Double Time
Chapter 95
“The two of us were everything that we needed to be to one another as we sat behind those strings.”
—Courtney Giardina, Behind the Strings
SUNDAY WAS EASTER and I went to sunrise service with Mom, Dad, and Pey. I’d already announced on my YouTube channel that I’d be taking a break for three weeks since I couldn’t take my guitar and recording equipment to San Diego and the next Sunday was a holiday. Like Christmas, I love the pageantry of Easter. Our church did it up well.
It’s big. I think I mentioned once before, close to 500 people attend Sunday morning service. Really, I’m surprised. They don’t get any bonuses like people in V1’s churches did. They don’t get a tax deduction for their membership. The preachers don’t make half a million a year. The church edifice, modeled along the lines of some great European architecture, was built and paid for by the members with no additional incentive than having a beautiful place to worship. The programs of the church… now that was weird. They still had a community food shelf, a shelter for the homeless, and emergency services they provided. They got government grants for those services and the programs were monitored by some agency to be sure money was spent on the right things. Nobody padded the preacher’s salary with administrative costs of running the shelter. So, I guess people were here for no other reason than they wanted to be here.
The church was silent when we entered. People packed into the pews with an attitude of expectancy. The church was dark. There’s a huge stained glass window in the front and as dawn approached, it began to glow. Then a single bell rang from the back of the congregation. A moment later another answered from the left balcony. It was met with a chime from the opposite balcony. You could hardly hear the chant when it began, also from the rear. ‘Alleluia, Alleluia.’ It just repeated over and over, growing closer with each repetition. Then the chant was taken up by the choir in the left balcony, then by the right. The sanctuary echoed with alleluias, growing louder by the second. I glanced to my right and my breath caught in my throat as I saw huge flowing banners in the aisles as the choir approached the chancel, chanting the alleluias and soon joined by the chiming bells in rhythm with the chant. By the time the choir was all the way to the front and began to spread out across the full width of the sanctuary, the sun was up and the stained glass was on fire. Then the organ started. At first it was an echo of the chant and then it burst into the chords of the first hymn. The whole congregation joined the choir singing ‘Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Alleluia!’
It was hard to sing while I was crying. It was beautiful, purging, electric. Images of my sweet Renie and Rebecca flooded my mind. My children. My grandchildren. My parents. My terribly misunderstood and unappreciated sisters.
I don’t know about the theology involved. The idea of any god killing his son in retribution for the sins of the world was mildly disgusting to me, even if the child supposedly rose from the dead. But the ritual and pageantry were enough to purge my mind as I prayed my V1 loved ones had found peace.
I don’t know what else happened that morning or what the pastor spoke about. I know the tears didn’t stop until I’d stepped outside the church after the service.
After I had breakfast with my parents, I went to visit each of my girlfriends that day. We had a few minutes alone. I didn’t try to make out with them. I just held each one and told her how much I loved her and cherished her. Rachel and Livy were at Livy’s house and Eva had prepared a huge Easter dinner for the three families. I was really happy when Nanette joined us there. Joan was at Beca’s house and I sat with them to just hold and cuddle for a while. Desi was still in her pajamas at three o’clock when I got to her house. Between her rehearsals and mine, I’d scarcely seen her the past week. I guess that one was a little more intimate than with my other girlfriends. We spent an hour making love and just whispering to her how important she was to me.
It was nearly five o’clock when I made it to Brittany’s house. The furniture was all pushed back and music was playing. There was still food on the table. Grandma grabbed me and had me dance her around the floor before I even got a chance to kiss Brittany. I think the adults had all been tipping the bottle a bit. Gomez shoved a mojito into my hand as he swept Brittany away from me for a dance. I sipped it and decided it was mostly straight rum. Lisa demanded a dance with me and I thankfully put the powerful drink on the table and danced her around the room.
Eventually, I got Brittany alone. She got me to her room and put me in a liplock that nearly sucked the air out of my lungs. I could taste rum on her as well.
“We need to call Sophie,” she said. “You could be fucking me while we talk to her.”
“I’m not going to fuck you for the first time while you’re drunk,” I said.
“Sophie would,” Brittany said. We got on Skype and Sophie answered right away.
“No performance today?” I asked.
“Even the dance company closed for today,” Sophie sighed. “We had performances Friday and Saturday, though.”
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Horny! I want you to visit me for a week like you did Emily!”
“Take your clothes off, Auntie,” Brittany said. She demonstrated what she wanted by stripping and I watched Sophie get out of her clothes quickly. “Now watch what Jacob does to me and do it to yourself,” Brittany continued. She didn’t try to get me out of my clothes but pulled my hands around her to maul her breasts. I kept glancing toward the door, convinced Gomez would come bursting through at any moment and club me to death for molesting his daughter. As it happened, it didn’t take long to get either Brittany or Sophie off, even by long distance.
“My sweet little Latinas,” I said as I continued to caress Brittany and Sophie copied my actions on herself. “I want you to know I love you both. I miss you, Sophie. We’ll get together again soon. I promise. And Brittany, the next time you are naked in my arms, you had better be sober and ready because you’ll no longer be a virgin.”
I kissed Brittany and she continued her conversation with Sophie as I left. Lisa and Joyce were still dancing together. Mr. and Mrs. Adams were lying on the sofa and I heard him snore. I think Grandma must have had enough and went to her room. I slipped out and drove home, thankful I hadn’t had any more of that mojito.
I called Em late that evening since even on Easter the groceries have to be delivered to the bases and camps. I told her again how much I loved her and cherished her.
I was thankful we didn’t have a track meet that week. I spent every lunch break in the orchestra room getting beaten on by Mr. LeBlanc. I finally learned to take my eyes off the music and just watch him. Things went better from that point on. He was really good at keeping the tempo correct, even when Cindy and I were the featured performers and he was great at cuing me when I was just part of the ensemble. I was learning a lot about music from him.
We didn’t have a boys’ track meet until Saturday, but the boys ran all the clocks and measurements when the girls hosted Noblesville at our track on Wednesday. On Friday evening, Rachel picked me up for our date. We drove back to her place and just went to bed. I went to sleep before we got into any lovemaking. But I felt great waking up to gentle loving before I had to catch the bus to our meet in Goshen.
It was a long way to travel for a two-way meet but Livy and the girls had to go all the way to Penn for a four-way invitational. We got back to school about one. Livy didn’t show up until three-thirty.
I couldn’t even play my concert piece Sunday morning because the guitar part doesn’t run all the way through it and sometimes when I was playing it was a simple backup. Pey came to join me on the beanbag for my morning session and I played a program of music by Isaac Albéniz, all of which I’d played at different times before. Pey was alert through the whole concert and occasionally shifted around to hug me between movements. She was sweet and when I’d finished, I remembered to tell her that I loved her, too.
And that started hell week. I was still trying to get up early enough to run with Nanette and made it twice that week. I had track every afternoon, including a meet on Wednesday against Concordia and Snider. Fortunately, it was a home meet and I was able to go straight from the locker room to the auditorium afterward.
I’ve heard some schools don’t take their music program very seriously, but not so Mad Anthony. We had a full concert rehearsal every evening and Wednesday was full dress rehearsal. At least I didn’t have to rent a tuxedo. Full dress for our orchestra was all black. Men in black slacks and black shirts. Women in black blouses and preferably long black skirts, but slacks were permitted. I noticed the whole cello section wore slacks. Cindy chose a long straight black dress.
The concert was a full two hours and that meant rehearsal ran for about three hours. Two-thirds of it, I sat backstage studying because I was only on for about fifteen minutes of the program. Still, everyone in the concert was required to be there through the whole thing. At least I didn’t need to sit on stage through it all.
The concert was Thursday night at eight.
All the practice paid off. I wasn’t in the best position to hear the nuances of all the music, having to sit backstage with my guitar in its case. But it really sounded great. Cindy and I weren’t the only featured soloists. This was a really big deal and there was a solo or feature of some instrument in almost every piece. It was hard to believe I was invited to play with them when I wasn’t even a part of the orchestra.
Cindy and I were on in the middle of the second act. She came offstage after the first piece and met me. I knew to have my guitar in hand. The audience was still applauding the previous piece and the soloist. I pulled at my collar.
“Don’t be nervous,” Cindy commanded. “We’ve got this.” She reached up and unbuttoned the top button of my black shirt. The relief was immediate. Then she continued and unbuttoned the next button.
“Cindy, didn’t he say all shirts buttoned up tight?”
“Oops. Too late now.” Mr. LeBlanc led the previous soloist offstage, congratulated her and turned to lead us on. He nodded to us and just led away, expecting us to follow. By some miracle, my stool was in the right place and our music was positioned correctly for us. It was harder to follow Mr. LeBlanc from this position because we were actually a step in front of his platform. Nonetheless, when everyone was greeted and applauded, he glanced at us and raised his baton. A flicker of a scowl crossed his face when he saw my unbuttoned shirt but he turned to the orchestra and we were off.
I just let go and did my part. Cindy and I had often connected on different pieces and it wasn’t difficult for me to just watch her. From that position, I could also see LeBlanc cue my entrance. When Cindy’s flute came to its resting position for a few measures in the middle, she smiled at me. That was all it took. It seemed that the rest of the piece was better, more alive and passionate.
And then our little part was over. We took our bows and LeBlanc followed us offstage, congratulated us and led the next soloist on. Cindy had to slip back to her chair in the flute section while the next soloist was introduced. I just plopped in my chair and put my guitar away. I didn’t have anything else to do until I was called out for the final curtain call with all the soloists.
When we got off stage again, Cindy came to me and wrapped her arms around me.
“Thank you partner. I love playing with you.”
“I love it, too, Cindy. Thanks for talking me into this.” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek.
“She won’t have to spend time convincing you next year,” LeBlanc said from behind me.
“Um…” I reached automatically for the buttons on my shirt.
“We’ll deal with proper decorum during class. I expect you to be enrolled in orchestra next fall. Is that clear, Mr. Hopkins? I have a number of pieces that have guitar parts we’ve passed around to other instruments. It will be nice to have this fine instrument in the ensemble.”
“Um… yes, sir.” I think he’d prefer the guitar was in someone else’s hands, but he’d just made it clear that he expected me to play in the orchestra next year. I sure hoped my schedule worked.
It was way too late to hold a party after the concert on Thursday, so LeBlanc invited everyone to his house Friday night. His house must be enormous. There were about eighty kids in the orchestra.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it. The team was on the bus after sixth period, missing our last two classes of the day. We were headed to Warsaw for the Warsaw Invitational. This wasn’t like regular track meets. It was a 5,000-meter spring cross country run. They had a race for boys and a race for girls, but no JV and our girls’ team wasn’t participating. We were running almost everyone on our team in the race. Forty of us. There were thirteen schools and 195 runners in the boys’ race.
“Listen, Jacob. I want you to run your race. In other words, run the 3200. Then just keep going another 1800. Most of these aren’t the same guys you’ll meet in cross country but there are a few hotshots who’ll run under sixteen. What I want from you is a solid twelve-minute two miles and whatever you can give me for the rest. Got it?”
“Yeah, Jock. I wish I’d been more faithful with my morning runs the past two weeks. Nanette and I are still running 5k in the morning.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Jock was in charge of lining us up at the start. Each team had a six-foot lane to start in so we could line up three abreast and thirteen deep. Jock wasn’t worried about where most of the runners placed, but he wanted his fastest up front. That included all our 3200-meter runners. I was in the third tier.
I was with most of the group at a six-minute mile for the first circuit. Warsaw has its own cross country track but it’s only a mile long. You have to loop it three times. By the time we crossed the start line, there were already people strung out the whole length of the track. Seriously, I think our shot putter was only half way around the first lap. I passed my first lapped runner not much farther than that. I knew I wasn’t passing any of the front runners on the track but I was still pounding it out at a little better than a six-minute mile and I felt good. I heard Jock yelling as I crossed the line to start my third lap.
“Good Hopkins. Right on target. Give me all you’ve got and bring it home!”
I thought I was picking up my pace and I was certainly lapping a lot more runners but I wasn’t catching the front runners. The track does a switchback loop about halfway along and I could look over and see our strongest runner on the other side of it. I threw my head back and kept running.
I was directed down the chute at the finish line and was given my timecard to hand to the scorekeeper. I looked at it. 18:12.2. I think that was my best 5k ever!
Unlike a regular season cross country race where the top five runners from each team score, in this field, they were scoring the top seven. My twenty-eighth-place finish earned us twenty-eight points. I was seventh on my team. While I stood in the chute getting my score, I saw six guys pass the chute and keep running. They still had a lap to go. You could tell they didn’t usually run this distance. Or maybe at all. One of them was our shot putter.
We placed third in the meet and were awarded our team bronze medals to the top seven and ribbons to the rest of the team. All of a sudden, I was looking forward to cross country.
We got back to the school about six and Mom was there to pick me up. At home I got showered and shaved and dressed again. Mom handed me the keys to the car.
“Remember, she’s much younger,” Mom instructed her. “She has a bad case of hero worship. Don’t take advantage of her.” I nodded. Take advantage of Cindy? No way! What I’d do is escort her to this party and try to protect her from all the music mugs who would hit on her. It was an informal party, so I was wearing a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt. I wore my lightweight jacket as the weather was finally warm enough to enjoy.
Mrs. Marvel met me at the door and looked me over.
“This is against my better judgment,” she said. “If it were anyplace else, she would not set foot in your car with you. Except to a rehearsal. Remember, my daughter is fourteen. To the party, enjoy the food, home by ten.”
“Yes, ma’am. Really, Mrs. Marvel, you don’t have to worry. I’ll protect Cindy,” I said. She smiled.
“Yes, I believe you will. Cindy? Are you ready yet? Jacob is waiting.”
“Coming, Mom.” She bounced into the hall and smiled at me. She was cute. She wore a white cable-knit sweater that dropped below her buns, so the skin-tight leggings didn’t look like she was running around in panty hose. She had a pair of ankle-high boots I think I heard the girls call Uggs. Her big glasses made her the picture of innocence. Her mother looked her over and then used a tissue to wipe a little of her lipstick off. It wasn’t a wipe it all off gesture. I saw she just evened it up a little. I didn’t think Cindy was that experienced in applying makeup.
“Miss, your chariot awaits,” I said.
“What color are the horses?” she shot back. “Bye, Mom. See you at ten.” Her mother watched as I led her to Mom’s Impala and opened the door for her. Then I got in the driver’s side and made sure she had her seatbelt on before I started the car. We headed to Mr. LeBlanc’s house.
Whatever that dude did to earn his money, it had to have been before he became a teacher. He lived over in Joan’s neighborhood where the smallest lot was two acres and the smallest house was a mansion by any sane person’s measure. When I saw how easy it could be to get lost in the place, I determined to make sure I was near Cindy at all times.
There were a few people who came over to chat her up as we filled plates with food from the buffet but most of the kids were pretty decent. I certainly didn’t see a sign that any of them were high or drunk. I tried not to hover but Cindy seemed to want to be near me most of the time. A group of girls were playing some game that required drawing pictures and Cindy got pulled into that. I took up a place where I could see her and not look like I was spying while I chatted casually to a guy who played ‘third violin’, I was told. I wasn’t sure what part that was. Across the room I saw Tom Clemens, the timpanist who had been part of our trio in the fall. He had his eye on Cindy but then saw me looking at him. He turned and headed the other direction.
“A prodigy’s talent and training should not be interrupted by something so trivial as National Service,” Mr. LeBlanc said as he came up beside me.
“I’m not a prodigy, sir. I just like to play.”
“I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about her. You could be her ticket.”
“What? How? Everyone has to do National Service.”
“As talented as she is, it is still difficult for a flautist to gain national attention. But an unusual duo that plays lively music and can play solo, together, or in an orchestra is a unique combination that we could make something of. You have a channel and perform weekly for what, a hundred subscribers? A channel of the two of you with just a monthly live performance could draw a thousand subscribers. Maybe ten thousand. Even the government listens to the demands of the people. Sometimes. Work with her and become famous.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you love music?”
“Yes. It’s been one of the great discoveries in my life so far.”
“Then if you can’t do it for her, do it for music.”
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