Double Twist
Chapter 161
“There is a kind of magicness about going far away and then coming back all changed.”
—Kate Douglas Wiggin, New Chronicles of Rebecca
REMAS WAS ON A PLANE back to DC by noon on Sunday. She needed to be back for the special Labor Day concert of the Young America Orchestra. I wondered if Cindy would get to play with the orchestra when we went to the National School. I hoped she wouldn’t be limited to playing with me. Or our ‘and company.’ I don’t think anyone in our pod expected we would become a performance troupe. I was especially concerned about how Rachel, Beca, Nanette, Emily, and Livy would feel about it. They weren’t performers and didn’t really work on the production end of things. They had lives and skills that our music didn’t acknowledge and I’d be lost without them. Rachel and Beca were my soulmates. Emily was my anchor in this world. I wanted to find ways to make sure they were included in our lives. That was what the pod was all about.
We spent most of Sunday just relaxing. Nanette and I went for a slow run of three miles just to stay loose and ready. We’d be running in Noblesville on Monday. It was great that Jock was traveling with us. Officially, school athletics were supposed to use school transportation, but that’s almost impossible when you are transporting one athlete and one coach. We’d be going in my truck.
At five, our families came out to join us for dinner at the farm. I mean Cindy’s and my families. Tonight, we would release our one-hour special for patrons. It would include the preparation for our audition, some of the pieces played and questions asked during the audition, and two fully produced numbers, including our Jefferson Memorial performance. Since we had to get up early Monday morning to travel, we decided not to have a huge party for the release on Sunday night. It would just be the pod and our families with the broadcast at seven and the intended end time with audience interaction at eight-thirty.
Dad and Mark joined me at the grill and soon Keith and Luke were pushed outside, too. Cindy’s brothers grabbed a bucket of golf balls and went out back to practice their drives. I think, over the years, Donna and her father had collected nearly as many different golf clubs as a pro shop. Not quite as well-kept, perhaps. Donna continued to pick up clubs when she saw them at Goodwill or a flea market. Everyone on the farm could find some kind of club to use if they wanted to swat a few.
“What’s your biggest challenge these days, Jacob?” Mark asked. Wow! That’s a loaded question. Cindy’s dad had become one of our strongest supporters and was helping with the home negotiations that would enable Cindy to join me in DC next year. What is he getting at?
“Gee, there are so many,” I said. “School, learning new music, learning new instruments, dealing with the National School and making sure we have fresh content for our patrons, and making time for each of my girlfriends. I guess those are the top of the list.”
“That’s a lot of stress, son,” Dad said. “But they are all things people deal with throughout life. You’ve stayed pretty calm through most of it. Does anything weigh on your mind?” My dad asked a probing question? I checked on the temperature of the chicken as I wondered if he and Mark had coordinated this interview.
“Um… Yeah. I guess there are deep questions in my mind besides just demands on my time,” I ventured. “I’m thinking about how to keep my pod together and happy when we have such differing life options ahead of us. And I worry about opening my mouth when it seems so easy for something I say to become a meme. What does it mean when the president quotes me? When I say something, is it going to change our popularity? Put us out of favor with the National School? Damage Cindy’s opportunities as a musician? I’m afraid I’ll open my mouth and make a huge faux pas that costs us our fan base and chances for the future. It seems so easy to offend people these days.”
“I’m glad you’re thinking of those things, Jacob,” Mark said. “It tells me you really care about more than popularity. You care about how you affect people.”
“And it’s one of the reasons we’re here,” Dad said. “I don’t mean here at the farm. I mean here in your life. We don’t have answers to your questions, but we have ears.”
“You can use us for a sounding board. Sometimes just having the opportunity to say something out loud without repercussions will give you an idea of how it will sound to other people and if you really want to go there in public,” Mark added. “Mothers… Well, they can’t always do that. They are programmed to jump to conclusions and protect their young. If you got frustrated and said, ‘We should switch to heavy metal,’ for example, they’d panic about how you were throwing away your career and then they’d be in touch with every heavy metal record producer in the country to get you a contract. It’s something we value and cherish about our mothers. They will move the earth to help and protect their young.”
“Not to say we won’t rise to protect you when the need is there,” Dad laughed. “We’re just more likely to make, ‘Really? Why do you want to do that?’ our first response instead of locking you in the basement so you can’t hurt yourself.” We all laughed at that. I pulled the chicken off the grill onto the serving platter Dad held while Mark called his sons in for dinner.
Laura and Leon did a great job with the special. They really captured the dynamics of our pod as we performed and prepared for the audition. With Donna’s direction, they’d even captured interviews with Dr. Donahue, Remas, and the director of the Kansas Renaissance Festival. The prep for the performance at the Jefferson Memorial was interwoven with scenes from the actual performance and then the program was shown in its entirety. Finally, there was a statement from Dr. Donahue that wrapped it all up.
“Winston Churchill is one of the most frequently misquoted figures on the Internet,” Dr. Donahue said. “But he did say this: ‘The arts are essential to any complete national life. The State owes it to itself to sustain and encourage them.’ At the National School of the Arts, we endeavor to press the performing arts into the minds and hearts of America. I believe Marvel and Hopkins will be a vital part of that effort in the future. We’ll welcome them here at the school.”
That was about as close to a concrete offer as we were likely to get before next summer when we had to negotiate the tricky waters of the National Service. After the conclusion, we received the congratulations of our fans and introduced Donna and Sophie to them and thanked them for making this happen. It wasn’t like we had a million viewers tuned into the stream. There were close to a thousand, though, and the comments seemed to fly past us on the screen. We were choosing random questions as we saw them and freezing them on our screen so people could see the question as we responded. Well, mostly as I responded. Cindy did a lot of smiling and saying thank you.
Then a question crossed the screen that Cindy froze. She expanded it so it filled the screen. It was directed to her, so I let her take control.
“Cindy, how do you feel about Jacob controlling your artistic life, your political views, and your performance? Don’t you have an opinion of your own?”
“Wow!” she said, looking into the camera. “Jacob controls all that? What am I, a puppet? I’m a little shy and I have a soft voice so sometimes no one hears me when I speak. But Jacob and I talk, like all the time. We both choose the music we do. We talk. I tell him about what would be appropriate for us to play. I tell him what I think about the National Service. I tell him which instrument he should learn next. I tell him how I feel about performing. I tell him my dreams and aspirations. I tell him how much I love him.” She paused and looked at me. I guess my mouth was hanging open. “Oops. I guess I didn’t tell him that. But I have now. So, don’t go around thinking I have no voice in what we perform or how we express our political and social opinions. I have a voice. It’s just soft.”
We wrapped up our conversation with the audience, thanked them for tuning in, and signed off the live stream. I was a little stunned. Cindy had just moved us from being musical partners to being romantically involved. I think our parents were a little surprised, too. The only ones who weren’t surprised were everyone in my pod.
“It’s already become a hashtag,” Joan said from across the room where she was monitoring everything. She’d taken advantage of the long weekend to come home for a visit. Beca was thrilled and sat with her looking at how she monitored our performances online.
“What has?” Donna asked.
“I have a voice,” Joan replied. “It’s like a rallying call for women. #Ihaveavoice is trending.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only one getting turned into a meme,” I laughed.
“Don’t you think you’re a little young to be declaring your love online to a million viewers?” Betty asked her daughter. “You know they’ll all expect you to be married soon. I’m not signing a permission slip.”
“I do plan to marry Jacob,” Cindy said. I was gobsmacked again, but she wasn’t finished. “And Donna and Beca and Emily and Desi… all of us. I don’t care if I have a marriage license and a ceremony or not. I’m marrying my pod mates. Every. Single. One. Of them.”
“Way to go, sister,” Keith said. “You’re my idol!”
I talked to Rachel for a long time Sunday night. Even in basic training, she had the day off on Labor Day and was up later than usual Sunday night. I had to get up early to go run but we had more to talk about than we could fill our time on the phone with.
“So, I’ll find out my assignment for NSO training on Friday. I think they could have given us a little more time to prepare but they keep everything under wraps until the last minute. I’ll stand in line to graduate from basic and receive two tickets. One is from here to home, and the other is from home to NSO. I’ll be in Friday night and I have to travel on Monday,” she said.
“I can’t wait to see you,” I jumped in.
“All I can say is there had better be a room with a bed involved. I plan to be naked from Friday night till Monday morning.”
“There will be a line at your door to ravish you,” I laughed. “And I plan to be first.”
“Oh, Jacob, it’s been a hard two months. I suppose it won’t get better for the next two months. I want to be in the arms of my lovers and my pod.”
“We’re here and waiting for you. It sounds like we’ll all be leaving about the same time Monday. The National School got us a grant so we can travel with the entire pod to DC for taping this next performance. I don’t know what they think we’ll be doing when we aren’t performing. My guess is sleeping.”
“With that cute cellist?”
“She is cute. I’m really trying to cut back on gathering more women around, though. I want my hands full of the ones I have.”
“Well, even if she isn’t a candidate for the pod, there’s nothing wrong with auditioning her in bed, too. I just wish I could be there for it. I like the taste of pussy!”
“There will be seven waiting for your tongue when you get here.”
“Not Cindy?”
“Not yet. After that declaration she made tonight, though, who knows. She kind of knocked me speechless.”
“We don’t need to rush her. Just knowing she is in love with us and wants us is enough to last me a while longer. I do plan to hold her naked booty in my lap for a while, though. She’s too tasty to be completely hands off.”
“She seems to really like cuddling up to all of us now. But I’ll tell you this: if you are in the same room with her when she gets herself off, wear earplugs. She might speak softly but she comes loud!”
“I love you, Jacob. You’d better get some sleep or you won’t manage a race tomorrow.”
“I love you, Rachel.”
Part of the reason the school approved us taking my truck to Noblesville Monday was having a professional driver. Emily had gone straight to the principal’s office, shown her credentials and received permission to drive Jock, Nanette, and me to the race. She was National Service trained, bonded, and licensed. She even talked to them about driving regularly for the school and was given an application to send in.
In the world that existed before National Service, a driver could never have gotten a public passenger chauffeur’s license until she was at least twenty-five. But the National Service made it illegal to deny employment to a qualified NS Veteran due to age. At almost twenty-one, Emily had already driven over half a million miles and passed every qualification exam for public transport. I counted that as one of the tangible benefits of the National Service.
Nanette sat up front with Emily and Jock and I sat in the back. I got another hour of sleep on the way down.
“Whatever you run today will be a new school record,” Jock said. “You don’t need to set one that will stand for years. You don’t even need to win this race. Finishing will give you a berth in the State Finals in November, even if you don’t run at either Parke County or Pokagon. So, stick to your nice safe plan of 7:15 a mile. That’s an hour and thirty-five minutes. We know you can do that and finish strong. Don’t try to run at a six-minute pace.”
“Yes, sir. I should just do my best…”
“Jacob, listen. We don’t know what your best time will be this season. We know you run well at a constant pace. You want to try running 5:30 miles, do it next week in the 10k. Just stay steady and even for this race.”
“Okay. I get it. This is a training run and I’ll run it like you say. I plan to be running at 6:15 by State finals.”
“Good. That’s a goal.”
“We’re starting first with a half-hour lead on the first 5k,” Nanette said. “I mean me in the marathon. You don’t start until between the last 5k and first 10k. We should arrive together.”
“Knock ’em out, girlfriend. Look. The rest of the pod has arrived and is gathered at the starting line. Go get kisses and line up,” I said. I started the process by giving her a kiss and walked behind her and Emily as they went to catch up with the rest of our pod.
By four o’clock in the afternoon, we were all back at the starting line getting our awards. I’d run in a couple of races like this before. There was a sanctioned high school event but it wasn’t only high schoolers who ran. Close to 300 runners started the race but only twenty-five were in high school. Not every high school had an entry in the half marathon, obviously. A couple had two runners. And I saw maybe half a dozen runners in our competition were high school girls. After our instructions, we were all released to join the mass start with 275 other runners of every age, size and description. It took almost half a mile to shake free of the crowd enough that I could settle into my pace. By that time, I’d lost track of all the high school competitors. Jock’s words about running my own race were good. I wasn’t racing against anyone else.
I finally settled in at 7:15 and just enjoyed the run. My head was filled with music and my heart with my girlfriends. I think I was smiling the entire way around the course. I had enough left in the tank to give it a good kick for the last half-mile and finished just under the 1:35 we’d targeted. My girlfriends had water and blankets waiting for me and just thirty minutes later, Nanette crossed the finish line for the marathon.
The first results that come up on the leader board are the order of finishers. My finish was somewhere in the thirties. Pretty respectable because it stretched out from my time to around three hours before everyone made it across the finish line. There were marathoners that wouldn’t come in for another hour or more after that, somewhere in the vicinity of six hours. It took a while longer to see the division results as they were posted. I’d placed third in the high school cross country 16-18-year-old division. It boded well for the season.
Nanette came in a solid second in her division at 3:30:28. It was her personal best marathon and we wanted to get home to celebrate. As soon as we’d picked up our awards and kissed the girlfriends, we were back on the road for the two hours home.
The rest of the week I had only one thing on my mind and everything else suffered. I can’t even count the times I had to apologize to Cindy and Desi for messing up our music. I know the assignments I handed in were barely acceptable. Mr. LeBlanc suggested that I take my mandolin to the roof and either practice or jump off. And to make matters worse, Thursday, I stumbled during my long run and twisted my ankle. I limped back to school, got ice and a lecture, and went home.
Friday night at six o’clock I was at the airport waiting at the gate as Rachel stepped through the door.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m not sure anything could make me any fonder of this girl than I am. But the vision that came through the airport toward me took my breath away.
She wore a tailored blue blouse and black slacks that clearly showed the shape of her hips. Her feet peeked out from beneath the hem of the slacks in three-inch open-toed heels. Her red hair was styled in a short boy-cut and her makeup was nothing short of exquisite. People stood aside as she walked sexily toward me and tossed her service duffle on the floor next to us as she rose on her toes to give me a kiss that made the waiting worthwhile.
People actually applauded.
“I plan to be in these clothes for twenty more minutes and then they are off, whether we’re home or not,” she said. I scooped up her bag and rushed her to the truck. Our other girlfriends would kill me if they didn’t get to see this vision before she stripped.
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