Double Time
Chapter 76
“Memories tell me who I was, not who I’ll become. They don’t fix the present any more than they fix the past.”
—Caroline George, The Vestige
THERE WAS A BUNCH OF STUFF on my bed Saturday night. I’d had dinner with the family and no one said a thing. We just talked about the race and the results. I knew, of course, there were runners who are a lot faster than me. I mean, I placed tenth over all. But in this race, there were only three runners in my division, so placing first wasn’t such a hot accomplishment. Still. I had the medal to prove I’d done it.
But no one said anything about there being new gear on my bed. That’s what it was—gear. A new webcam was the first thing I saw. Wow! High def with low light capability so it’ll clarify my image when I play without washing out the background. There was a tripod for it and a digital microphone on a stand that plugged into it. The whole thing would plug into my computer and there was a two-terabyte solid state drive for storing files as well. I was looking at close to a thousand dollars worth of equipment that would seriously impact my sound quality when I played my guitar.
I couldn’t just go to bed without trying out the whole package. I moved my bed so the painting was in the background and set everything up to record. It even had a remote control so I could make adjustments after I was seated and could see what I looked like. I got myself arranged with my guitar and adjusted the position of the mike. Then I turned it all on and started recording. I played through a bunch of exercises and then played it back. The difference between recording with the built-in webcam on the laptop and the new equipment was phenomenal. I don’t suppose anyone would confuse it for a studio recording, but it was the best quality bedroom equipment I could imagine.
I played for half an hour and checked file sizes. I hoped my audience had unlimited data service. A half-hour hi-def recording was going to be massive.
Sunday morning, I showered and dressed in black slacks and my peach-colored shirt. I sat and played for a while just to get warmed up. Then I started the equipment and began my half-hour pseudo-concert. I’d chosen some of my Spanish influenced pieces to do this morning. It went pretty smoothly with only one mistake serious enough that I needed to start the piece over and then edit it together.
I set aside my guitar with a real sense of peace. I might never be able to play professionally because there wasn’t that big a market for a classical guitarist. It’s not like I would suddenly become a rock star. But playing this instrument was just so calming and peaceful that I felt all was right with the world. It took about another half an hour to edit the file, put in the ribbon with my PayPal address, and title each of the pieces. Then I uploaded the file to YouTube and let it go.
Mom, Dad, and Pey were all in the kitchen and there was a big frittata in the cast iron skillet on the table.
“Thank you so much for the new equipment,” I said. “I can’t believe you did this for me. The recording is ten times better than what I’d been producing. I just… thank you.”
“It’s just nice to wake up on Sunday morning hearing you play,” Mom said. “I want everyone to experience a little of what it is like to hear you live.”
“Oh. Yeah. I don’t think I mentioned it, but this weekend is the play, you know. Speaking of hearing it live.”
“We already bought tickets for all three performances,” Dad said.
“Well, the girl who plays flute has asked me to perform a duet at her recital in January. So, I guess what I’m saying is that even though the play is over, rehearsals aren’t. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is!” Mom said. “You aren’t letting any of your studies slip, are you?”
“I think I’m on top of everything. Having the girls to study with really helps. I don’t want to let them down.”
I jumped up when I heard the doorbell and ran to let Livy in. She came straight to the kitchen table.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins. Hey, Peyton,” she said.
“Good morning, Olivia. Would you like a little breakfast before you go out to run?” Mom asked. She didn’t wait for a reply but dished some of the frittata onto a plate and set it in front of Livy. Livy didn’t hesitate to dig in. “That won’t be too heavy for a meal before running, will it?”
“We’re doing an easy run today,” Livy said. “We’re meeting Nanette at the cross country course down near Ossian. We just need to make sure our muscles don’t seize up on us after the hard runs yesterday and then the long drive. Breakfast is great!”
“I’m going running, too,” Peyton announced.
“You are?” That was news to me.
“Richard and I are going to run for half an hour. He’s getting out of shape and I’m not going to let my friend get fat. Maybe Donnie and Barb will want to start running with us,” Peyton said.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Livy said. “They might even be available for a jog today if you call them. We can’t have our brothers and sisters getting out of shape.” Pey left the table to go call her friends. That foursome was shaping up to be a force to reckon with.
Nanette was already at the church waiting for us. The service was over and the church was dark but there were half a dozen other runners who were parked in front and were stretching.
“The running club often comes out here Sunday afternoon for a run,” Nanette said. “Nothing formal. With the weather getting colder, we probably won’t be able to run here much longer. It’s pretty hazardous to run this trail if there is snow or a lot of rain. I just wanted one more easy run on it before winter.”
I reached to greet Nanette with a kiss and she shied away.
“Um… sorry…” I said.
“Do you really want other people seeing you kiss an old lady?” she asked. Well, fuck that. I reached out and pulled her to me, planting a kiss firmly on her lips.
“I’ll respect your wishes when you really don’t want a public display,” I said. “But I’m not ashamed to be your friend and to kiss you anyplace we are together. Don’t ever think of yourself as an old lady.” Nanette plastered herself against me and gave me a kiss considerably more intense than what I’d started. Then she grabbed Livy and brought her in for more of the same.
“Let’s run or we’ll be lying down,” she said. She took off on the trail and we followed close behind. It might have looked like a chase at first, but we were really just doing an easy lope and were soon running side-by-side on the wide parts of the trail. At this pace it was easy to talk and we relived yesterday’s race yet again.
After our run, Livy and I spent a few minutes kissing Nanette again before she left in her car and we loaded ourselves into Livy’s Wrangler.
No one was home when we arrived so I led Livy to the shower and made love to her long lean body under the water.
5 December 2019
Rehearsals have been brutal this week. I didn’t know what went into making a play work. We’ve been onstage until seven or eight o’clock every night. And that’s starting at three in the afternoon. They bring pizza in for us to eat around five or five-thirty. I guess it’s part of the budget for doing a play. Or maybe just one that is this complex.
Riko and Riley’s costumes are the star of the show. The Beast is not Disneyesque. He looks more like a gargoyle from the roof of some cathedral. Not only does he have hooves, but he has four arms and wings. His face is more insectoid than like a bull or mammal. There are five characters who are only referred to as ‘Grotesques’—Gold, Silver, Burgundy, Green, and Brown. They are like dancers in otherworldly costumes and makeup who change scenery, hold up signs, and operate Beast’s two wings and extra arms. And sometimes they just flit across the stage in a little dance to show the scene is changing.
And through the whole thing—an hour long—our trio plays appropriate music. We have costumes, as well. We just look like a medieval chamber orchestra. We have our own little two-level platform with the timpani and other percussion instruments elevated a foot above where Cindy and I sit with the guitar and flute. I only have to worry about the guitar. Cindy has a flute, piccolo, clarinet, and recorder next to her. What an amazing talent!
There’s no way I can truly paint a picture in words of what the whole ensemble looks like. It’s just exhausting to rehearse so many hours and it’s only eleven days until finals begin. Final dress rehearsal is tonight and then we have a Friday night performance, Saturday matinee, and Saturday evening performance. I still need to finish my term paper for US History and my startup plan for Intro to Entrepreneurship. Better get to it.
I won’t say the show was flawless, but it was such an unusual performance everyone was just blown away. Combined with some creative lighting, the costumes and music came alive on stage. And that’s not to downplay the actors themselves. Every move on stage was choreographed and it can’t be easy to perform your lines in verse.
Moonlight and a gentle, misty veil.
The perfect setting for a fairytale.
Here, for an hour, you and I will climb
The silken thread of “Once upon a time…”
Between shows on Saturday, Cindy and I got together in the music room to go over her recital piece. There were five pieces in the ‘Cantos desiertos’ that ranged from four to six minutes each—a total of around 25 minutes. We’d practiced each of them separately once or twice but it was a long way from ready. I was glad we had more than a month before her recital. I needed to memorize these and become pitch perfect in order to accompany her. She was fantastic.
Our break was over before we knew it and we had to check our costumes and get the set ready with our instruments.
“Where did you two disappear to?” Desi asked when we got to the green room. “Have you been fingering Jacob’s flute, Cindy?” Desi giggled but poor Cindy blushed so hotly I thought she’d burst into flames.
“Desiree!” I said. “That’s uncalled for. Cindy and I are practicing for a recital. Should I be asking if you were checking the Beast for wardrobe malfunctions?”
“I’m sorry,” Desi said. She was still giggling. “Really, Cindy. You and Jacob do make great music together. Please don’t mind my teasing. I’m a little giddy.”
“Um… yes. Uh… Thank you. You’re really pretty, Desiree. No wonder you got to play Beauty.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Desi said, softening. “If physical beauty was all they wanted for this part, you could have played it. Not that I deny what you said, but you’re really pretty, too.”
“I’m… um… Thank you.”
“Places, everyone!” called the stage manager.
“Thank you, Places!” we responded and moved to the stage.
Another thing I was unaware of was the tradition of a cast party after the scenery and costumes had been put away. The party was at David’s home. He played The Beast. I was a little unsure of what things would be like. Other than our regular Saturday sessions at Joan’s and gatherings with my girlfriends, I had not been to a teen party since my translation. My V1 head had all kinds of unsubstantiated ideas about what such a party would be like. Bunch of drunk, drug-addled kids fornicating on the living room furniture. Desi convinced me that we needed to go and Mom gave me the keys to her car along with a warning to act responsibly.
The party wasn’t quite what I expected. First off, David’s parents were home and didn’t just leave the premises. Another set of parents helped put out food and drink. I noticed they also kept tabs on things like who was using the bathroom and that no one headed for a bedroom. The party was confined to the great room that had a big fireplace and opened onto the kitchen. We were all high school kids and ranged in age from fourteen to eighteen.
I found out theater parties included a lot of singing. I didn’t bring in my guitar—it was the wrong kind of instrument for the songs they played. People took turns on the piano and a couple of steel string guitars were pressed into service. Mostly, they sang show tunes. Occasionally, someone would try to choreograph a dance to go with the music.
“Stop, please. I don’t want to!” I wouldn’t have heard the voice if she hadn’t been right behind me. I spun and saw Tom, the percussionist, with his hands on the wall on either side of Cindy. He was leaning in for a kiss and she was cringing. I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and looked at me.
“Not cool, dude. Back off,” I said.
“Hey, bruh. Get in on this. She’s been teasing us ever since we started this trio. It’s time to show her the way things are,” Tom said. I couldn’t think of any way in which our little flautist had been teasing anyone and I probably spent more time with her than Tom did by a long shot.
“She said, ‘no’. Back off.”
“You gonna be one of those girlie boys? She’s just teasing more. She wants it.” When Tom faced me, the object of his affection had slipped around me and Desi caught her in a hug. Tom swung his head around and spotted her. “Peek-a-boo. I see you.” He started to move and I put a hand on his chest.
V1 was screaming in my head to run. That had always been my solution. Avoid conflict. Stay out of fights. I’d been walking out of school with two friends after football practice one evening in 1954. An overloaded car that had been customized and had a glass-pack muffler roared up beside us and two guys jumped out. One of my friends hit the bushes and was gone before the guys made it to the sidewalk. One didn’t wait but slammed a fist into my friend Jan’s face, screaming about staying away from their girls. I felt a light clip on my ear as the second guy kicked at me wildly. It mostly missed, even though I don’t remember having moved at all. The two guys jumped back into their car and roared off, still screaming obscenities at us.
Jan was bleeding from his nose and mouth. Si crawled out of the bushes as a couple of our teammates came running from the school with Coach what’s-his-name. I looked at my hands. I hadn’t defended myself or my friends. I’d never even tensed up. I’d stood there, moving a fraction of an inch and avoiding a boot to the head. Coach got Jan patched up and warned us to stay away from the kids from Wyatt. It was all part of an interschool rivalry brought to a head because one of the guys on our team had started dating a girl from their school.
I was ashamed that I didn’t defend my friends. My teammates. But what did I know about fighting? All my life I avoided any situation where I might get into it. My V1 heart was still pounding.
Tom was a solid guy about three inches shorter than me. I stood there with my hand on his chest and just shook my head. He grinned.
“Dude, I was just havin’ some fun. Let’s go outside and have a toke. I wanna get shitfaced.” His glassy eyes told me he was already high as a kite. He turned and headed for the patio doors pulling a blunt from his pocket. I wondered if Dave’s parents had seen anything, but I didn’t see them.
Cindy was wrapped in Desi’s arms and all but disappeared between my girlfriend’s breasts.
“You okay?” I asked. Squeaked. My voice chose that exact moment to crack and do the adolescent two-octave split. I coughed. Cindy nodded and pushed away from Desi a little.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I did. I thought we were friends. Why’d he try to kiss me like that?”
“He was high and not in control of what he was doing,” were the words that came out of my mouth, straight from V1’s ‘boys will be boys’ upbringing. No one had reported anything about the attack on Jan and Si and me. Just stuck an icepack on Jan’s face and mopped up the blood. But Tom had seriously intimidated tiny Cindy against her will. V3 pulled his act together. “Which is no excuse,” I added. “If he’s that way when high, he’s that way inside. He lacks respect. I hate to say stay away from him, but do. Unless that’s the kind of guy you want.”
“I don’t want a guy yet. I mean, I don’t dislike boys. I’m just not ready for that. It scares me.”
“You can hang around us all you want,” Desi said. “Jacob would never force himself on a girl. Sometimes we have to convince him that we want his attention.”
“I don’t know. Thank you, Jacob. I should have stood up to him more firmly. I shouldn’t need to be protected like that,” Cindy said. She had a little huff to her voice and I could recognize some of the same feelings in her that V1 had felt sixty-five years ago.
“You weigh half what Tom weighs and don’t swing mallets and drumsticks around all day. There’s nothing wrong with getting reinforcements when you’re outgunned. I’m glad I was there. Ladies? Would you like a soda?”
“Thanks, Jacob. I’ll have a Diet Coke,” Desi said. “Cindy, let’s go sing. They’ve got the music for Cats.”
“Okay. Um… I’ll have a 7-Up, please.” I left to get the drinks from the kitchen as Desi led Cindy to the piano where a variety of catlike gestures were being made as “Memory” began.
8 December 2019
I’m a coward. What would I have done if Tom took a swing at me instead of walking away last night? All I could think was, ‘Don’t get in a fight. Don’t get in a fight.’ Everything bad I could remember in my life came flooding in on me. I’d end up with broken bones. I’d get buried alive. He’d kill me. And all because I stood between him and a little girl who was frightened.
I have to decide what kind of man I am. The old man inside me wants to run away. It’s not my problem. And at the same time, he’ll sit back and grouse that kids have no principles, no guts, no backbone. They’re all spoiled brats who can’t do anything but thumb their cellphones and get a ribbon for participating. I’m such a jerk!
All of a sudden, I see the endless possibilities of my future. I’m sixteen fucking years old! Anything is possible. I should be daring and brave. And the old man wants me to be careful and safe. All that accumulated wisdom I thought I had is holding me back instead of giving me a boost. Kids aren’t supposed to be careful and safe. They are supposed to learn their limits and push them.
I didn’t want to get in a fight. It would seriously mess up my hands and I wouldn’t be able to play my mini concert this morning. I just want to do what’s right.
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