James lay awake in bed longer than usual the night after the party. His head was filled with what had happened that day, and memories kept running through his mind as if on a loop. He couldn’t stop recalling those pieces he’d played with Freddie. The Nicolai was as difficult as anything he’d ever played, and they’d sight-read it. ‘As difficult’ was incorrect: it was more difficult, really, and he was playing it in front of other people. People who’d applauded! But he’d played it very well. He felt proud of that, but there was a kicker, too. Freddie had played it just as well. Maybe even better. Freddie had made fewer mistakes than he had! Neither of them had made many, but Freddie had made hardly any. He’d had fewer sixteenth notes, but the ones he had, he’d crushed.
James had never met a boy his age who played as well as he did. He’d taken to wondering if there were any who did. Now he knew.
Freddie might be even better than he was! That was a very disquieting thought. James wanted to be the best. He needed to be the best. He worked hard to be the best. But now he’d met Freddie.
So, there was that to think about. But something else kept intruding into that thought. He kept remembering the feeling he’d had when they’d played the Nicolai. They were feeding off each other, echoing what the other did in style and expression. Dampening their loudness to play under the other one when they had the accompaniment role and the other had the lead. And they’d done that instinctively and with no discussion, nothing but the realization as they played that they were working this together, that the music on the sheets was speaking to them and they were hearing it in the same voice.
They were responding as a unit, as a single entity. It had been like a conversation between the two of them, but because of the shape and substance of the music, a very, very intimate conversation. When they were playing together in two-part harmony, it was almost like he could feel Freddie inside his head, like they were operating with one brain, one soul. He’d never felt such, such . . . what was the word? Empathy was close, but it wasn’t only that. It was sort of an interconnection, a mutual awareness, a unanimity. In his lifetime, that sympathetic rapport with another person had never before existed.
And then it was more than just the playing together. He couldn’t stop picturing Freddie. His happy face, always smiling or laughing. His laughing eyes as well. Those eyes.
Freddie.
Of course, he reminded himself, he didn’t like Freddie as a person. No way. He wasn’t a serious musician even if he could play the snot out of the horn. Look what he’d done with the Mozart, changing the tempo like that! It had been almost like he was challenging James. If he hadn’t had the mouthpiece to his lips, he’d have bet Freddie would have been smiling at him. Teasing him. James hated to be teased!
Maybe Freddie was even trying to embarrass him. Well, he’d showed Freddie! And then all that bowing and the hugging at the end.
The hugging.
The hugging had been awkward and embarrassing and unexpected, and he still didn’t know what to think about it. Yet he did think about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Well, what he needed to remember, was that he didn’t like Freddie. That’s what he needed to concentrate on. Keep that thought in the front of his mind, a reminder to himself. The kid wasn’t serious, wasn’t dedicated to the horn. Freddie wanted to swim and play badminton—badminton!—more than he wanted to play music! And he was laughing with those girls! That’s what James needed to remember.
He needed to push all those other thoughts right out of his head. Well, maybe not the feeling he’d had when they were playing. A feeling that he was pretty sure Freddie had shared. When they were playing, it was like they were able to sense what the other was feeling, almost know what he was thinking.
And they’d both been able to pull it off.
He wondered if maybe they could play together again sometime.
No! He couldn’t start thinking like that. But that thought was there, and it somehow stopped the loop going round and round in his head about his feelings of musical symbiosis. And, if he were honest, about the hugging.
He was imagining playing with Freddie again when he fell asleep.
> > >
Mrs. Ford was thinking thoughts identical to James’. How could she get the two playing together? She’d seen what happened when they’d played together. It was the first time she’d seen James play so musically, seen him get deep into the music instead of only the notes. Feel the music. She’d seen Freddie try to match James’ technical prowess. They had so much to give to each other. She wanted more of that! She could only teach them so much. She couldn’t teach them to feel the beauty of the music. But they seemed to have found that together. She wanted them playing together, feeling what she’d seen them feel at the party.
She’d felt those feelings herself, of course. What musician hadn’t? But she knew it was a first for both boys. If anything could nurture their budding musical growth, it was experiencing those feelings and wanting more.
There were ways, of course. She could invite them both to come to her house on Sunday to play duets. But there was a problem with this. At least she thought there might be.
Another way was to combine their weekly lessons. But practically, they needed to work on different things, so mutual lessons wouldn’t allow the concentration that she wanted on the elements of their playing that needed individual work. So that wasn’t a good solution.
As for a Sunday session of duets, well, that was more complicated. Perhaps she was being too subtle, but she remembered her discussion with James when she told him if he wished to talk about being gay, she was there for him. He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t denied it; he’d simply remained quiet. She was certain that she was right, that he was gay—she’d had a number of gay students in her career, and she knew a lot of gay professionals as well—and she was certain that was one of the things making James’ life difficult. She’d met his father. From some of the things he’d said about musicians and James being in his school’s band, she was pretty sure the man was a bigot. And James was a very sensitive kid.
She didn’t want to add to James’ problems. And she couldn’t help feel that putting James in a fairly intimate situation with Freddie—playing duets together, just the two of them—could cause the boy even more problems, because if playing duets with Freddie caused James to develop a crush on him, she could imagine it could be a serious crush. James didn’t need more hurt in his life, more rejection. And she was pretty sure Freddie wasn’t gay, and while she didn’t know how he might respond to James’ advances, she thought it possible he might laugh them off. Laughing at serious things was who Freddie was; he liked to simplify anything that was becoming difficult for him. Laughing at James when he was so vulnerable would be the last thing Mrs. Ford wanted to happen. It would devastate James.
But she so wanted to get the boys together. To her, the positive aspects of doing this outweighed the possibility of the negative occurrences. James might not develop a crush. If he did, Freddie might like it. If he didn’t, perhaps he’d be nice enough to let James down deftly. In any case, their playing together would help them both, and it really wasn’t her business to worry about the social consequences of it. She’d watch, and if she saw James gazing adoringly at Freddie, she’d find a way to intervene.
She never gave a thought to the fact that she had a deep affection for both of her best teen students. They were both great kids, and in getting them together for duets in her presence, she’d have the opportunity to share them and their happiness and to watch them grow together as musicians and, she hoped, as dear friends.
Still, she harbored reservations. She worried about James. And then, as happens, when she stopped thinking about it, the thought occurred of how to solve the problem, how to get the two of them together and minimize the possible tragedy of an awkward and inopportune crush.
> > >
Freddie walked to Mrs. Ford’s house on Sunday looking forward to the afternoon. James was driven there by his mom. He was already there when Freddie arrived. He hadn’t known Freddie would be there. He’d only been told when he was invited that Mrs. Ford was having some friends for an afternoon of horn quartets. She’d said horn players often gathered for this sort of thing, it was time he was included in one of these sessions and she was sure he’d enjoy it.
She’d told Freddie the same thing. Freddie was expecting it to be fun. James was worried; would everyone be superior horn players? Would he be the weakest there? Would he spend the afternoon playing the fourth part with all the conversation floating around above him, while he studied the music on his stand, not uttering a word? He didn’t respond well to adults. Well, kids, either, but they were easier to ignore.
James had been the first to arrive. Mrs. Ford had shown him the music they’d be playing. “We always switch parts, just trade the music around; it’s easier than standing up and changing chairs. You’re first; you get to pick the pieces where you’d like to play first horn. Look them over and let me know if you have any preferences.”
The doorbell rang, and she excused herself. She welcomed an adult and brought him in to be introduced to James. “James is one of my finest students,” she told the man. Then she turned to James. “James, please meet Gregor Hansman. Gregor is—”
James couldn’t help himself; he was that excited. He interrupted Mrs. Ford and gushed, “I know who you are! You’re one of my idols. I can’t believe I get to meet you!”
“Not only that,” Mrs. Ford said, laughing. “You get to play quartets with him. How many 15-year-old kids can say they did that?”
Gregor was a young man in his early forties. He was short and sported a thin beard. His eyes were twinkling when he shook hands with James. “Mrs. Ford has told me all about you. She’s also told me you tend to worry about things. So, let me say, don’t worry about playing today. We’re here to have fun. No judgments, no criticism, just making music and having a great time doing so. Probably with lots of laughing and the odd joke or two. Probably some teasing but not of you. I’ll tease Laura about her horrid tempo changes, and she’ll tell me I’m playing flat. All in fun. Okay? No fretting? No worries?”
James was startstruck, but managed to meet Gregor’s eyes and nodded. “I’ll try,” he said softly.
“Good boy!” Gregor said and laughed. “You can’t enjoy this if you’re too afraid you’ll play a wrong note. If you don’t have fun this afternoon, you’ll have wasted a pure opportunity to enjoy something that only real musicians can: making sublime music together with three other like-minded people.”
James was flabbergasted. The man wasn’t only a god, he was nice, too! He decided he’d try to do as Gregor had said: not worry. Just play and enjoy the experience. Still, he couldn’t stop being nervous.
He was saved from making conversation when the doorbell rang again, and Mrs. Ford asked him to answer it. Thankful for the interruption, he excused himself and obliged.
He opened the door to find Freddie standing on the stoop. Freddie gave him a broad smile, his eyes lighting up. “James!” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be here! This should be fun!”
“Fun? Do you know who’s here? Gregor Hansman! We’ll be playing with him and Mrs. Ford! Two of the greatest horn players alive!”
Freddie’s smile dimmed slightly. “Uh, who’s Gregor?”
James shook his head, and his feeling that Freddie wasn’t a serious horn player rose to the tenth power. “Only one of the finest horn players in the world. Both of them are. Gregor is first horn in the Boston Pops. He also is a guest soloist at major orchestras all over the world.”
“Oh. Great! We’ll show ‘em what good kids can do. Lead the way!”
James couldn’t believe it. Freddie wasn’t intimidated at all. The two of them would be nothing compared to the two adults! How could this be anything but embarrassing? Still, he remembered Gregor’s words and tried to calm down. No matter what, good or bad, he knew this would be an afternoon he’d always remember. He was actually playing with Gregor Hansman!
> > >
It had been a memorable afternoon and more. Lying in bed that night, James didn’t think he’d ever fall asleep. His memories of the day were overwhelming him—the good and the horrible.
They played quartets all afternoon, beginning with the Eugene Bozza Suite for four horns in F major. After that, Gregor had stood up and walked over to where James and Freddie were sitting and had them both stand, then shook their hands. “You two are wonderful! Mrs. Ford told me you were, but seeing and hearing you is nothing short of astounding.”
Both boys blushed, James much harder.
After that, they did the Homilius quartet in B-flat major, then took a short break during which Gregor and Mrs. Ford critiqued other quartets.
What came next was a shock. Gregor suggested they play an arrangement he’d brought of Bach’s fugue in D-minor, and he asked James to play the first horn part! He told James to look it over, then set the tempo.
It looked amazing to James, challenging but perhaps within his wheelhouse, but he wasn’t sure of that. It was a difficult piece and went really high. High notes, always difficult for young players, could easily embarrass and fluster him, even with the new custom-built double horn he was using. That made hitting high notes much easier, but still . . . He hated the idea of missing a bunch of notes in front of Gregor.
Gregor told him before they started that everyone would probably miss a note or two—it was that sort of piece—but not to stop and not to regret any misses. This would be exciting and fun, and they should enjoy it.
They played it, probably quite a bit slower than a professional group would, but it was Bach and sounded good no matter the speed. James was enchanted by the piece, and he played it exceptionally well. Everyone complimented him when it was over, just as he complimented all the others as everyone had had a difficult part.
The Bach was followed by a much less technically demanding piece: a traditional piece arranged for horn, In Dulci Jubilo. On this one Freddie was given the lead part, and he was told to make it as musically moving as he could. The music itself was designed to be emotional. Freddie put his heart into it, going where the notes led him. When it was over, there was a moment of silence, everyone stirred by the solemnity of what they’d just played.
They took another break. Mrs. Ford gave them all bottles of water, and while drinking and resting, Gregor told some funny stories of experiences he’d had while traveling Europe at the grand concert venues there. He had everyone laughing. The man was an expert speaker and enjoyed his audience.
When they were done resting, Gregor asked James if he was willing to attack another difficult but fun piece. James blushed again and nodded.
“Can you double tongue?” Gregor asked.
“Sure. Mrs. Ford had me working on that some time ago.”
“Great. You’ll need it. We’re going to play Lowell Shaw’s arrangement of the pizzicato ostinato section from the Tchaik four. We’ll all work hard on this one!”
And that they did. James was stressed to the max, but he did it! So did the rest of them. Double tonguing and playing staccato, they got through it, and everyone couldn’t help themselves: they all burst out laughing and cheering when they were through. Gregor led a joyous round of high fives.
The afternoon was waning, and Mrs. Ford told them there was only one piece left. It was Humperdinck’s Evening Prayer from his opera Hansel and Gretel. She then asked Freddie to take the lead part and set the mood.
Freddie did, and again, at the end, there was a moment of silence. Then Gregor, in a quiet voice, not the more robust one he’d used earlier when recounting his humorous adventure in Europe, said, “Boys, it was my honor to play with you both today. I can honestly say I’ve never encountered two boys your age who play so well. This was sight-reading and I can only imagine what you’d do with this music after practicing it. I hope you both stick with music as you grow up. You’re both remarkable horn players even now.”
Then, when they were all on their way out the door, he handed both Freddie and James envelopes. “Those are season passes for our Boston Pops concerts. Hope to see you there.”
> > >
James joined Freddie outside after a quick word with Mrs. Ford and watched Gregor drive away. He was almost in shock with what had transpired that afternoon. He’d met one of the predominant horn players in the world, he’d played with him, he’d been complimented by him, and he’d gotten tickets that were priceless to a boy his age who appreciated music like he did.
Freddie was standing next to him, also watching Gregor drive away. He wasn’t in a trance as James appeared to be. He noticed how James was acting and grinned. “Hey,” he said. It took James a moment to realize he was being spoken to. Then he turned to look at Freddie.
“Sorry! That was . . . I still can’t believe it. Wow! You must feel it, too.”
“It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Fun? Fun?!” James was appalled. “It was magnificent. The best day of my life. And all you can
call it was fun?”
“Didn’t you think so?”
“No! It was sublime; it was perfect! Okay, yeah, I enjoyed it. So I suppose you could say it was fun, but it was so much more than that. I can’t even describe how I feel.”
“I can: fun! I had a great time. And you played superbly. Better than I did. But I did all right. Uh, I’m ready to walk home, but I don’t see your mom’s car. Is she picking you up?
“She called Mrs. Ford. She told me as we were leaving that she’s been delayed. I’m supposed to wait here for her, but it’ll probably be a while. She has a flat tire, Dad’s not home, so she called AAA. They told her it’ll be at least 40, 45 minutes before they can get to her.”
“No need to just hang here,” Freddie said. “My house is just a short walk from here. Come with me. Call from there and give her the address; tell her to pick you up there.”
“Come to your house?”
“Sure. Why not? Better than just standing here for an hour.”
James really wanted to go home, lie on his bed and review in his mind everything he’d just experienced. He wanted time alone to revel in it. He’d never have thought he could have a day like today, not in his wildest imagination. He wanted to savor the memories.
But try as he might, he couldn’t get the fact that Freddie was part of it out of his mind. Because, incredibly, Freddie had been part of it. Sure, they’d given the truly difficult parts to James. He recognized that, gloried in that. But to be honest, he wasn’t sure that Freddie wouldn’t have done as well as he had with those pieces. And he was very aware that the pieces they’d given to Freddie demanded something James didn’t have, at least not to the same degree Freddie did.
Freddie had made the two pieces on which he had the lead magical. They hadn’t just been run-of-the-mill, twelve-to-the- dozen quartets. With Freddie setting the tone, they’d been majestic, even breathtaking. Like the Evening Prayer. Instead of just starting in at mezzo forte, he’d thought for a second, then started the piece pianissimo, then let it build. It had been an inspired choice. He remembered the silence after each of Freddie’s pieces was finished. Everyone, even the professional adults, had honored what they’d just heard by remaining mute as a tribute to what Freddie had wrought.
They’d never done that for him. But then, his playing didn’t evoke that kind of response, and in truth, the pieces he’d played didn’t, either. They were great pieces, but they spoke to mastery of the technical aspects of playing; the music didn’t touch the soul. Freddie’s playing had done just that.
James wanted to go home more than anything, but his mother wasn’t here. He wanted to revel in the experiences he’d had that afternoon, in everything that had transpired. But he wanted to spend more time with Freddie, too. He still wasn’t sure the boy was a serious horn player. But he did know the boy had unexpected passion in him, brought forth through his music. James couldn’t help but be awed by it.
And a little part of him that he was trying to keep hidden, trying not to acknowledge even to himself, wanted very much to see if that passion extended to anything besides the horn.
He had a decision to make, and he made it. “Thanks, Freddie,” he said softly and without the bitterness that often accompanied his words. “I’d love to come with you.”
> > >
The two boys were sitting on Freddie’s bed. He had a full-sized bed with plenty of room for two slightly undersized 15-year-old boys to sit together. They were both leaning back on pillows up against the bed’s headboard. Freddie had sat there after he had shown James his room, then patted the space next to him. He hadn’t shown James the rest of the house. He’d been impatient just to talk to him, and this was the quickest way.
James’ emotions were all over the map. He disliked many things about Freddie. Freddie wasn’t serious enough; he thought important things were suitable to joke about. He didn’t seem to realize that some things were grave and weighty. He was frivolous, and James’ was the exact opposite. Yet, Freddie was cute and fun and didn’t have an angry bone in his body, and he could play the horn like an angel, and James, though he hated to admit it, was developing a crush on him. He didn’t want to, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was definitely a crush, and now? Being invited onto his bed? Right next to him? Sitting next to him on the bed would be both awful—and wonderful.
He’d climbed onto the bed and sat next to Freddie, their shoulders almost touching.
Freddie started gushing. “Did you feel what I did? Sorta like at the party when we played together, but even more. Sorta like we were in heaven some of the time. Some of the chords we played, all exactly the same volume, perfect intonation, holding the chord, letting it die away. I thought I was going to lose it; tear up! Altogether; it was like we were sharing a brain. Like the end of the Evening Prayer, all decrescendoing exactly the same way. Together. I felt . . . I can’t even describe how I felt. What about you?”
James heard the delight and what sounded like hope in Freddie’s voice. It was like he was hoping James shared the experience with him.
“Yes, I felt it. I felt that all through what we were playing. Sometimes it was stronger. Like . . .” He paused, then, quieter, “I felt it a lot when you had the lead.”
Freddie turned his head to look at James. James continued looking straight ahead.
“You played better than I did. Some of those pieces were hard! I stumbled around trying to keep up with the rest of you. You hardly missed a note!”
James shook his head. Freddie was still looking at him, and James wouldn’t meet his eyes. It would be way too emotional if he did. “You were the same. You weren’t stumbling around. You’re just saying that. You played great. And when you were lead horn—it was magical. You’re going to be a great virtuoso. You’ll be perfect as first horn in some major orchestra some day. Playing all those solos we’ve heard in the great works. Brahms. Rachmaninoff. Dvorak.”
Freddie was silent after that for a moment. James waited him out. Freddie finally said, “I don’t know. I don’t have any idea what I want to do when I grow up. I’m good at a lot of things, but not great at any of them. I’m athletic, but only somewhat; I’m not good enough for anything but high school sports. I know that. I play the horn well, I know I do, but to be really good, as good as you are now, I’d have to work harder at it, and I don’t have the patience to spend all that time practicing. Maybe, if I decide that’s what I want to do, I’ll be able to settle into practicing more. But I’m not ready for that yet.”
He paused for a moment, thinking, then finished with, “I guess at some point it’ll come to me what I want to do, and then I’ll get serious about it. But not yet. I’m not there yet.”
James wasn’t ready to accept that. “You should decide now! You can be great if you decide for the horn. Even now with an audition CD you could get into any of the major music schools.”
“That’s something you should do. You’re ready for that now.”
James shook his head. “We can’t afford that. Unless I could get a full-ride scholarship, and who’s going to give that to a boy my age? No, I’ll have to finish high school and then hope for that.”
“Is your high school band any good? Do you have an orchestra?”
“No and no. But it’s what I have. Nothing I can do about it.”
“You could audition for the youth orchestra. The one Mrs. Ford’s on the board of. You’d be sure to get in. Has she spoken to you about that?”
“Yeah. She said next year they’ll have an opening. She said I won’t even have to audition; she’ll just get me in. I’m looking forward to that if it works out.”
Freddie had turned back to looking straight in front of him, but now turned back to James. “Works out? What does that mean?”
“My father doesn’t like me being in our band. Says it’s sissyish and gay. He wants me to go out for sports. And he’s getting more and more vocal about it. I’m hoping I can stay with the band. I just don’t know.”
Freddie shook his head. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Then he heard a car horn honk. “Probably your mom,” he said.
James slid off the bed, and Freddie followed him. They went downstairs, and Freddie opened the front door. As
James was ready to leave, Freddie impulsively hugged him. “I hope you can come again,” he said.
“I think we could be great friends.”
James blushed and pulled away. “Thanks, Freddie. I’d like that,” he said, turning his body away toward the waiting car. He hoped Freddie would think that was why he turned. Holding his horn case strategically, he walked to the car, then stopped in shock. It wasn’t his mom. His dad was in the driver’s seat.