehearsal forefront in my thoughts, and I knew he was lying through his teeth, and Becky was playing along, and I attacked. I jumped on top of him and began tickling the holy shit out of him, really going at him, and he screamed and tried to cover up, and then I saw Becky had joined in and was going at ribs on the other side, and within seconds he was a quivering mass of hysteria.
I stopped, and looked at her, and she immediately raised both hands and said, “Oh no. No you don’t. Don’t even think of it, you—” and she was on her back and I was on top of her, tickling her, too.
Girls feel different when you’re lying on top of them than boys do. She was the first one I’d had in this position. And I hadn’t really thought before I’d done it. I’d just jumped on her and began my assault. The problem was, I’d always got hard when I tickled Kevin, and it had been no different this time. And it hadn’t waned before I was on top of Becky. I’d forgotten about it. But then—then—I remembered. I remembered when it was pressed against Becky’s stomach and we were both wiggling around.
She was a lot softer than he was, and didn’t have a flat chest and, well, she was just different. Not just a little different, but much different. She was meatier, and more comfortable to lie on, but comfort wasn’t what I was feeling. She had to feel my hardness, and knowing that made me really uncomfortable.
I rolled off. I ended up on my back, between them. Becky stayed on her back. Neither of us said anything, which did nothing to dispel the tension that was beginning to grow. The tension I felt, at least.
She must have, too, because she quickly figured out a way to end it. Humor. “Well, now I’ve seen it in your pants, and now I’ve felt it. The next step, I suppose, is to see it in the flesh. I’m ready any time you are.”
“What?” Kevin had stopped laughing, and now perked up. “Seen what? Felt what?” And then it dawned on him what had happened, and he looked at both of us, and broke out in a huge smile. He glanced down into my lap, and my embarrassment rose almost as high as my pants. I quickly rolled over onto my front.
“Matt?” Kevin asked, glee in his voice.
“GRRRRRR,” I growled.
Which broke up the other two. And as they laughed, it allowed time for me to gain some relief from my now diminishing tumescence. I rolled over again when I could. I was still red, but no longer protruding.
They were both grinning at me, and the only thing I could think of was trying to embarrass them like I’d been embarrassed. To get their minds on them instead of me. It wasn’t easy with Kevin. Almost nothing embarrassed him. Becky was pretty immune, too, but there was something. Something I wouldn’t normally mention, but now was the time for anything I could come up with.
How best to do this? I didn’t have a lot of time to think. I needed something quick.
“Well, I’m glad you got to feel it. Hope it was as good for you as it was for me. But I have the feeling you won’t have to wait too long to be feeling that again.”
That sparked her interest. “What do you mean? You’re not asking me out, are you? That isn’t what you mean, is it?”
“No, what I mean is Ryan. I was watching you in the pool with him. And at dinner. You were sitting beside him. I thought you’d grab the chair beside Kevin, or me, and you took the one next to him. You two were chatting in the pool, then at dinner. You were probably hoping no one noticed. Well, I did. Did you, Kevin?”
He was grinning. “As a matter of fact, I did. What’s the story, Bec?”
And she was blushing! I’d done it. The topic of conversation now was budding romance, and not my uncontrollable member. No one was thinking about that any more. Well, two out of the three of us weren’t, and that’s what I’d been shooting for.
Success can be small stuff that might seem trivial to an adult, but when you’re a teenager, that small stuff can be everything. Turning a conversation away from your embarrassment to someone else’s can just be the topping on what was already one of my best days ever.
◊ ◊
Dad was watching TV. I joined him, and in fact sat down on the couch next to him. He glanced at me, and I smiled at him. He looked again, then laughed.
“You look something like the cat who just had a bowl of cream.”
“I sort of feel that way. Today was just great. Everything went well, really better than I even hoped it would. Just everything. The rehearsal was great, then the swimming, then dinner, even talking with Becky and Kevin afterwards. It was like this was a perfect day.”
He looked back at the TV then, and we watched it for a few minutes, and then he used the remote to mute the volume and turned back to face me. “Can you tell me why it was better than you hoped? I mean, really think about it and tell me?”
I did pause to think about it, and then told him, “I was worried that maybe we wouldn’t all get along. I was worried that there might be friction when we played, that someone might be bossy, or not be able to hold their own. I didn’t know if we’d all get along after we’d played. But we did. Everyone got along great. It was all sort of perfect.”
“You know, Matt, you do have the tendency to worry about everything, maybe even too much. You sort of expect the worst all the time. That puts a lot of pressure on you. It makes you defensive. I can understand why you do that, after what you went through, but you weren’t that way when you were younger.
“I’m really happy you had such a good time today. I think it went well because you were just you. People will like you if you just give them the chance. You’ve really opened up in the past several weeks. Actually, it goes back to Kevin getting hurt. From about that time, I’ve seen a change in you. And today, with those kids you didn’t know that well coming over, you were much more relaxed than what you’d have been a few months ago. I think one reason everything went so well was, they were all responding to you. You might want to think about that a little when you get the chance. It’s possible the only one that thinks about what happened last year and the year before is you.”
◊ ◊
It felt different, going back to school on Monday. My attitude was a little more open, and I had a little more spring in my step. I looked around more, and didn’t see anyone looking at me. I felt freer than I had in the past, and realized I had no need to walk with my head down, to avoid people and their eyes.
At lunch, Kevin and I teased Becky mercilessly about Ryan. We never had had much to tease her about. She was always talking about our problems, frequently making light of them, and now we had some ammunition to use back on her. Becky, being Becky, withstood our best efforts without breaking a sweat, and some of our best efforts were really funny. It was a good lunch.
I was still feeling good afterwards. I headed for the boys’ restroom before my next class, feeling about as carefree as I could remember.
The room was empty. I stepped to one of the urinals and was using it for its intended function when the door suddenly burst open and a small figure was propelled through it. He was followed by two larger boys.
The small boy had tripped when he’d been shoved through the door and was now lying on the floor a few feet inside the restroom. The other two boys had stepped inside and one of them leaned against the door, preventing anyone outside from pushing it open.
I took all this in, looking back over my shoulder as I was watering the porcelain in front of me. I was at the very back of the restroom and partially obscured by a wall. I quickly realized that everyone was unaware I was there, their attention being focused on each other.
“Hold the door closed!”
“I am! Hurry up!”
I recognized both bigger boys and knew their names, the way you do at school. They were sophomores. The one holding the door closed was named Justin something or other, I wasn’t sure what, the other one Stewart. Stewart Gostens. They were both kind of wiseasses, the kind who, if there was trouble somewhere on campus, you weren’t at all surprised to find them in the middle of it. I knew Stewart had been suspended once last year for fighting.
Stewart was a big kid, as big as many of the seniors. Now, he grabbed the little kid who was curled up into himself on the floor and yanked him to his feet. That was when I finally saw who it was. It was Timothy.
Stewart had his hand on Timothy’s upper arm, and he manhandled him over to one of the toilet stalls.
“I didn’t do anything to you,” I heard Timothy protest, his voice high and shaky. It was obvious, just hearing him, that he was frightened.
“Shut up. You’re a little queer. I’m going to show you what happens to queers like you.”
Stewart pushed him another step towards the stalls, and in doing so moved him past where I could see. The partition in the room now entirely blocked my sight of the two of them. I could still see Justin, standing against the door, his gaze focused intently on the other two, his eyes bright and eager.
I was done doing what I was doing, and I zipped up my pants. My head was spinning with thoughts. My freshman year and what had happened spun past me, along with this year and what I’d been through with Kevin, and the residues of how I’d felt yesterday, and today. It was all there. And I knew, right now, I had to make a decision. I had to decide if I was still the timid boy who’d allowed himself to suffer the way he had two years ago, or the boy he’d been yesterday and today, a more confident boy who didn’t allow others to control what he thought of himself, or to determine his path.
There of course were risks in taking the latter path, and taking risks wasn’t something I’d ever liked doing. I’d always over-thought things, worried about the what-ifs, let myself be burdened by self-doubts to the point where I couldn’t act. And now I was facing just the sort of risk I hated, hated with every fiber of my being. Still, I hated the alternative too, now that I’d experienced what it felt like to stand up straight and tall.
I turned around and said, “Hold it.”