Double Tears
Chapter 146
“Even grief can be selfish.”
—David Pedreira, Gunpowder Moon
10 APRIL 2021
I can’t dwell on it. I’m overloaded. The funeral yesterday was the most exhausting thing I’ve ever been through. It was beautiful and sad. Pey’s whole fifth grade class was there at the Methodist church. Worse, the other siblings gathered around us. Joyce and Lisa Adams, Donnie and Barb Dayton, Richard Evans. They looked at me and I gathered them into my arms to cry with them. We still need to protect our siblings in their infant pod.
There was an urn. I carried it in my arms as the family was driven to the memorial park. That’s the new word for cemetery around here. Mom and Dad had a vault out there and had already made arrangements for as many of us as wanted our ashes stored there. I guess it was Dad’s parents who bought it and his grandparents were the first interred there.
I don’t think we’d have made it through the week without our pod. If anything, this showed what we were building—a family that could reach out and support each other across boundaries that once would have been forbidding. It wasn’t just my girlfriends, but their families, too. There were twelve in our pod, but thirty more who sheltered us in their love.
A building inspector showed up at the house and indicated what areas were safe to collect our personal items from and what weren’t. Tomorrow, everyone has promised to gather to help transport and pack what is in the front half of the house.
Em and I have spent all day every day with Mom and Dad, helping with what we can and making sure there was food on the table and coffee in their cups as they struggled with the adult business of funeral arrangements, insurance adjusters, and safety officials. A security fence was erected around our whole property as soon as we visited it on Wednesday. The city wants everything cleaned up within thirty days. Fuckers.
And at night, Em and I have spent our sleep cradled in the arms of our lovers, absorbing peace and energy from them. There was no orgy this week, but Em says we’ll make love with each other this afternoon. I trust her.
I’m numb. I think I need to run.
Nanette was in the kitchen when I came downstairs. Em and I weren’t taking up Donna’s bedroom every night. She was dressed in running gear as I was and I asked what the plan was.
“This is my last really long run before the race in nine days. Twenty-five miles. Think you can keep up?” I just nodded. I sipped a cup of coffee and took the bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and cream Nan handed me. We’d need our carbs this morning. We filled our CamelBaks and hefted them on our shoulders. Two liters was a lot to carry on your back, but it would get lighter as we ran. The objective was to return with no water left.
“Twenty-five miles?”
“We can take a right out of the drive. We’ll stick to county roads and won’t cross any state highways. We’ll work on maintaining an 8.5-minute mile. That’s the qualifying pace for the race and I’ve done it before. I just wish it was a little later in the season.”
“I haven’t been much of a running partner this winter,” I sighed. “I should have been more supportive.”
“I’m the one devoted to marathoning,” she laughed. “I’ll show you the cutoff to come back half way. I know you aren’t used to running this.”
It might come to that, I thought. But Nanette and I stretched and took off up the driveway with first light. It took a few minutes to hit and maintain the pace we needed. We didn’t talk much but the companionship of my running partner was all I needed. Before long, the music settled in to my head. I could feel it wrap up my body. I just kept running. ‘Run, Forrest, Run!’ All there was in the world centered on the beat of my feet and the measured cadence of my partner. We ran. She pointed to the cutoff and I just shook my head. If I couldn’t make it all the way, I could walk. Just now, I needed to run.
And when we turned back down Donna’s long drive at the end of the run, Nanette slowed to a walk. I ran on to the smooth wet grass of Donna’s backyard driving range and collapsed on my face. The tears were gone. Only dry sobs as I tried to get enough air in my lungs to stand up again. We’d been gone three-and-a-half hours. As Nanette collapsed next to me, our girlfriends poured out of the house with water, towels, and love.
Nanette got on the plane with Em Sunday morning. She’d decided to take extra time off work and join Em in Kansas for a week before she had to fly to Boston. I was thankful Em wouldn’t be alone for this first week after the funeral.
That meant Nanette’s house would be empty for another two weeks, so Mom and Dad didn’t need to worry about moving. Sunday morning, our families showed up with a portable storage bin and enough cardboard boxes to move an entire household. Mostly, Mom, Dad, and I handed things to people who itemized them, boxed them, and labeled the boxes so we’d know exactly where things were. Even a few broken treasures were put in the boxes. Ignoring the safety warning we’d been given, several of the men moved into the demolished section of the house and removed anything from our bedrooms that wasn’t totally destroyed. They managed to rescue a lot of clothes. My computer came out of my room with a smashed screen but Randall was sure the data could be recovered. My recording gear was in similar condition. John Adams brought a chainsaw over and finished cutting the fallen tree into segments that we hauled into the back yard. It was a long process and I understood both how long it took the rescuers and how they could lose a piece of log into the hole.
The last thing I carried out of my room were the broken remains of my guitar and lute guitar. I didn’t put them in storage, but placed them in my truck. I was thankful we had insured them separately.
“I’m glad you’re back, Jacob,” LeBlanc said at the beginning of orchestra. “I know this is a tough time for you. Do you think you can play the concert? We’ll be rehearsing after school every day this week.”
“Oh. Uh… My guitar… I guess I can use my practice guitar,” I said. I was back at school but still a little in shock.
“You mean…”
“My good guitar and my lute guitar were both smashed in the tornado.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about my guitar? My sister died.”
LeBlanc did something very uncharacteristic. At least in my opinion. He hugged me. That’s pretty much a no-no for teachers in general, but it was way out of the zone for LeBlanc.
“Music soothes the soul,” he whispered. “You need a guitar. Use your practice guitar for today.” He turned to the orchestra and directly to our violinist in the sextet. “Carol. Please come to the podium. We will take the Schubert from the top. You have the baton.” He must have seen something he liked in the way Carol was managing our sextet. She was shocked and open mouthed when he handed her his baton and left the room.
“I restrung it with gut, so you’ll need to retune frequently for the next few days,” Vinnie said. “It will have a slightly crisper sound than your classic, but guitars don’t develop that mellowness until they’ve been played for a number of years. We’ll work on finding a good replacement. Until then, use this.” He pressed a new Cordoba Reyes Flamenco guitar into my hands. Its spruce top looked a little plain and too shiny compared to my 1950 Marcelo Barbero from Zaveleta’s. But it was a beautiful instrument and I cut the rest of my classes for the afternoon to play it. What difference would it make? I’d already missed three days and they’d just tack this on.
Vinnie was right that I had to retune frequently. New gut strings stretched under their first tightening and playing. I was managing to get all the way through a three-minute piece without retuning by the end of school. I was still playing when I heard the haunting tones of my partner’s flute joining me. It threw me for a second because I didn’t know what I was playing or that she knew it. We just kept going and I recognized it as a piece we’d practiced but never performed. The tone of the flute complemented the guitar perfectly.
I simply sank into the music and let it carry the two of us along.
The tapping of LeBlanc’s baton brought us to a sudden halt and I realized the orchestra room was full. People were scuffing their chairs around and getting their music stands in position. I quickly got my own ready for the first piece. LeBlanc pointed to his concertmistress and she brought us all into tune. Then we were off.
We rehearsed the pieces that involved the entire orchestra, even if the piece included a solo instrument—which nearly all of them did. The Spring Preview Concert was an exhibition of sorts, in which as many people as possible were given the opportunity to shine.
When the full orchestra was finished, our sextet rehearsed under LeBlanc’s watchful eye. When we were done, I felt at peace for the first time in a week. Just a week since my little sister died. It already seemed like forever.
“I’d suggest you keep that instrument with you, Hopkins,” LeBlanc said. “I’m sure you’ll want to play it more than just in our rehearsals.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for calling Vinnie, sir. I’m sure I would have thought of it eventually but my mind’s been a little slow lately,” I said.
“Understandable, young man. I’ve seen you play Sunday morning concerts with your little sister sitting beside you. Remember, with music, you can still reach out to her. Play for her.”
I headed home to check in with my parents. They had also gone to work today. A life stops but life goes on. I could see their eyes were still a bit red and assumed they’d had as hard a time focusing as I had. I showed them the guitar Vinnie brought me and played a little on it after dinner. Mom left the room and went to the bedroom Nan gave them. Dad settled in one of the chairs and just let the music wash over him. After about an hour, he stood up and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you, son. You should go join your family now. I’m sure they’ll all want to hear it, too.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My phone rang just as I was leaving.
“Hey, partner. What’s up?” I asked when I saw Cindy’s name and picture on the screen.
“Are you out at Donna’s yet?” she asked.
“Just leaving for there. What’s up?”
“Can you pick me up? I want to stay there, too.”
“Really? On a school night? Is your Mom okay with that?” I swung into the truck and fumbled my keys around while I held the phone. I couldn’t start driving until I’d finished my call.
“We came to an understanding. I need to be with you.”
Okay, then. I drove over to Cindy’s house and she came out to the truck before I’d managed to get to the door. She tossed a sizable overnight bag in the back seat and I helped her up in the front with her instrument cases. When I got around to the driver’s side, she was already in the middle and buckled in.
“What’s up, Piper?” I asked. “I usually come to the door for you.”
“I wanted to spare you the lecture. I’ve already heard it and so have you. Be good. Get sleep. No messing around. Eat your vegetables.”
“What’s really up, Cindy? You know I’m always happy to see you and have you with us.”
“I need to sleep with you tonight.”
“Um…”
“I don’t mean sex. I mean, I just need to be close to you. Please?”
“Sure. No one is really having sex yet. We’ve all been too emotionally wrung out.”
“Thank you.”
There were only four of us at the farm. Beca was spending the night with Donna. And Cindy and me. Nanette and Em, of course, were in Kansas and Nanette had sent a text late in the afternoon saying that she was having a good time riding in Em’s truck. Em called me and confirmed that she really appreciated Nan coming with her so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Brittany, Livy, and Rachel were all home and spending extra time with their siblings. I got a text from Britt saying I needed to spend some time with pod two this week. Sophie was spending the night with Desi and her parents, preparing for the summer season. And Joan was in Chicago. This is what it looked like to have twelve people in a pod and not knowing when we’d all be in one place together again.
We did our studies. Cindy and I played a little. Donna and Beca were both enthused about the new guitar, even when I told them it was temporary until the insurance settled. Beca also told us Joan reported our Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Instagram, and Patreon feeds had all been busy with people sending condolences and many wanting to know where to contribute to replace my guitar.
About ten, we all said goodnight and Cindy and I went upstairs. There were plenty of bathrooms so Cindy and I both got showers and prepped for bed before we met in the bedroom. We slipped under the covers and Cindy practically crawled on top of me.
“Hey, Piper. Lying on top of me will make things difficult. I’ll still hold you,” I said. “Um… You… uh… aren’t wearing a bra.” When her soft breasts pressed into my chest, it became obvious to me. I really didn’t want to frighten the girl away with my obvious and rapidly expanding attention.
“I don’t wear a bra to bed. I have a shirt on. And this feels good.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I know I’m fifteen now, but I feel like I’m barely pubescent,” she sighed. “I got out of the shower and looked at myself in the mirror and saw my tiddies. I’m still amazed by them. I look at them and think, ‘I grew these?’ It’s like they’re so cool and sensitive and I like them. You don’t think they’re too small, do you?”
“Cindy, you’ve seen Beca and Livy and Nanette and Sophie. You can’t possibly believe you’re too small.”
“I think they’re still growing a little. I had to get new bras a couple of weeks ago. But they’ll never be like Desi or even Brittany or Donna. I guess they’re just so new, I have all kinds of questions about them.”
“Probably better to ask the girls about them,” I chuckled. “Guys have a kind of one-sided view of breasts. Yours are perfect for you. You don’t need to compare them to anyone else’s.”
“Thank you.” She snuggled closer and I put my arm around her. She slid to the side so she wasn’t right on top of me, but she still was draped on my right side with her head on my shoulder.
I thought she’d started to drift off to sleep and was beginning to relax into my pillow when her tiny voice spoke again.
“I was so afraid I’d lost you.”
“I’m sorry about being so distracted. It’s been difficult.”
“I understand that. I mean I thought I’d lost you. In the rubble. The first messages that we got Tuesday night weren’t very clear. We rushed over but had to park a couple of blocks away and walk to get near your house. We were all there. Many of our parents, holding onto each other and to your parents. All we knew was that you were in there with Peyton. I thought you were dead. A whole world that I’d imagined in my head dissolved and I felt alone and helpless.”
“I crawled in to try to help her. And then got hit in the head for my trouble.”
“I know it’s selfish. I’m not supposed to be worried about me at a time like that. But I couldn’t help seeing everything we’d worked for and planned—all I hoped for with you—go away.” I petted her silky hair, lying on my chest.
“It might take me a little while before I’m fully back, but I won’t abandon your dreams,” I said. “Mr. LeBlanc said that music soothes the soul. Having a good guitar back in my hands this afternoon showed me he’s right. I’ll do my best to be your partner in this.”
“I know you will but you still don’t get it, do you? I’m so impatient to grow up and be your lover. And so frightened of it.”
“My lover?”
“Of course. Jacob, I want the same things all your girlfriends want. I’m just not ready for them. And I thought I’d lost my chance. Then I thought tonight, I’d come to sleep with you and maybe you just wouldn’t be able to control yourself and I’d make love to you and it would be a fairy tale. But then I realized you wouldn’t do that until you know I’m ready. It would have been awful if you’d tried. But I love you, Jacob. It’s just a little girl love right now, but it’s turning into a woman love. Not just our music, but us. Us and all the rest of the pod. I love to sleep with Donna and Beca. Rachel is so loving and kind to me. I know I’ll want to be with them someday, too, though I’ve no idea what that really means. I just know we’ll be lovers. All of us.”
“I love you, too, Cindy. I won’t ever push you to grow up faster than you are ready to. But I hope one day we will be lovers.”
We rehearsed every afternoon and Wednesday night. Thursday night, we had our performance. Somehow, holding my guitar in my hand while the strings played and Cindy played her flute, I talked to Pey and told her how much I loved her. Then I focused on the loves I had with me… those in the audience and those on stage. I don’t know if the audience could see my tears splash on the body of this beautiful guitar or not.
What she told me in those few minutes as we played, was she still loved me and would always be listening for my guitar to put her to sleep at night. I promised to always play for her.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
